The Darkness of Glengowyn

by Isabo Kelly

  She worked her way toward Einar, watching carefully to make sure the traitors didn’t notice her. But the Darkness was no ordinary elf and the traitors didn’t dare look away. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of battle from the caravan. She and Einar had gone too far east for her to find help from that direction, though. The edge of the city was near enough for them to reach at a sprint, but she had no idea what dangers lurked in those streets. The forest was too far away for them to make a run for it on foot.

  Somewhere out there, the Sorcerer who’d stopped their escape was waiting. She couldn’t see or sense him. But she knew he was there. Somewhere.

  She got close enough to Einar to guard his back even as the traitors continued to lure them closer to the city’s outer buildings. The two elves spread out, forcing Einar to face one or the other, an attempt to outflank him.

  Refusing to think about her actions, Nuala flipped the knife so she held the tip in her fingers. With a flick of her wrist, she sent her last weapon flying. It struck the traitor on Einar’s left, burying deep into the space between his shoulder and chest. Not a deadly hit. Her aim wasn’t that good, but the injury was enough to make him drop his sword.

  He looked at the knife with the same dumbfounded shock as Byral had, facing her with wide eyes an instant before Einar drove a sword through his throat.

  The final elf shouted something she didn’t catch and fled toward the city. She reached out to take Einar’s arm, afraid he’d try to follow the retreating man, but Einar stood solid and immovable, the blood on his sword dripping into the soil. The stench of death and blood clogged her throat, bringing back memories long buried.

  “We need cover,” Einar said as he glanced toward the caravan fight, then back at the city. “Forest is too far.”

  Prickles of tension raced along her arms. “The Sorcerer is there.” She nodded at the city even as she continued to scan their surroundings. They stood out in the open, horribly exposed and vulnerable. With each breath, she anticipated another attack.

  “He’s not,” Einar stated.

  Not bothering to explain, he grabbed her hand and raced toward the dubious cover of the outlier buildings.

  Chapter Three

  The transition from rough grass to cobbled streets jolted through Nuala’s calves as they barreled between two scarred brick structures and into the city proper. When they weren’t followed, when no magical attack came, she actually felt relief wash through her.

  When she would have slowed to a trot, though, Einar tightened his hold on her hand and continued to pull her along at a fast run. He turned corners, raced down alleys and small streets, hurried along the edge of open courtyards, keeping her close to the looming shadows of the surrounding buildings as they went.

  After so long, she barely recognized the city. Empty, quiet, the stench of things she remembered from another war permeating the air. The bright sun seemed somehow diminished, cooled and weakened by the pervasive gloom that hung over the streets.

  Einar finally slowed to a trot and then a fast walk.

  “Where are we?” she asked, her heart thumping from both the run and her own fear.

  “Noman’s Land.”

  “What happened to the Sorcerer? Why didn’t he attack?”

  “He was never real.”

  She frowned, wanting to ask more questions, but Einar didn’t give her a chance.

  “We need to get inside.”

  “Why don’t we just head toward Sinnale-held territory?”

  “We need time. And a plan.” He pushed her back against a brick façade and held her in place for several long moments.

  She listened intently, waiting for…something. The area was eerily silent, only the faint creak of wood and the barest brush of moving air. No rustling leaves. No bird song. No quiet hum of the forest. Nuala had never felt so disconnected and displaced.

  Einar remained motionless for what seemed like a very long time. Then he ushered her across the empty street and straight into a relatively intact building. The small, three-story structure had most of its windows and shutters in place, and the front door was solid, if unlocked.

  “Is this safe?” she said, so quietly human ears would never detect the sound.

  “Abandoned.”

  When he pushed her into the cool darkness, Nuala took a moment to let her eyes adjust and her heart rate slow.

  “Are you hurt?” Einar asked from his position near the door. He was studying the street, not looking at her.

  That lack of attention was as much of a relief as the relative safety of being inside. “No,” she said to keep him from facing her for a few more moments. “Are you?”

  He didn’t answer. She swept his big body with a searching gaze, frowning as she looked for wounds. There was a superficial cut on his left biceps, visible through his ripped shirt sleeve, and a tear in his leather trousers, just across the thick muscle of his thigh. She couldn’t see anything that looked serious.

  Satisfied, she turned in a small circle to survey their hiding spot.

  They stood in what had been the foyer to a smart, elegant townhouse. Not that the elegance remained. But at one time, she was sure someone of wealth and significance had called this place home. The walls were hung with faded, dirty silk that might have been a pale color sometime in its past. No furniture remained, but stairs to the left led to the upper floors and several closed doors flanked the open entryway. Spaces that had probably contained pictures or mirrors or some other decoration left lighter rectangles in the grime covering the silk wall drapings. The floor was bare wood but inlaid in a beautiful pattern, which would look stunning after a clean and polish.

  An ache of loss settled around her chest. Had the owners of this once-beautiful home been killed? Sacrificed to the Sorcerers’ spells? Turned minion? Did a human live who might one day reclaim this place?

  Caught up in her sense of sorrow, she jumped when she felt Einar’s hand on her shoulder. Without turning to face him, she said, “I hate war. I always have.”

  “I know.”

  His understanding only made her throat tighten further.

  “We can rest here.” Einar’s deep voice was quiet in the stillness. “But not for long. This is too close to the Sorcerers’ territory.”

  “We’re that far east?”

  “We entered the city in their territory.”

  She blinked. She hadn’t realized. “How did you know where to go? Are you sure we’re outside their borders?”

  The Sorcerers’ borders were guarded with deadly, nasty spells. They’d been lucky not to trigger any. Or else Einar had talents he’d never revealed to her.

  “We’re safe for now. I’m certain we’re in Noman’s Land.”

  She released a pent-up breath. “After we’ve rested?” She finally found the courage to face him. They didn’t have time for her to fall apart. Not yet.

  “Then we make our way to the Sinnale. And hope they don’t kill us on sight.”

  “Why would they?”

  He dropped his chin to meet her gaze. “Unknown elves crossing over from Noman’s Land? Only traitor elves should be coming from this direction.”

  “Someone in the caravan must have made the city limits. They’ll tell the humans what’s happened.”

  Einar didn’t look convinced. “If they realize we survived the attack. But there are very, very few in this city who will recognize me, and no human will know you on sight, even those who survived the caravan attack.”

  The king had put a small glamour spell on her, just enough to keep humans from remembering her too well once she was no longer in their company—a precaution that now seemed more of a hindrance.

  “We can’t assume a friendly reception,” Einar finished.

  “Should we try to return to Glengowyn? When the sun sets?”

  His frown deepened. “One traitor survived the attack. He’ll tell the Sorcerers we’re alive and in the city. They’ll assume we’ll try to either return to Glengowyn or make the S
innale border tonight.”

  “You think they’ll attempt to take us again?”

  He met her gaze. “They will come for you again. Yes.”

  She didn’t miss his pointed omission. “You think they’ll kill you?”

  “They’ll try.”

  The very thought of Einar being killed left a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach. She might not admit to him how she felt, but her feelings for the Darkness of Glengowyn had remained constant for more than two hundred years. Even though she couldn’t have him for her own, she’d had the comfort of knowing he was on this plane, nearby, close enough to see and touch, smell and hear. He’d been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. He’d been her heart’s desire for so long now she couldn’t even begin to imagine her world without him in it.

  To fight back the devastation even the thought of his death brought her, she lifted her chin and said, “You’re no easy kill, Darkness. They’ll be cautious.”

  “You’re valuable enough to risk my wrath.”

  Her heart tripped a little when he said “my” and not “the wrath of Glengowyn”. But she realized he hadn’t meant the comment as anything personal. He protected her because the king and queen asked it of him. Nothing more.

  “What do you suggest?” She had to keep her focus on the situation. To think too much about Einar robbed her of her sense and reason.

  “We keep cover here for the night. I’ll attempt to get a message to the Sinnale. And the king. You’ll be safer if they know to expect us. They may even be able to send aid.”

  “You don’t think the minions will be sent to hunt us down here?”

  “Both sides patrol Noman’s Land. We’ll be in danger from humans and minions.”

  “That’s not really an answer to my question.”

  He held her gaze without blinking as he said, “They’ll hunt for us here.”

  “We have allies in the Sinnale. I still think we should work our way toward their border.”

  “Not until I know our way will be safe. You’re too valuable.”

  She snorted at his last statement and spun away. Goddess, how she hated being reminded every day, every hour of just how valuable she was to everyone else. Everyone but him.

  She forced back that thought. It wasn’t fair to him. But a thread of bitterness crept into her voice when she said, “How will you ensure I’m protected now?”

  There was no emotion in his tone when he answered. “The owls.”

  She nodded in understanding. He had a special affinity with the owls that carried messages for the elves. They did so only because Einar asked. The birds weren’t trained carriers, not the way such creatures might have been trained in the past. Owls assisted the Glengowyn elves because Einar requested their assistance. The clever beings wouldn’t continue in that job if Einar died. Something most elves had probably forgotten.

  Like they’d forgotten elves were physically capable of killing other elves.

  That thought reminded her vividly of the life she’d taken. She suspected Einar had killed other elves before—though most would have been unaware of the acts—but she’d been subject to the taboo her entire life. She could hardly believe she’d really done it, that she’d been able to.

  That she didn’t regret the act as she’d assumed she would.

  Those thoughts led her down a path she didn’t have time for. “So,” she said, facing him. “We wait here for a short time? Or for the night? Will you request an owl come here?”

  He stared at the floor, his brow furrowed. “I don’t like to ask them to come to Noman’s Land. But we have no choice.”

  “We can move closer to the edge of the city, so they won’t have to fly too far into danger.”

  “The Sorcerers will be watching the city border closest, assuming I’ll try to return you to Glengowyn.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s what I would tell them if I were one of the traitors. It’s what most would do in this situation, given your value. So we’ll stay here for a few hours, watch to see if we’ve been found. Once it’s full dark, we’ll find a new location.”

  “Toward the Sinnale?”

  He dipped his chin in a sharp affirmative. “I’ll have an owl come to me in our next location, if it’s safe.”

  She stared at him for a few more minutes, caught by his intensity. To escape, she glanced down at his injured arm. “I can wrap that for you.” She gestured to the wound.

  He gave it a cursory glance. “It’s only a scratch.”

  “But neither of us can afford to have you weakened.” She spun in a slow circle, then started opening doors. When she found a room that contained a couch, she led him inside. “Sit,” she ordered.

  Without supplies, her only option for binding the wound was the hem of her riding robe. “Your knife.” She held out a hand without looking at him and pulled up the long length of material.

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “Don’t argue.” She wiggled her fingers, still focused on the material in her hand. His presence threw her off balance and looking directly at him made it worse. They hadn’t spent this much time together, alone and in close proximity, since…

  She didn’t want to think about the last time.

  After the knife hilt settled gently into her palm, she sliced a few lengths of silk along the split front hem of the robe. It would leave a wider V in the front, but since they had to travel quickly, she was considering cutting off the length completely anyway. Once the sun set, the early autumn nights were too cold to get rid of the over-robe altogether. It was designed to allow easy, free movement, with slits in front and back so she could sit astride her horse without the long material getting in the way. It had stayed out of her way during the earlier fight too. But those lengths of material could be put to better use. And the less she had to worry about right now, the better.

  Once she had sufficient improvised bandages, she turned to Einar. “Take your tunic off,” she said, her voice as firm and emotionless as she could make it.

  She tried not to be affected as he stood, removed his scabbard belt, then slipped his short vest off and dragged his tunic up over his head. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hold back her quickly drawn breath when the magnificent musculature of his chest was revealed in full.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him bare-chested, but the sight never ceased to stir her. When she looked up, she found him staring at her, his dark eyes black in the dim light leaking in through grimy windows. She swallowed and focused on his arm. Her heartbeat sped as she drew near enough to feel the heat of his skin and smell the tangy combination of his natural spicy musk mixed with the sweat of battle. With Einar, that combination had always overwhelmed her better judgment, targeting her most desperate desires. Only with him.

  Yet another reason she’d spent so many years avoiding him.

  Though her pulse pounded in her ears, she concentrated on making her hands steady, her touch gentle. She used one length of material to gently blot the worst of the blood away. Some still seeped slowly from the injury, but not enough to be dangerous. Once she’d gotten the area as clean as possible with a dry cloth, she used another length to tightly bind the wound.

  His muscles flexed under her touch, which didn’t help. “Relax,” she ordered, her voice irritatingly husky.

  He let out a long, slow exhale that brushed over the top of her head, and his biceps relaxed. She noticed at a glance, however, that his stomach muscles were tightly clenched. When she risked a peek at his face, his jaw was also tight, and he stared at the wall across from where they stood.

  She turned back to her work, knowing she shouldn’t have risked this kind of proximity for this long. Einar had more power over her body and heart than any other elf. A fact they were both growing more aware of with each passing moment.

  When she’d tied off the bandage, satisfied it would do for now, she stepped back and gestured at his leg without actually looking down. “Are you cut or was
it just your trousers?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing as in no blood, or nothing as in you don’t wish me to bandage the wound?”

  His gaze jumped from the wall to her and she took another involuntary step back. Heat, promise, need and something she didn’t want to admit seeing blazed out at her, an arrow right into her heart.

  “You made it clear,” he said quietly, “that your magic was not something you could sacrifice. We should not remain this close. And I should not take off any more clothing around you.”

  Her throat was too dry to even swallow. She could feel it, as she was certain he could—the Shaerta. Humans called it elf-fire. And sometimes elf-tears because it was addictive to them. Between elves, it was strong but didn’t cause permanent damage with exposure.

  Unless a couple bonded. Elves didn’t form mating bonds simply by having sex. But when they did bond, when there was more between them than a casual encounter, the Shaerta forced permanent changes on them.

  What would happen if she and Einar heeded its call, if they allowed themselves to truly bond, was a melding of their magics. The results were unpredictable. She wouldn’t know until it was too late what form her abilities would take after a bonding.

  Queen Rohannah had made it very clear that, because of the special arrows Nuala had invented, Nuala’s talents were too valuable to risk.

  “You agreed,” she said. “Without any argument, as I recall.”

  She heard the bitterness in her own voice and was sorry for it. She’d been the one to say they should separate, knowing he would choose his loyalty to the sovereigns over her. She hadn’t wanted to hear him say it aloud. So she’d been the one to instigate the break. She couldn’t blame him for doing exactly what she’d expected, what she’d known he would do.

  Even though she’d wanted him to argue. Even though she’d wanted him to fight for her, to ignore his loyalty to the king and queen, to ignore everything in order to have her.