By Darkness Hid

by Jill Williamson

  Jax guided the boat through the maze of canals without hesitation, though Vrell couldn’t tell one canal from the next. She would be lost here on her own. Grungy men shot dark looks down on them from the buildings above, as if casing their boat. Jax’s size repelled their gazes as quickly as they came. Vrell drew her arms around herself.

  Lord Levy’s manor seemed to hover before them like a mountain cliff. It stood at least ten levels tall. Only the curtain wall separated them from being inside the fortress now. Three towers divided the southern wall, each twice the width of a redpine and built from a different color: yellow, grey, and brown. The jagged orange parapet that edged the curtain wall was slightly familiar, though Vrell had never entered Mahanaim by this route. A few boats were out, but none were headed into the manor itself.

  “What day is it?” Khai asked with a yawn.

  “I don’t know,” Jax said. “It’s taken us much longer than expected. They may be gone.”

  “Who?” Vrell asked.

  “Lord Levy and his family,” Jax said. “Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age celebration was due around this time. I’m not certain of today’s date, but it could be that Lord Levy is still in Sitna for the event.”

  Vrell considered what this meant for her. She had visited this fortress many times. The Council of Seven meetings were held here, and her mother was on the Council, so Vrell had often accompanied her. Even so, she had never been formally introduced to Lord Levy, the master of this stronghold and chairman of the Council. She had played with his spoiled daughters years ago but doubted they would recognize her now.

  Jax stopped the boat before another portcullis gate and the guards cheerfully let them enter. It seemed that Jax was well-liked wherever he went. Vrell wasn’t surprised that no one spoke to Khai. Jax paddled the boat a bit farther and coasted to a stop beside a stone pathway. Khai hopped out and looped a rope around a peg on the path. Vrell looked up to the jagged orange parapet of Lord Levy’s manor. They had arrived.

  They exited the boat. Jax led her to a narrow stone stairway that climbed three flights along the curtain wall before exiting at the back of the gatehouse, just inside the Mahanaim stronghold. Jax and Khai went inside to speak with one of the guards. Vrell waited outside in the humid air and looked across the fortress.

  Voices, squawking fowl, and the sounds of animals met her ears. The smell of the canals was not as strong up here—or else it was overpowered by the scents of animals, roasting meat, and incense.

  This fortress was unlike most castles. Here, the inner bailey and keep were contained all under one roof. The outer bailey consisted of a cobblestone courtyard that stretched out from the gatehouse to the castle on all four sides. Vendors and traders sold their wares from tents or wagons during the day. Vrell remembered shopping here with her mother.

  In the center of the courtyard, a grand fountain circled a bronze statue of the Mahanaim justice scales. The scales were the symbol of the Council of Seven, which had been started to rule Er’Rets until Prince Gidon came of age and took the throne.

  A little girl with a filthy face and bare feet approached carrying a basket of orchids. “A flower for your love?” she said, holding out a purple bloom.

  Vrell smiled and took the flower. “Thank you.” She reached for the velveteen bag of coins Lord Orthrop had given her, but it was not on her belt. Her heart thumped in a panic. She had had the bag when she had left Peripaso. Perhaps she had dropped it in the boat.

  She handed the flower back to the girl. “I’m sorry, beautiful one. It seems as though I have lost my coin purse.”

  The child took the blossom back and threaded it under the handle of her basket. She batted her eyes at Vrell and padded away.

  Vrell’s heart raced. There was a great deal of money in that pouch, and she wanted it. She inched toward the gatehouse, hoping to catch Jax’s eye without interrupting. She stopped under his elbow.

  “Hello, Vrell. Sorry we’ve kept you waiting. I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled.”

  “It seems I have lost my coin purse. I wanted to run down and see if I left it in the boat.”

  Jax frowned then turned to Khai. Had he taken it? Since he had not been able to sell her secret, would he steal her money?

  Jax seemed to think so. He pulled Khai away from his conversation by the shoulder.

  “What?” Khai asked, struggling to free himself.

  “Give up Vrell’s coin purse. Now.”

  Khai snorted. “I don’t have his coin purse. Why ever would you think such a thing?”

  Jax gripped Khai by the hair and lifted.

  Khai squealed. “Okay! Okay. I’ll give it back. Let go.”

  Jax put Khai down and the scrawny Kingsguard jerked back and smoothed his oily hair flat again. He reached into his shirt, pulled Vrell’s velveteen pouch out, and tossed it to her feet.

  “I was only testing him to see how bright he was. Took him long enough to find it missing.” Khai scurried back into the gatehouse.

  Vrell picked up her coin purse and tied it to her belt.

  “He’s not a thief,” Jax said. “Or at least not primarily a thief.” He bent closer to her ear. “It’s easier to reach into someone’s mind if you have a personal belonging.”

  “You think because he had my coin purse he could have succeeded?”

  “Probably not, but Khai isn’t one to give up easily.” Jax settled one beefy hand onto Vrell’s shoulder. She stiffened under the weight. “Let’s get you inside before he can do you any more harm.”

  Vrell smiled and followed the giant across the courtyard. Anxiety fought with her excitement. Mahanaim was a wonderful place to visit, but she did not look forward to meeting Macoun Hadar, especially after Jax’s warnings. They passed a vendor selling golden cups, which caused Vrell to look over her shoulder to where she remembered the temple was.

  A circular colonnade filled the northeastern corner of the courtyard. Black and white banners draped around the roof. Mahanaim worshipped Dâthos, the god of justice. Vrell recalled how suspicious the people of Mahanaim could be, attributing good fortune to the amount of good deeds done and decreeing that those who suffered bad times had brought them upon themselves by doing too many bad deeds.

  Vrell turned back and followed Jax around a fur trader’s wagon. On the other side, she had a clear view of the entrance to Lord Levy’s manor. Two doors as tall as those in Xulon marked the entrance to the grand building. They were propped open and guarded by two New Kingsguard soldiers. Jax nodded at them and passed through without stopping.

  They walked into a vast foyer. Decorative limestone columns painted bright yellow held up the high ceiling every ten feet. The floor was covered in a mosaic of multicolored bits of stone. At the far end, a grand staircase spilled out into the foyer. Around the back of the staircase, the steps continued down.

  Halfway across the foyer, along the right wall, they passed the golden doors that led to the Council of Seven’s meeting chambers, where Lord Levy presided as chairman. Vrell remembered that the room was round and filled with grandstands that sat five hundred spectators. Her favorite part of going inside had always been the hallway that led up to the auditorium. It was decorated with displays and statuary commemorating the great warriors and leaders in Er’Retian history.

  A red-haired servant girl met them at the foot of the staircase. “Ah, yes,” she said after Jax introduced them. The girl’s name was Mags. “Master Hadar’s been s’pecting you,” Mags said. “I’ll fetch him.”

  Vrell and Jax waited in the vacant foyer. Several minutes passed before another servant came down the stairway and continued down to the lower levels. Perhaps Lord Levy and his family were still at Sitna. It did not seem that Mahanaim was very busy at the moment.

  A long wait later, the serving girl walked down the steps beside an old man wearing a grey satin tunic and black leggings. The man reminded Vrell of a white jackrabbit. He had lots of thick, white hair tied in a low ponytail, large ears, and small brown eyes.
Vrell reached out and sensed his excitement. His thoughts came easily.

  He doesn’t look like much. At least he’s alive. The master will be very pleased.

  This was not Master Hadar? Vrell looked to Jax, her brows furrowed.

  “That’s Master Hadar’s man, Carlani.”

  Carlani inched along as if his legs had been injured in some way. Clearly he did not move like a jackrabbit. Perhaps it was only his age. His tunic looked draped over bones.

  “Welcome, young man,” Carlani said in a rasping voice. “The master has been eagerly expecting you.”

  Vrell forced a smile and bowed. “It has been a long journey.”

  Again Jax’s heavy hand settled on her shoulder. “Good luck to you, Vrell.”

  “Thank you, Jax.” How she longed to throw her arms around him and kiss his big, hairy cheek. Instead, she reached out her hand. He took it gently in his huge hand, and they shook.

  “I’ll show you to your chamber,” Carlani said. “Mags. Run ahead and prepare the boy’s room.”

  Mags, the red-headed servant girl, nodded and scurried up the stairs. Vrell followed Carlani, wiggling her fingers at his infuriatingly slow pace. Carlani hobbled up the first flight of stairs.

  “I’m sure you’re tired from your journey,” Carlani rasped, “but the master is anxious to meet you. He greatly opposes the uniform of a stray, so you must change first. I’ve set out your new clothing in your chamber.”

  When they reached the third floor, Carlani moved down a long corridor. They passed Mags on the way.

  “The room’s ready,” she said.

  Thankfully, Vrell’s status as a stray and apprentice would keep her closer to the ground floor. The last time she had stayed at Mahanaim, her chambers had been on the seventh floor. It would have taken Carlani another hour to get there.

  Carlani stopped at a room at the very end of the corridor and pushed the door open. “Change as quickly as you can and meet me on the eighth floor. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  As slow as he moved, he would need to start now. Vrell stepped into the dark chamber and closed the door. A single candle flickered on a waist-high sideboard. Once Vrell’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she took in her new home. The room was tiny and narrow, only as wide as the straw mattress at the end. A set of clothes lay folded on the stiff mattress. A basin of water—warm, she hoped—sat on the narrow sideboard.

  She knelt on the bed to look out the small arrow loop window. At first she thought the window was false because she could see nothing but blackness. Then a few vague yellow glows came into focus and she shuddered.

  Her window overlooked Darkness.

  It was the only logical explanation. It had still been light when she and Jax had entered the castle not long ago, so it couldn’t be nighttime already. She turned and sank against the wall, the reality of her location continuing to make her tremble. She had never wanted to set foot in Darkness, ever. Now, without knowing it, she had wandered right into it. May Arman keep her safe.

  She sighed deeply and carried the change of clothes to the doorway. Standing with one foot keeping the door shut, she changed into a pale satin tunic and black leggings, thankful to be rid of the hideous orange tunic. Probably no one would enter without knocking, but she would not take that chance. Her padded undergarment was still damp from her swim in the hot springs. She hoped it would not mold in the Mahanaim humidity.

  Once she was dressed, she caught up to Carlani on the stairs just past level seven. He smiled, panting, and lifted his foot to tackle another step. At the top of the stairs, he led to the right and knocked twice at the third door.

  A muted, “Enter,” drifted through the thick cypress door.

  Carlani pushed it open and inched inside a small, stone antechamber. The room was like standing in an oven: dark and very hot. It was empty but for a blazing fireplace straight ahead and a bald man sitting before it in a wicker chair. Two doors led off the room on each side wall.

  The bald man rose from the chair. He was draped in a thick, charcoal cloak. His skin was milky and semitransparent, revealing blue veins and liver spots. He had sunken grey eyes in hollow sockets and no eyebrows. It was as if they had been burned off. He rose to his feet and took two steps forward, the hem of his cloak falling around bare ankles. He wore black satin thong slippers revealing long yellowed toenails.

  Vrell averted her gaze to the fire and fought back her revulsion. She fortified the walls around her thoughts, just in case.

  “Carlani,” the man said.

  The valet hobbled forward. Vrell watched in frustration at the feeble man’s slowness. Carlani picked up his master’s chair and turned it.

  The bald man settled back down. “You’re the one from Walden’s Watch?” he asked, his voice a monotone hum.

  “I am, sir.”

  “Very good. You are how old?”

  “Fourteen, sir.”

  “You will call me Master or Master Hadar. Are you tired?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Then we shall let you rest, after a small test.” Master Hadar glanced at Carlani. “Tell me what Carlani is thinking.”

  Vrell’s stomach churned. That was not a very kind thing to do with poor Carlani right here, but the valet did not appear to be paying attention. He was picking hairs and fuzz from his master’s cloak. She sought Carlani’s mind again.

  …should have a cloak of silk or satin. Wool does tend to pick up every little thing in this drafty castle. But the wool keeps Master warm. Maybe I should suggest a bonnet. It would keep the heat in…

  Vrell pulled back and cocked an eyebrow. “He is concerned with your cloak, Master. Every little thing clings to it. He knows the wool keeps you warm, but he thinks a bonnet might do the trick and maybe a cloak of silk or satin.”

  Master Hadar’s sunken eyes bulged. “Good! Very good!” He purred and rubbed his gnarled hands together. “Carlani’s mind is like a child the way it’s so easy to read. Still, you’re more advanced than I expected. Excellent. One more test.”

  Master Hadar stared at Vrell, his eyes as grey as his cloak. Her ears itched, so she swallowed and focused on closing her mind. He raised a hand and waved her closer. She took one step forward but he continued to wave. She walked until her knees touched his. He reached up, pressed his wrinkled thumb in the softness under her chin, and his fingers against her temple, cupping her face. His intimate touch startled her, and she glanced into the orange flames to remain calm and focused. Her face burned from her nearness to the crackling fire.

  A tiny pinch started in the base of the back of her skull. The sensation grew slowly until it felt like a fist had reached inside and squeezed her brain. She let out a ragged breath and swallowed again. A tear trickled down her cheek, into the place where his thumb touched her chin. Her limbs trembled. She fought to steady them. Her arm twitched involuntarily and slapped his. He did not flinch. He did not release her.

  Vrell uttered a small cry, sucked in another breath, and steeled herself against the ferocious pain. Her forehead grew damp with sweat. She glanced down to her master’s storming, enlarged pupils and her knees buckled. She pulled back to catch her balance, and severed his grip.

  Master Hadar hummed. “Excellent! Your tolerance is incredible. Had you not met my eyes you’d have lasted longer. I could get nothing from you. Nothing at all.”

  Vrell couldn’t stop shivering. She did not want to last longer. She never wanted him to touch her in such a way again. What horrible magic did this man wield?

  “What are you called?” Master Hadar asked.

  “Ffff…” Vrell paused and sucked in a deep breath. “Vrell Sparrow,” she whispered.

  “You may go, Vrell. Join me here for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  “Ye-y-yes, Master.”

  Vrell turned and strode as fast as she could without looking like she was in a hurry. Once the door clicked shut behind her, she fled down the stairs and back to her chamber. She pulled back the covers of her bed, climb
ed underneath, and sobbed.

  13

  Over the next few days, Achan woke to his usual chores and tonic with Poril, then sparred daily against Prince Gidon in the inner bailey courtyard, under the captive eyes of the noble tournament guests. He fought hard, despite his tender shoulder wound.

  Although the prince never left him unscathed, Achan didn’t receive another cut as deep as he had the first day. He was quick to remember His Majesty’s title when he yielded, and the prince was slightly more forgiving with his final blows. Still, the multiple cuts and bruises on Achan’s body made him feel like a patchwork quilt. He would have much rather fought other squires out in the tournament pens. He wondered how far Shung had made it.

  Each day the crowd grew, though Gren had not been able to come and watch again due to the amount of work she had. But on the final day of the tournament week, Lady Tara came to watch with Silvo, Jaira, and Bran.

  Achan couldn’t resist the spunk that rose inside him in the presence of Lady Tara. He kept her light blue gown in his side vision without actually staring at her. Maybe he could manage to speak with her after today’s match. One thing was certain: he wasn’t about to lose today if he could help it, although he’d never beaten Prince Gidon and his body ached for a month of rest.

  Again Achan took the field with Prince Gidon. Chora stood beside Sir Kenton at the edge of the field. The other seven Kingsguards sat in their usual spot along the bench. Gidon wore a quilted, red jerkin over a white shirt. The question was, would the prince manage to keep it clean today?

  Their swords clashed. Achan’s and the prince’s feet trampled the grass. The crowd gasped or cheered on every cut. Achan remembered Sir Gavin’s counsel. He was never to think about his opponent’s station or skill. He was never to fear what might happen. He was to be confident in his own ability, remember his training, and do his best to win.

  Achan had another advantage over his opponent. Since that first day, the prince had grown predictable in his movements. His lone strategy was to push Achan back into the wall or the stands, then strike. As long as Achan kept circling to the side, the match would drag on and on.