Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three

by K. L. Schwengel

  The man gasped after air, looking as shaken as Berk felt. "Stiles."

  "What about him?" Berk asked.

  The soldier turned terrified eyes skyward, then gestured toward the trees. "He got forced off that way. I was going to help when--" He shuddered. "Goddess above, what are those things?"

  "Wraiths. If you stay within the Emperor's wards they won't be able to get to you."

  He nodded, visibly trying to get hold of his fear. "General Bolin went after Stiles."

  "Get back to the others." Berk gave him a push toward the road where Captain Everyn and Sully had managed to keep most of the men in formation.

  He nodded again, swallowed hard and rolled his shoulders back. "What about you?"

  "I'm going after Stiles and the general."

  The man's gaze darted past Berk, and a look of relief crossed his face. "There's one of 'em."

  Berk turned to see a man stagger from the trees, a hand pressed to his upper arm, blood oozing through his fingers. He took a few uncertain steps, eyes searching, then came huridly their way.

  "General Bolin?" Berk asked.

  Stiles blinked rapidly. "Took down two marauders, then ordered me out and headed into the woods after a handful of others."

  Berk frowned over his shoulder. There were very few marauders still standing, and even fewer wraiths dotting the sky above them. "Tell Captain Everyn I've gone after the general."

  "You can't go alone," Stiles said.

  "And you can't go with me. You're in no condition to fight, either of you. Tell the captain to send some men."

  Berk gave them no chance to argue, but sprinted off. The captain would send reinforcements as soon as he heard. In the meantime, Berk couldn't allow the general to fall into marauder hands. He knew all too keenly what that entailed.

  The forest closed around him quickly, thick,and unnaturally quiet. Berk moved slowly, stopping frequently to listen. Shouts, and the occasional screech of steel against steel began to fade, leaving only the creaking of branches and occasional call of a bird to disturb the stillness. A twig snapped and Berk whirled, bringing his sword up, his pulse jumping. Something small and furry darted off through the underbrush and Berk scowled. He scanned the area again and thought he caught a glimpse of a figure through the trees. He started toward it, placing his feet carefully, nerves on edge, ears strained for the faintest sound over the brush of leaves and the groan of trees bending in the wind.

  He found nothing when he got to where he thought he'd spotted the figure. That didn’t' necessarily mean no one was there. Marauders were highly skilled at leaving little sign of their passing, and there were better trackers than Berk in the Guard. He made a wide circle of the area, but his search came up empty. For all he knew, the general was already back with the others, having more sense than to wander woods infested with enemies.

  Berk half-turned at a soft rustle, but a naked blade pressed against his throat from behind, stopped him from going any further. A vise-like grip closed around the wrist of his sword arm. The words hissed into his ear were low and urgent, "Not a sound."

  He recognized the general's voice but, before he could question the man's actions, the crash of someone pushing through the growth reached him. The general's grip tightened, and the blade dug in enough to pull a hiss from Berk. Bolin eased them both back into the shadow of a huge tree, out of sight of the two Guardsmen passing by.

  Berk tipped his head to relieve the knife's pressure. He could see the side of the general's face, close to his own, smeared with dirt and sweat, and lined with tension, his full attention on the passing soldiers. Berk shifted, and the general gave the barest shake of his head, angling the tip of the knife to prick Berk under the chin.

  The soldiers disappeared from view, the sound of their passing fading. In one, quick move, the general withdrew the knife and shoved Berk forward, spinning him. His hand closed around the grip of Berk's sword and twisted it from his grasp as Berk stumbled away. When he regained his balance and turned, he found himself looking down a goodly length of polished steel.

  He kept his hands away from his body, palms out. Blood caked the general's hair to the side of his head, and his eyes had a wild look around the edges, like a skittish horse.

  "General, are you all right?"

  Bolin blinked rapidly. His brow creased for a moment, but neither of the weapons wavered. Not all that long ago, Berk had been on the other side of this scenario. He hadn't cared for then, any more than now.

  A voice drifted on the wind. Someone calling for them. Berk would have answered, had the tip of his sword against the center of his chest not persuaded him otherwise.

  The general shook his head. "Don't."

  "What's this about?" Berk asked, keeping his voice as low and calm as he could. He still had his dagger and two boot knives but he imagined he'd be dead as soon as he reached for any of them. He angled his head in the direction of the shouts. "Those are our men."

  "I know." Bolin's mouth twitched. He wet his lips and looked toward the road. "I can't go back. It's gone. Somehow. I thought…"

  "Looks like you took a hit." Berk waggled a finger at the general's head. "I'm guessing you're not thinking too clearly."

  The general lifted the hand holding the knife and backhanded blood from the side of his face. He glanced down at it in confusion, and Berk took advantage of his distraction to ease his arm up and slowly guide the sword aside.

  "It's not that," Bolin said. He jerked his chin toward the road. "You should get back."

  "What about you?"

  The general nodded but made no move. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, as though he'd just run a league. Berk edged toward him and reached for his sword with slow, careful moves. The blow to Bolin's head must have really tangled his thinking. Berk had seen it happen before, more than once. The worst case he knew of was one of the stable boys. He had taken such a hard strike from a hoof, that four years after, he still lost track of where he was, or what he was supposed to be doing.

  Before Berk's fingers brushed the sword, the general dropped it. His fist flashed up hard and fast, snapping Berk's head to the side and dropping him to his knees. A boot caught him in the ribs. Not hard enough to do any damage, just enough to flip him onto his back, where the same boot came to rest on his chest to keep him there.

  "Don't make me kill you," Bolin said.

  The general cocked his head and Berk listened past the pounding in his skull, but heard nothing. A look of sheer panic suddenly claimed Bolin's face. He backed away from Berk until a tree stopped him. Even then, his heels continued to dig into the ground, legs straining as though he could move the tree by force. He whispered something, and over the distance between them, Berk could see him shaking.

  He rose slowly to his feet and took a cautious step forward. His sword lay on the ground and he glanced at it, then back at the general. Bolin's eyes were once more locked on him, burning with an intensity that sent a shiver down Berk's spine.

  "Pick it up."

  Berk shook his head, and had to fight off a wave of dizziness.

  "Please. Pick it up and kill me, before I change my mind."

  "What? No."

  "And if I make it an order?"

  "I'd say that blow to the head has done a fine job of scrambling your wits."

  The general barked out a short laugh. "If only that were the case." He scrubbed a trembling hand across his face, but kept his other palm tight against the tree, as though he needed the support to stay upright. "Why did you come after me?"

  "I thought you might need some help."

  "Your loyalty is commendable. Unfortunately, there's nothing you can, except return to the others."

  "You're not coming?"

  "I can't. Not now."

  "And what do I tell the Emperor?"

  "You tell him I gave you a direct order," the general said, his voice sharp. "Being the good soldier you are, you obeyed it."

  Berk frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't do
that. I'm not going to leave you out here, not in your condition. Not with marauders around."

  The general's fists clenched at his sides. His fingers flexed slowly open before tightening into a ball again. His expression went through a similar transformation; wrinkling in fury before calming, and then sliding back into anger.

  He laughed. "It would have to be you, wouldn't it? I mean, if anyone was going to try and stop me, who better than you? Go back, Berk. I--"

  He jerked off the tree and tensed, gaze fixed on the thick underbrush, too low to be looking for men. Berk started toward him, but the general signaled him not to move. The scrub off to his left shook, branches cracking, grumbling and snuffling emitting from the foliage. A moment later, a figure emerged, backing out of the clinging branches and wiping at leaves and twigs stuck to the tattered coat it wore, all the while mumbling in a deep, gravelly voice. It turned, eyes widening when they landed on Berk, narrowing when they swept past him and found the general. A tangled beard covered the lower half of the… man's… round, gnarled face. He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose.

  "Great Lord," he said, his croaked out greeting followed by a startled squeak when he found the general's sword tip pressed against his throat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  "Where's your mistress?" Bolin asked, trying to ignore the fact he couldn't see the magic that should have been shimmering all around Grumnlin.

  He wanted to believe the brief taste of having his abilities robbed from him during the wraith's attack had been a fluke. Some effect of the terror they inflicted on their victims. Once free of the reach of Dain's wards, however, the condition returned in full force. The reality of what that meant threatened to render him immobile, and so he concentrated on the superficial. Delving any deeper would destroy him.

  Grumnlin sniffled. Tears brimmed at the edges of his eyes, and his chin quivered beneath its tangled mass of wiry, matted hair. "Lady dead. Lor-del-ing kill Lady."

  "Your new mistress," Bolin said.

  He cocked his head. "Pretty Witch?"

  "Aye."

  A smile curved Grumnlin's mouth. "Pretty Witch eat you heart, Great Lord."

  At the moment, Bolin might have considered that a blessing. "Where is she?"

  "I take you."

  Her voice whispered through Bolin's mind, "You see, I have sent you a guide. He will bring you to me. Only I can help you now."

  Bolin raised a hand to his forehead. As soon as the tip of his sword wavered, Grumnlin scampered off to the side. Bolin had to trust that, just like earlier, his inability to sense the power surrounding him was temporary, an illusion, like the witch's voice. In a few moments, a few more labored breaths, the world would right itself.

  "Do you wish to see again? To taste the magic around you and feel it caress your skin? I have taken your gift, only I can return it. Or perhaps you prefer to remain bereft?"

  "Show yourself." Bolin's demand came through clenched teeth, on the very edge of panic. He whirled, searching for her.

  "General?" Berk angled a look his way, his expression guarded.

  Voices rose in the distance. It wouldn't be long before Dain sent more men out to find them.

  "He cannot help you. Even the great emperor does not know the secrets I hold. Come to me and I will release you."

  Another shout carried on the wind and Berk called out in reply. Bolin threw himself forward, not entirely certain why. He tackled Berk, drove him to the ground and pinned him, knees forcing the man's arms into the soft moss, fingers closing around his throat.

  "Not another word." Bolin lifted his head in the direction of the road, listening. No answering hail came back.

  "Kill him," Grumnlin said. "Pretty Witch say bring you. Not… blue man."

  "I'm on your side, General," Berk said, the words forced out on haggard breaths. "You don't want to do this."

  Bolin tightened his grip. "I said quiet."

  Where he should have been able to sense Dain's power, even from this distance, he felt nothing. Letting his thoughts go in that direction served only to mire him in horror, but when he tried to reclaim them, they scattered on the wind.

  "Did she send you?" he asked without looking down.

  "Who? Ciara?"

  Bolin clenched his jaw and leaned down, his face close to Berk's. "The witch. You bore her touch. Dain told me as much. Did she send you to finish it? "

  Berk gave his head a small shake, as much as he could against Bolin's hold. He wet his lips, struggling for breath until Bolin released the pressure enough for him to speak. He gasped before pushing out the words, "The Emperor… whatever he did… she hasn't bothered me since. I'm not… your… enemy. I swear."

  "Bring him. He is strong and loyal. You will need such as him at your side."

  Bolin hung his head and shut his eyes in an attempt to block out the witch's voice. Berk's muscles tensed beneath him and brought Bolin back from the swirling darkness. He stood, lifting Berk by the collar.

  "Should cut his heart out," Grumnlin said.

  "Lay a finger on this man, ever, and you'll wish I had cut your heart out," Bolin said. He peered through the leaves. Movement caught his eye. More yells cut through the forest. The Emperor's men would be on them soon.

  "Go to him then if you will not believe me. Remain forever blind. Perhaps I will keep you as a curiosity when I have finished with them."

  Bolin's fingers went to the pendant. He felt nothing. Not even the flush of warmth against his skin that always accompanied the touch. He couldn't stop the gasp that rose from him, but managed to swallow the dread. It would serve him no purpose.

  "We go, Great Lord. Pretty Witch waits."

  Damn the unholies. Bolin pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. His thoughts fragmented, spun up and away like a dust devil. The witch couldn't have performed the blinding on him so quickly. Not from such a distance. He found it hard to believe she knew how to do it at all. She must have found a way to use the wraith to carry a spell, something in its touch, perhaps. He could break it if he could draw up even a tiny bit of Nialyne's power, but trying--

  Lightning flashed behind his eyelids and tore through his skull. He needed Dain. Needed to let Berk back get them back to safety.

  "No matter. Perhaps I'll take her instead." Ciara's image trailed behind his eyes and Bolin hesitated. "Do you think I cannot reach behind Nisair's walls and pluck her like a fruit ripe for the taking? You know she will give herself willingly to save you."

  "Leave her be."

  "Your choice. Come to me, or lose her. See everyone turn against you and then watch them fall to me one by one. Do you think your emperor can stand against me with nothing but a handful of mages? They cannot defeat me. Not without you. You are their greatest weapon, and you will be shattered. You watched your brothers succumb to the madness. The wraiths have shown me the memory buried deep within. You watched them fall, their life's blood soaking into the ground at your feet. Will yours stain the land red? Will your pious mother mourn your passing? Where is she now? What aid does she offer her most precious son?"

  "I will destroy you," Bolin said between gritted teeth. He swiveled back toward Grumnlin. "Where is she?"

  "I take you."

  Bolin cast a look Berk's way.

  "Your time grows short. Each moment you waste will make it harder to undo the blinding."

  "You'll lead him to me, won't you?"

  Berk's brow furrowed. "Sir?"

  You will need to trust the strength of others… The Goddess had told Bolin that when she appeared to give him her warning. Had she foreseen this?

  "And where are you now?" he thought.

  The witch's laughter trickled down his spine, fainter than it had been. "She has deserted you. It is what she does to those who would hold her most dear."

  The last bit of sunlight winked through the dancing leaves. Even a tracker as good as Sully wouldn't be able to find and follow a trail in the dark. He could be leagues away by morning.
r />   "Where is she?" he asked Grumnlin.

  He sniffed. "North. We go north."

  "North is a big wide place." Bolin lowered his voice, not bothering to disguise the malice beneath the words. "Where?"

  When Grumnlin didn't answer, Bolin crossed the distance between them and grabbed him by the lapels, lifting him off his feet. Grumnlin squealed, his eyes rounding, and Berk took half a step forward.

  "Where are you to take me?"

  "North."

  Bolin gave him a rough shake.

  "Near dead place," Grumnlin said and his voice cracked. "All dust and bones and rubble. By the giant's finger. North. I take you there."

  "Kensing Tor?"

  Grumnlin squirmed in Bolin's grip. "Don't know fancy name. Only know dead place by bony finger pointing at sky."

  Bolin lowered him back to the ground, and Grumnlin scampered off a few paces, straightening his coat and glowering. The orange flicker of torches appeared in the direction of the road and faint voices drifted on the light breeze. By now the battle had to be over. They would be seeing to the wounded, taking stock of the situation, getting ready to move on or set up camp. Bolin should be back there. He had a duty to those men.

  He had a duty to the man watching him as though he had gone mad before his very eyes. A very distinct possibility. Dain wouldn't let Bolin go so lightly. He'd send at least a scouting party out, would probably try casting for them.

  "He cannot sense you any more than you can sense him. You are hidden from the world. Go to him. By the time you return to Nisair, you will have lost your most precious possession."

  "General?"

  Bolin pulled his focus back to Berk. "It's not the head injury."

  "What's that?"

  "The reason for my behavior. It's not this." Bolin reached up to gingerly touch the side of his skull, wincing as he did so. "I wish it was. Donovan's witch…" He stared at the ground between them, trying to decide how to best explain it, and finding every comparison he came up with to be inadequate. He couldn't force the words out. Couldn't admit what she had managed to do, because he still didn't believe it himself. "I guess you could say she's disarmed me. The longer this goes on, the worse it will get."