"The witch? Is that the same woman who came to me?"
Bolin nodded.
"Then can't the Emperor help?"
"If I don't heed her demands, she'll go after Ciara."
"No disrespect, sir, but, given your current condition, can you be sure it's not--"
"All in my head?" Bolin's mouth twisted. "Not entirely. But I'm not willing to take that chance."
Berk glanced toward the road.
"Go." Grumnlin said, folding his arms across his barrel-like chest. "Go tell great man. Pretty Witch eat all men's hearts then."
"I won't gamble with Ciara's life," Bolin said, ignoring Grumnlin.
Grumnlin stomped his foot, glaring up at first one and then the other of them. "We go now."
"I don't take my orders from you," Berk said, an edge of temper to his voice.
"Apparently, you don't take them from me either," Bolin said. "Or you would have left when I told you to."
"I'll be quite honest, sir, I'm going to be a bit selective in that regard." Berk tipped his head toward his sword still lying in the grass between them. "Can I have that back? I'll be of more use to you if we come across marauders."
"Berk--"
"We can go, or you can kill me. That right is still yours after what I did on the wall. You mentioned Kensing Tor? How far is it?"
"Two or three days."
"We've no supplies beyond a water skin." He reached back to touch the one hanging from his belt as though ensuring himself of its presence. "I'm a fair hunter with a crossbow, not so much with blades. This time of year there isn't going to be much to scavenge."
"I'm sure between the two of us we'll come up with something," Bolin said, though in all honesty, the very thought of eating seemed the most trivial of concerns. Clinging to what remained of his sanity took all the energy he could spare. "We've both had to make due for short stretches."
Bolin could see just enough of Berk's expression in the waning light to get a glimpse at the thoughts passing through the man's mind. A great deal of skepticism travelled there, right alongside concentration, as he no doubt calculated the odds surrounding several different courses of action.
Bolin retrieved Berk's weapon and held it out, keeping a hand on it when Berk reached to take it.
"We're going to need to exercise a bit of trust here," Bolin said. "I'm going to trust you not to do anything rash, if not for my sake or your own, then for Ciara's. I'm not a fool in that regard. I know you hold a fondness for her. I don't believe you want to see her harmed any more than I do."
Berk wet his lips. "If I've given you the impression--"
"You, in return, are going to trust that how I'm handling this is the only way it can be done. I'd rather not kill you but, honestly, if you think to run back to the Emperor, or you undermine me in any way, that's a very real possibility. Am I clear?"
"Aye," Berk said, no hesitation, though the acknowledgement came grudgingly.
Bolin nodded and released his sword. "Then let's move out. We need to be well away by morning."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Whether the general was in his right mind or not, Berk couldn't deny the man knew how to sour a trail. They doubled back more than once, waded a narrow creek for at least half a league, leaving it several times only to backtrack to it again. When they finally left it behind altogether, they kept to the rocks along the shore. They kept the creature between them, the general in the lead, leaving Berk to bring up the rear. Though the two men remained silent, Grumnlin kept up a near constant stream of grumbling and muttering that Berk prayed wouldn't draw any marauders still lurking about.
A bit before dawn, the general called a halt. They took shelter in a natural lean-to caused by a large, fallen tree laid across several boulders. Small for the three of them, but invisible until you were right on top of it. They'd only found it because Grumnlin had nearly fallen into it when he tried to scamper across the tree.
"I'll take first watch," the general said. "We'll stay here until mid-day, then find some water before going on."
Berk nodded agreement, though he didn't plan on sleeping. He hated to admit it, but he didn't trust the general not to take off and leave him there. Berk had gotten so turned around during the night, he wouldn't be sure of which direction they were heading in until the sun came up.
"We'll need food as well," Berk said, settling against a rock. "I've got some dried meat, but it won't get us far."
"No like dried old meat," Grumnlin said, throwing himself to the ground and curling into a ball. He mumbled something else and followed it up with a soft snore.
"You shouldn't have come after me." The general sat at the opening of their shelter, turned slightly so Berk could see the side of his face. He'd washed the blood off when they first found the creek during the night, but it still matted his hair to his head, and he refused to let Berk take a look at the wound. "There won't be anything you can do to help me."
"I can make sure you get where you need to be," Berk said. And if the Goddess smiles on us, Sully will see the signs I left and find us before the witch does. Bringing up the rear had proven advantageous in that regard. Though, more than once, Berk feared the general would spot his handiwork when he led them back across their own trail.
"And then what?" Bolin asked.
"I don't know, because, honestly, I have no clear idea what in the Goddess's name is going on."
The general's chuckle sounded dark and bitter. "And she's no intention of telling anyone."
"How about you tell me then?" Berk didn't mean to give voice to the request at all, let alone do so in such a heated tone, as though the general was some new recruit that had gotten on Berk's nerves as opposed to being one of the most powerful men in the empire. "I'm sorry, sir."
The general waved off the apology. "Don't be. You deserve to have a better understanding of what you've gotten yourself into. How much do you know of magic?"
"Nothing really," Berk said. "Not beyond what I've had to deal with recently, that is, and I don't claim to understand one bit of that. No one in my family has any, and I've only been tended by gifted healers a time or two. Quite honestly, I have a newfound appreciation for why Commander Garek refers to it the way he does."
Surprisingly, the comment brought a grin to the general's face. "He is a bit opinionated on the subject." He shifted, his eyes softened, and a frown creased his face. "This witch of Donovan's has threatened the empire. She's far more than any of us knew. Far more than Donovan suspected. She means to use me to see her plans brought to fruition. I won't allow that to happen." He lifted his gaze to Berk's. "There may come a time when killing me is your only option. You won't want to hesitate."
"General--"
He held up a hand to still Berk's protest. "This isn't the raving of a madman. Not yet, anyhow, though I can't say how long that will remain true. It's becoming more and more difficult for me to fight off. The witch, what she's done--" His breath hitched and he looked away. The first faint light of dawn showing the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
"There is magic everywhere, visible to anyone gifted, if they care to see it." His words came hoarse and rough and he cleared his throat before going on. "But even those of great power see only a small fraction of what's actually there, and generally only if they're looking for it. I see it all. Always. I need to, as desperately as I need breath itself. Somehow, the witch has robbed me of that ability. If I keep my focus elsewhere, I can fool myself into thinking it's not as dire as it is. The longer I remain without it, however, the worse it will become."
Berk knew he risked the general's temper, but he asked anyhow, "And you still insist the Emperor can't help?"
"Perhaps he could," Bolin replied, with a weary sigh and no hint of anger. "But I've already told you, if I go to him, the witch will go for Ciara. Are you suggesting I sacrifice her?"
"Of course not, but, if you don't mind my asking, what exactly is it you intend to do? Once we get to the witch, that is?"
"Destroy her," he said bluntly. "And before we go any further, I'll have your oath that you'll kill me should I fail, because what I'll become in her hands is something no one will be able to stand against. Not the Emperor. Not the mages. Likely not even the Goddess herself."
"General--"
"You had the opportunity to turn aside. You didn't take it. Now, I want your oath."
"How am I supposed to stop you if no one else can?"
"There'll be a small space of time. You'll know it when you see it. If you don't strike then, the empire could very well be lost."
Berk shook his head. "There has to be another way."
Bolin turned and gestured toward the Imperial crest on Berk's tabard. "When you took the colors, you swore to protect this land and its people, as well as the Emperor. If you aren't going to uphold that pledge, you're not the man I thought you were."
Berk's chin lifted, a spark of indignation heating his cheeks. "I'll do what I have to."
The general blew out a sigh and turned his back. "I suppose that's all I can hope for, then."
Berk swallowed his retort and instead sent up a fervent prayer he would never have to make that decision. Right or wrong, such an act would destroy him, right along with any semblance of peace he had finally found. Thinking how the general's death would affect Ciara, especially at his hands, only made the matter worse. She claimed not to hold anything against Berk for anything he'd done, but even if she believed the necessity of the general's death, Berk knew she would never look at him the same afterwards. The general spoke true. If it came down to the safety of the empire, Berk would have to take action, regardless of jeopardizing any affection Ciara might hold for him. That was a dream, anyhow. One he needed to set aside because, no matter the outcome, Ciara would never be his.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sunlight brightened Bolin's vision. Shortly after the realization that his eyes were open, came a muscle clenching shiver of intense pain. When it passed, the unmistakable slithering of steel on stone reached him, and he rolled his head to find Berk seated just outside their shelter, drawing a whetstone along the edge of his dagger. Bolin forced himself up, bracing on his elbows.
His first attempt at talking resulted in little more than a hoarse bark, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "How long have I been out?"
"Since just after dawn." Berk kept his focus on the blade. "It's mid-afternoon, in case you're wondering."
Bolin cursed under his breath. "You should have woken me."
"I tried. It didn't go well."
"Meaning?"
"Nothing major." Berk angled his head enough for Bolin to see the split in his lower lip. "Next time, I'll keep my distance, and poke you with a stick."
"Where's Grumnlin?"
Berk gestured outside with his blade. "Moping. He wanted to go hunting for something more to his liking than jerky. I didn't feel comfortable letting him out of my sight."
"Wise decision." Bolin eased his way out of the shelter and stood, stretching cramped muscles. The landscape before him appeared normal but somehow… dull, and it took him a moment to spot Grumnlin.
He pushed down a wave of panic. He drew breath yet. Had his strength, his wits, at least for the moment, and Ciara remained safe in Nisair. Never mind that her pendant lay like a hard lump of lifeless rock against his breast, or that he couldn't feel even the smallest brush of Nialyne's power.
He had Ciara. He clung to that, even knowing it wouldn't last. He would lose her. There was no coming back from this. If he succeeded in killing the witch it would likely be before she reversed the blinding. He didn't know whether anyone else alive knew how, or could manage it before it became too late. Bolin couldn't live like that, bereft of even the tiniest glimmer of magic. He could well understand why others had taken their own lives. He only wished he had Ciara beside him now. He wanted her in his arms to chase away her fears, to make his apologies, and say his goodbyes. He could let go of everything and go willingly to the Halls, if he could spend one more night with Ciara nestled against him. She'd no idea how much she gave him. How she filled in the bits of him that were missing, and brought a shine back to the jaded pieces of his soul. He'd never told her as much, because doing so would mean admitting it to himself, and that would have left him exposed. Vulnerable. Like now.
"Unholy mothers."
"Is there a problem, General?"
A harsh laugh escaped him. "No. Nothing at all."
How had he managed to allow things to get so out of hand? Bolin waited, expecting the witch to respond. She'd been so free with her opinions and commentary before, though, perhaps Berk was right. Perhaps it was all in his imagination.
"When we go?" Grumnlin asked from his perch on a nearby boulder.
"Now, little man," Bolin said, rubbing a hand across his forehead.
If his thoughts were this jumbled already, it didn't bode well for the coming days. If only he could sense even a sliver of Nialyne's power, or the magic in the pendant. At this point, he'd settle for the disgusting slick feel of the witch's magic. Anything.
He cried out as shards of color sliced behind his eyes before robbing his vision altogether.
"Goddess's blood." Bolin ground the curse out between clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body constricted in an agony-laced spasm. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. Sweat beaded his forehead as he rode the tidal wave of pain until it faded and his vision slowly returned.
Berk helped him to his feet, and Bolin leaned heavily on him for a long moment, blinking to clear his eyes. "That was… unpleasant."
"Is that going to happen often?"
"Only if I think about magic." Bolin focused on Grumnlin, who watched them from a distance, round, grubby face unreadable.
"In that case, may I suggest you don't?"
"Try not thinking about air when you can't breathe." Bolin snapped the words out.
"Go now?" Grumnlin asked.
Bolin waved him on. "Go now."
Grumnlin took off at a much faster pace than Bolin would have expected, not glancing back to make sure they were following until he reached the tree line.
"He seems in a hurry all of a sudden," Berk said.
"I doubt his reasons and mine are anywhere close to the same." Bolin took a few deep breaths, ignoring any thoughts other than the most superficial and mundane. "We're going to have to push the pace as much as possible."
"Going to let him take the lead?"
Bolin opened his mouth to ask if Berk felt the need to question everything, but stopped himself before the words could make it out. The man didn't deserve his rancor. He took another calming breath. "For the time being. It's likely he knows quicker paths to Kensing Tor than I. It's been a great many years since I travelled there."
He obviously failed to keep his irritation from showing because Berk's shoulders drew back and his gaze darted to the side. He gave a brief nod. "As you say, sir."
Grumnlin's gravelly voice rolled up the embankment. "Come now, Great Lord. Talk later."
He waited until Bolin and Berk started toward him before trundling off, and within moments they were trailing after him through the trees.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
"Her name's Toora," Ferris told Ciara, as he helped her mount Marcien's chestnut mare. Heavy shadows darkened the Sciath's eyes, and Ciara guess he had gotten as much sleep as her, which amounted to very little. "She's some of the same blood as my Beya. She'll be a bit fresh at first. She's young, and has a lot of fire in her. But she'll go like the wind and not tire, and she's a bit braver than your previous mount. Not to say she won't pitch you, but she's less likely to run off after doing so."
"That's comforting," Ciara said. She could already feel Toora's energy building beneath her. It reminded her a bit of Sandeen, but where he was all raw strength and held back fury, Toora felt quicker, more like lightning.
Donovan waited a bit apart from them, his expression unreadable in the dim light of early dawn. Marcien's
hounds sat one to either side of his horse, and the beast shifted nervously between them. Ferris hesitated by Ciara's stirrup as though wanting to say something, but changed his mind and went to swing lightly onto Beya's back.
He led them out of the yard, keeping to a narrow track for most of the day, galloping when they could. He hadn't exaggerated about Toora. The mare felt like a coiled spring beneath Ciara. Fine and light, handling the mare demanded a bit of concentration, and more use of thigh and leg muscle than Ciara was used to. Toora never fought her, but the slightest suggestion from Ciara that she wanted more speed, intentional or not, and the chestnut mare would leap obligingly forward. Ciara found it exhilarating and exhausting all in the same breath.
They stopped in the early evening to take a light meal. No one talked much. Ciara had no desire to converse with Donovan, and it seemed as though Ferris purposely distanced himself from them both. Admittedly, Ciara had been a bit cold to him when she learned of his oath, but it had shocked her. It still did when she thought about it, which she tried not to do, because then worry for Bolin crowded in. Not only in regards to Ferris's oath, but what the effect on Bolin would be if they couldn't reverse the blinding. He wouldn't want to live like that. Ciara would lose him. That single thought mired her in fear until she pushed it aside. She wouldn't let it happen. She couldn't. Somehow she would find a way to reverse the blinding.
She looked across to where Donovan sat against a log with his head tipped back, hands folded in his lap, and his eyes closed. She hadn't sensed him at all when she went looking for him in the ethereal, but she wondered if her attempts to do so had drawn him to her.
"The weight of your scrutiny is without subtlety," Donovan said, not even bothering to open his eyes. "What is it you are hesitating to ask me?"
Ciara scowled. She hated her inability to keep him from reading her so easily.
Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Page 27