To Darkness Fled--Kindle

by Williamson, Jill

  Sir Gavin's gaze followed Achan. "What would our prince like to do?"

  Achan stopped, keeping his back to the table. When he spoke, his words were a whisper. "Whatever you think best, Sir Gavin. As long as they don't call on Barthos." He ducked through the opening and his footsteps shuffled down the hall.

  18

  Sir Gavin's mustache lifted at the ends, indicating a smile, as he watched Achan go. "I think it's best we stay for Teshuwah."

  Trajen clapped his hands. "Excellent. I'll be honored to introduce His Majesty to the temple of Arman."

  Vrell smiled. It would be nice to stay here a bit longer. She bet Sir Gavin would see to it she got a bath. And she couldn't wait for the Teshuwah service. The last time Vrell worshipped Arman in the company of believers had been last winter in Carmine. She couldn't believe how much longer it would be until she were safely home. Fall harvest...

  When Achan finished his bath, Ressa and Vrell went to his room to redress his wounds. Ressa removed several splinters from Achan's arms and legs while Vrell bandaged his feet. Achan sat patiently, hair shaggy around his face, still dripping from his bath. Vrell put ointment on the welts on his wrists and the bites on his nose, cheek, and a bad one in his scalp. She tried to put balm on his chapped lips, but he snatched the jar from her and did it himself.

  When Ressa finished, she left Achan and Vrell alone. Trajen had given Achan new clothes and boots. Green looked nice against his dark skin and hair.

  Achan stretched his arms above his head. "Pretty lady."

  Vrell flushed, then flushed again when she caught his meaning. "Ressa?"

  Achan tousled Vrell's hair and laughed. "Do you see any other women around?"

  Vrell blinked, annoyed at her misunderstanding. "She's Trajen's wife."

  "And he's a fortunate man to have such a wise, hardworking, and beautiful wife."

  "I suppose." Vrell scooted back against the wall. "So that is why you sat so still and didn't fuss like you do for me."

  Achan grinned, but Sir Gavin ducked into the room before he could answer.

  "You're certain you're up for a lesson tonight? We could do this in the morning."

  "No. I want to do it now. Please."

  "Very well." Sir Gavin moved the basin off the stool and sat down. "Ahh. My weary bones are getting a mite too old for this kind of adventure." He rubbed his opposite shoulder. "So, whenever you try to message, you end up watching?"

  Achan shook his head. "No matter what I try, I end up watching. I tried to storm Silvo, and I ended up in his head."

  "I beg your pardon, Your Highness," Vrell said, "but you called on Prince Oren and did not watch through him."

  "When he helped me fight the black knights. That's true."

  "You understand the difference between the different skills?" Sir Gavin asked.

  "Well," Achan wiped balm from his bottom lip, "watching is to look through another's eyes. Jumping is when I look through another gifted person to see through the mind they're watching. And I think storming is when I attack the mind attacking mine?"

  "Let's put storming aside for now. The most important methods I want you to learn are messaging: sending and receiving conversation, and watching: seeing through another's mind and allowing another to see though your mind. And doing all this while your mind is shielded."

  "If I may add something?" Vrell said. "You message people all the time. The problem is, you rarely remember to knock. You simply barge through our shields and we answer. We cannot do that. If a gifted man's shields are up, we must knock and he must let us in before we can speak. I think when you are trying to message, you trick yourself into thinking it is more difficult than it really is. You concentrate too hard and end up watching instead of simply messaging. I suspect you don't need the extra concentration."

  Sir Gavin stroked his mustache. "Try it as Vrell suggests. Speak to only me. Will you help us, Vrell? Try to overhear our conversation. And, Achan, do not storm Vrell. Ignore him."

  "Gladly."

  Vrell sneered at him and concentrated. She found only a slight chill in the air.

  Sir Gavin's voice broke the silence. "Well done. Now speak to Vrell and I'll try to break in. Don't storm me, either."

  Achan's voice burst into her mind. Can you believe all she does? I mean, I've never had beans and rice together. So simple. Likely inexpensive. I wonder what Poril would have said about such a dish?

  Vrell stifled a groan, annoyed at Achan's captivation with Ressa. Can you at least knock before barging your way into my mind, Your Highness? And what is so shocking about beans and rice?

  Not shocking. It was just... Do you think Lady Tara can cook?

  Vrell rolled her eyes. I doubt it. Tara was more of an artist. What does she have to do with anything?

  Sir Gavin clapped his hands once. "Well then? Did you succeed? I could hear nothing."

  "We had a delightful conversation, didn't we, Sparrow?"

  Vrell averted her eyes. "Riveting."

  Sir Gavin tugged his beard braid. "I'd like you both to try watching someone you know isn't gifted. Choose someone safe who would never betray us, should you accidentally speak. And keep in mind, bloodvoicing is a gift from Arman, not a game. Should you intrude upon an intimate moment, please disconnect immediately. Go ahead and try, both of you."

  Vrell had wanted to look in on Bran for ages, but it had seemed so invasive. She was thankful for permission to try. She closed her eyes and pictured his face. Unable to see the whole of it, she concentrated on each feature. Sunburned nose. Thick brown hair, tousled by the wind. Dark, brown eyes.

  A room came into view from a low angle. Small and clean and quite sparse. A cottage, like the peasant's homes in Carmine. The sun shone through a curtainless window, casting a bright beam of light across a wooden floor. Chopping filled the room along with the smell of onions. A young woman stood at a table, her back facing where Bran sat on a squat, wooden stool. At first Vrell thought of Ressa, but this woman seemed taller, and her hair was russet and longer than Ressa's, bound in a single plait that dangled past her waist.

  She wore a brown dress with a linen apron tied in back. The ivory ties cut into her waist and accentuated her hourglass form. Yet Bran stared at her bare ankles that peeked out between her long dress and black slipper shoes.

  Vrell frowned.

  I'm sorry my father's not here, the young woman said, keeping her back to Bran. He could be out a while. He'll need to get used to the soil here. It's not that he won't be able to do as good as he did in Sitna. It'll just take time. He wove excellent fabrics for Lord Nathak and the prin-- Well, he wove excellent fabrics.

  She turned and smiled at Bran. Her face was lovely: caramel, freckled skin with rosy cheeks; wide, brown eyes, watery from the onions, with dark lashes. Her thick chestnut hair pulled back from her face into the braid, but wispy tendrils had escaped and framed her rosy cheeks. No wonder Bran stared. Vrell wished she could elbow him.

  You sure I can't get you some ale or tea or...or water? Her chest heaved with a deep breath. She fidgeted with the frayed top edge of her apron, then jerked her hand away as if realizing she might call attention to her neckline. She spun back to the table so quickly her skirt coiled around her legs and slowly unwound.

  Bran's attention drifted back to her bare ankles. A glass of water might be nice, madam, if it's no trouble.

  Madam? This pretty young girl was married? Praise Arman. Vrell relaxed a bit.

  The young woman curtsied, No trouble at all, sir, and scurried from the room.

  Bran straightened on the stool and chuckled softly.

  The young woman returned in a moment holding a mug in two hands. She crossed the room, her eyes focused on the mug. She stumbled and some of the water slapped to the floor. Her eyes bulged and her whole face darkened.

  Oh! I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean--

  A clap of hands and Sir Gavin's, "Did you succeed?" zapped Vrell away from the mystery girl and her spilled water.

  Vre
ll faced Sir Gavin, but her thoughts were back in Carmine. What was Bran doing at that peasant's cottage? He had wanted to speak to the girl's father? Why? Who were they?

  "Well?" Sir Gavin asked.

  Achan frowned and traced the red welt around his right wrist. "I've looked in on Gren before. I mean...I think I have. I didn't know if I was bloodvoicing or if Darkness was playing with my mind. Last night on the sandbar... I think I misunderstood. But, Sir Gavin, something is amiss. Why would Gren have left Sitna and why would Bran Rennan be visiting her father?"

  Vrell's eyes widened. Bran with Gren? Achan had looked in on Gren and saw Bran... Vrell's breath caught. That was Achan's Gren?

  Sir Gavin grimaced and shifted on the stool. "Aw, I'm sorry, lad. Prince Oren bid me tell you when I found the right moment, only we have been running since I got the message. I planned to tell you--this night, actually, once we were alone."

  The floor seemed to fall out from under Vrell. "Would you like me to leave?"

  "No." Achan lifted his chin. "There's no need."

  Sir Gavin nodded. "When you escaped from Mahanaim, Esek sent Lord Nathak back to Sitna to keep an eye on the Duchess of Carm and Gren's family. Leverage over the two things he wants most. Control of Carm and control of you."

  Achan stood up as if he planned to run out the door and save Gren.

  Sir Gavin clutched the hem of Achan's tunic. "Esek sent Khai into Darkness to track you. But Macoun Hadar had his own agenda. Since Khai also works for him and was already following you for Esek, Macoun sent Jax to Sitna to kidnap Gren before Lord Nathak got to her. Macoun, of course, is hoping to use Gren as leverage against you as well."

  "Pig snout." Achan dropped back to the pallet.

  Sir Gavin continued, "As you both know, Jax is a Marad spy, loyal to Prince Oren and to us. Prince Oren asked Jax to move Gren's family to a safe place. Sir Rigil and his squire, Bran Rennan--" Sir Gavin peered at Vrell--"were already in Carmine since they had gone to aid the duchess. Jax met Sir Rigil and his men outside Sitna Manor.

  "Bran, being the least intimidating of the group, was sent to initiate contact with Gren's family. But Gren's father rejected Bran's warning, so Bran went to speak with Riga. He didn't listen either. Sitna has been overrun with thieves since Lord Nathak left. The people trust no one for fear of being swindled. Sir Rigil made a second attempt to contact Gren's father but found the Fenny home deserted. When he knocked at the Hoff home, he was arrested."

  Vrell's breath hitched. She hoped nothing had happened to Sir Rigil.

  "When Sir Rigil didn't return, Bran managed to find out from the local peasants that both families had been arrested. He and Jax broke into the Sitna dungeons and rescued all but Riga Hoff, who died trying to defend his wife."

  Achan's eyes grew as wide as full moons. "Riga's dead?"

  "Aye. I'm sorry, Achan."

  "Trying to save Gren?"

  "That's right. Sir Rigil said he took a sword for her, during the rescue attempt, I believe."

  "Riga was her baby?" Achan's brow crinkled and he sank back on his elbows.

  Vrell pulled her knees to her chest. The poor girl. To be married to a man she didn't love, then to see him killed...

  "Yesterday on the sandbar," Achan's voice broke. He cleared his throat. "I heard Gren crying about her baby, thought she'd lost a child. It seemed so real, yet I thought Darkness had twisted my mind."

  "Ah, yes. Well, Gren is expecting a child. Her mother informed Sir Rigil once they settled in Carmine, which happened a few days ago."

  "Oh!" Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth. Sir Gavin could have delivered that bit of information at another time. Not heap it all on poor Achan at once. Did the man not see how weighed down Achan already was?

  Sir Gavin focused on Vrell. "So, that's that. Vrell, were you successful with your attempt to watch?"

  Vrell nodded but refused to elaborate. She wanted to respect Achan's moment of grief and not run over it as Sir Gavin appeared willing to do.

  Achan only stared past Vrell's left ear with a dazed look.

  * * *

  Achan meandered out to the front room, limping on his bandaged feet. His muscles were tight and stiff. Sir Caleb and Inko sat at the table, playing a dice game.

  "Want to join us, Your Highness?" Sir Caleb asked.

  "No thanks." Dice reminded him of Lord Eli and Jaira.

  He paced to the door, then doubled back and plopped in the middle of one of the sofas. He disliked this house. Too cramped. He wanted to be outside--not in Darkness but by the allown tree in Sitna, watching the clouds sail across the blue sky. His body throbbed. He inspected the welts on his wrists again, the most visible of his injuries besides his cheeks.

  As he pondered how long it might take until his beard hid the scars on his cheeks, Ressa walked out from the hallway carrying one of the babies. Achan couldn't tell the boy from the girl. The child turned its wide, brown eyes on Achan and all he could see was Gren and her child, staring at him.

  Ressa smiled. "Trajen and Romal are sleeping. They've taken the whole bed and left no place for Roma and me to go, didn't they, my precious?" She kissed the child's forehead and settled down in the pillows. She cradled the baby across her lap. "Do you mind if I feed her?"

  Achan opened his mouth, then shook his head. He picked at a bit of skin on his wrist, wishing for a way to escape the confinement he felt. The baby's suckling filled the room. Achan stood and bolted down the hallway. But Sir Gavin and Sparrow were still talking in his room so he turned and strode out the front door.

  Outside, the night--day?--was cool. He took in a deep breath and found the air thick with smoke, pitch, and dung. Wheels clattered over the cobblestone in the distance, bringing to mind his journey behind Silvo's cart. The street stretched out on both sides, narrow and hemmed in like a canyon. He counted ten doors across the street. Did that mean ten homes? Moths fluttered around the lanterns, their shadows darting over the stone walls below.

  Gren hadn't looked to be with child. How long until that changed? Goats tended to carry for five months before they delivered. Were women the same?

  Did she grieve for Riga? Achan couldn't imagine the same pot-bellied peasant who had bullied him, beat him, and stolen Gren away could have the guts--or the heart--to even try to defend someone else, much less take a sword for anyone.

  But maybe he'd done it for his child.

  This thought made Achan cringe all over again. The very idea that Riga had touched Gren, let alone... He shook the anger away. It didn't matter. Riga had been Gren's husband, had every right...but she hadn't wanted to marry him...and they'd been married only a little over a month. Achan didn't understand. Perhaps married people managed to bond somehow. If Gren had come to care for Riga...well...Achan hoped she wasn't suffering.

  One thing brought comfort: he knew Bran to be honest and kind. When next he spoke with Prince Oren, Achan would request that Bran look after the Fennys for a while. He pushed aside Gren's nervous thoughts of Bran Rennan, the handsome squire. Bran was betrothed to Lady Averella, after all. Nothing to fear there.

  The door to the house opened and Sir Caleb stepped outside. "Are you well, Your Highness?"

  Achan folded his arms. "It's so small in there."

  "It is that. Nice of them to put us up, though." The knight stood beside Achan. They were roughly the same height, but Sir Caleb's blond hair frizzed out, making him seem taller. "Melas is well-known for its crime. It's best we stay inside."

  Achan's shoulders sagged. "Fine." He pushed past Sir Caleb and into the house. Ressa was still feeding the baby so he went down the hall to his room. As soon as he entered Sir Gavin and Sparrow stopped talking, as if he'd interrupted some secret discussion.

  "Do you need something, lad?"

  "No." Achan slipped out again and walked toward the glowing curtain to the main room.

  "Achan?"

  Sparrow's voice made him jump. He turned to find the boy standing behind him, cat-like eyes peering up into his. "Are you
well?"

  "As well as one can be in Darkness, I suppose."

  "Hearing news of Gren must have been...shocking."

  Achan's muscles tightened. "Sparrow, if you think I--" He sighed. The boy could read him like a scroll. He smiled sadly. "Aye, I wish to help her. But Bran is there. That will have to be good enough."

  "Bran is a good man," Sparrow said. "You trust him?"

  "I sense he's as righteous as Prince Oren himself."

  Sparrow beamed. "I think so too."

  Achan shifted and the linen curtain to the main room clung to his back. He swiped it away and inched closer to Sparrow. "This cottage is so cramped. You'd think it wouldn't bother me so, my having slept under an ale cask all my life, but I...the dark is so oppressive. I never realized what a gift the sun was until it was gone."

  "The sun brings light and life to the world."

  "Aye."

  "Sir Gavin is asking for you," Sparrow said.

  "Oh. Right, then." Achan turned sideways to edge past Sparrow. He ducked into his room, relieved to have somewhere to go.

  Sir Gavin still sat on the stool, elbows propped on his knobby knees. "Achan. Would you sit a moment?"

  Achan settled on his pallet.

  Sir Gavin slouched against the wall and stretched out his legs. "I've never been good with words, sentiments especially. I'm a soldier, you understand. I'm great with a sword, I excel with a battle plan, and I can track better than most hounds, but..." He tugged at his beard braid. "Vrell thinks I... Well, anyway, he's right. Achan, I've got the sensitivity of a bull in a pumpkin patch. I just don't know what I'm walking on, if you get me."

  "Sir?"

  "I'm trying to say I didn't handle telling you the news about Gren well. I should've... Well, 'twas a shock to you and I just kind of flattened everything like a stampede of... Anyway, sorry about that. I'm sorry about everything, really. All the way back to your parents' death. I've always felt responsible, you know. Your father would've agreed with me about the bull in the pumpkin patch too."

  "How so?"

  Sir Gavin winced. "Well, when we were a great deal younger, there was a young lady."