Achan closed his eyes. His body swayed from side to side from the horse's movement. I do not relish my birthright. I'm terrified of ruling anyone, let alone all Er'Rets. I don't intend on doing anything rash and am thankful you're here to keep me from humiliating myself.
Ah, but it's the very things a man never intends to do that sneak up and ensnare him. I'll do all I can to keep you safe, but I pray you won't forget Arman is with you always and is your foremost advisor.
Sir Caleb went on to describe more etiquette regarding women of different classes. Then he added, to Achan's chagrin, another lecture on what kind of woman Achan could marry, as if he had forgotten. This only set Achan's sights on Lady Tara more, despite Sir Caleb's claim she wasn't prominent enough.
"Sir Caleb," Sparrow's audible voice startled Achan, "when might we practice sword fighting again?"
"When next we stop," Sir Caleb said. "And as you are nearing fifteen, we should be working to promote you to Achan's squire. To be officially declared a squire, you must go on a hunt. Darkness is not ideal for game. We could make an exception, allow you to hunt a gowzal."
"But I do not know how to hunt a gowzal." Sparrow's small voice made Achan smile.
"I'll teach you," Sir Caleb said.
Achan twisted around in his saddle, despite not being able to see. "No one taught me. Sir Gavin dropped me off in the forest with a knife and told me to walk back." Not that Achan had hunted fairly. He'd used his bloodvoice on the doe.
"We cannot use your training as a guide," Sir Caleb said. "Sir Gavin was...out of his element."
"How will I hunt what I cannot see?" Sparrow asked.
Sir Caleb hummed. "Setting a snare might work best."
Achan closed his eyes, seizing the moment to look in on Gren now that Sparrow had distracted Sir Caleb from his lectures on propriety. He found her walking in a forest--a field. Her gaze traveled over deep, green vines, past a cluster of tiny grapes, and back along the vines. A vineyard. The sun shone high in the pale blue sky. Achan's heart beat faster at the sight of such beauty and warmth on his skin, Gren's skin.
Gren laughed and the sound seemed to grab Achan's heart and squeeze.
It must have died. Gren glanced at the young man walking beside her. Bran Rennan. Achan would recognize that sunburned face anywhere. Bran stood only slightly taller than Gren. He had sandy brown hair and a wide smile, which he flashed at Gren, seeming pleased to have made her laugh.
On the contrary, madam. My Averella is quite the experimentalist. She rarely fails altogether. The duchess harvested her hybrid vines last season and had a special bottle of wine made for our wedding day.
That's so romantic. How long has she been gone?
It's been nearly nine months since last I saw her. We took a walk here in the vineyard, then I left Zerah Rock with Sir Rigil. When I returned, her mother told me she'd gone into hiding.
And you don't know where?
Only that she's safe. Prince Oren has assured me of that much.
Gren ran her fingers through the leaves on the vines as they walked along. I wonder if Achan's safe.
We saw him off in Mahanaim.
Gren's heart leapt and she searched Bran's eyes for any sign of bad tidings. How was he?
Shocked, I fear. We swore fealty to him, Sir Rigil and I. Prince Oren did as well.
I wish I could've been there. Gren's chest tightened and her eyes stung. I can't believe it's true. I mean, I can believe. I do. Achan's such a special person. I'm outraged at what they stole from him. You can't imagine the cruelty he suffered. Even as a stray he didn't deserve it, though he was a bit outspoken for a slave. That courage probably came from his royal blood. Achan's smiling face popped into Gren's mind, which almost made Achan disconnect. How strange to think fondly of his own appearance. The whole thing's a long tale. I keep waiting for the story to end, so life can go back to normal but...
Gren clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Tears squeezed past her eyelids, out of her control, and streamed down her cheeks. Achan wiped the tears off his own cheeks and tried to separate himself from her grief. Gren's chest heaved with sobs and she tried to suck in shallow breaths so she wouldn't look pathetic in front of this squire.
Bran gripped her elbow and pivoted to stand before her. Madam, please. I--
Stop calling me madam! Gren jerked away. I'm no one's wife.
Oh. I... Bran's throat bobbed. He opened his mouth, stammered, lowered his eyes. I--Forgive me. Please...please don't cry, Mad--Miss...Hoff.
Fire seared through Gren. She pushed Bran into the vines. One fell from the trellis onto his head. I'm not a Hoff! She stormed away, walking as fast as she could.
Achan squeezed his reins. How could Master Rennan misunderstand her feelings? And how could she have treated the handsome squire in such a fashion?
Achan blinked. Handsome squire? This connection grew more binding, confusing, awkward, but Achan held on.
Something wet and rank slapped against Gren's face, drawing Achan deep into her mind again. She screamed and shook her head. The moist mixture fell from her face and plopped to the ground. She hopped back to keep it from getting on her shoes.
Cow dung.
Achan's chest heaved with horror and fury. He breathed in and out with Gren through her mouth, trying not to smell it. Warbled sounds met her ears. Voices. Laughter. Yelling.
Master Rennan stood to Gren's left, before a narrow path shooting between two rows of vines.
I say, explain yourselves this instant!
Two boys, barely of age, stood well into the path, doubled over in laughter.
The taller of the two, skinny with black hair, straightened. We made your trollop a pie, Rennan. Now she smells as low as she stoops.
Master Rennan propped his hands on his hips. Barbarism! You will show a lady respect.
She's no lady, the boy said. I heard she's the prince's mistress.
The other boy guffawed. And now she's yours.
Master Rennan growled and took off down the path after the boys. Achan urged him on. The miscreants deserved every pounding Bran gave them.
Gren took a shaky breath, then let loose another long cry. She was a widow! Not a trollop or anyone's mistress. Rumor of her baby had spread. Most of Carmine believed she was Master Rennan's lover, that he had brought her here to provide for the baby, explain to Lady Averella, and beg forgiveness. This wretched falsehood made Gren despised, for the people of Carmine felt Master Rennan belonged with Lady Averella.
Sounds of a struggle rose out of the vineyard where Master Rennan had chased the boys. How unfair that he had to put up with Gren's problems. He was too kind for such an assignment.
A shadow shifted to Gren's right. A rawboned man crept through the vines, his legs and arms moving slowly, like the spider crabs she'd seen when Father had taken her to the sea.
Achan didn't like the gleam in the man's eyes. Run, Grenny.
Gren tilted her head and gasped. Achan?
Run!
Gren spun around to face a fourth man who'd been standing behind her. He was a boar, bulky and tall with arms like clubs.
He stared down through heavy-lidded eyes. You'll come with Mak and me, little morsel. He seemed to growl each word.
Queasiness flashed in Gren's stomach. I will not! She pivoted and stalked into the vines on her left, down the path Master Rennan had taken. One row to her right, she glimpsed Mak, the spider crab, creeping parallel through the vines.
Gren, please run, Achan said. Find Bran.
Gren started to jog. A hand snagged the ties of her apron and jerked her back. She twirled around and pushed the big man's bull-like chest, fire engulfing her limbs. Let go of me.
The man swung a fist. Gren screamed, ducked, and tore after Bran. Mak leaped in her path. She darted left, thrusting her body through the vines, and let her legs take over her swirling mind. Achan urged her on, his own heart pounding with the horror of Gren's reality.
Gren sprinted, darting from path to
path toward the hedge wall that grew around the perimeter of the vineyard. Exits cut through hedge wall every so often. She had to find one. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed no one. She slowed to a stop, gulping in deep breaths, and listened. Leaves rustled. Had the noise come from behind her or...
Cetheria, great goddess of protection, shield me from those scoundrels. I beg you keep me safe. Lead me to the exit.
No, Gren, Achan said. Call on Arman.
Arman?
Mak stepped out of the vines and stood, legs apart, hands on his hips.
Gren wheeled around and plowed into the big man's chest again. Achan fumed. How could a man so huge sneak up on anyone?
Gren edged back, but this time the big man lunged forward and grabbed her wrists. With all the power her lungs contained, she screamed. Bran! Help. Two--
The man struck her and she crumpled to the ground, head ringing, throbbing. Her vision blurred, cloudy and strange. She couldn't concentrate. She must get up, right? A vague urgency nagged at the back of her mind.
Aye, Gren. Get up! Achan heard her groan but could no longer see. Her body scraped over leaves and dirt, her shoulders ached. Vines, leaves, and twigs slapped at her feet.
She stinks! the big man said.
The boys threw cow dung at her, Chod. Mak's voice, nasal and high-pitched grated on Achan's nerves.
Next time I'll pay them less if they can't hit the right target.
Gren! Grendolyn Fenny, wake up. What could Achan do, trapped in her mind? He concentrated on Mak's jarring voice and suddenly found himself in the young man's mind as he leered at Gren's limp body. Achan wanted to kill this man for the thoughts in his head.
Chod dropped Gren's feet and smiled at Mak with rotting teeth.
Achan attacked through Mak. He punched Chod twice, only seeming to hurt Mak's hand. Fire shot through Achan's.
Chod stared at Mak, sluggish eyes sad. What's that for?
Achan ripped down a trellis and broke the narrow board over his knee. He lunged, poking Chod in the chest. Chod snagged it away. Achan charged, but Mak's size was no match for Chod, who knocked Mak flying with one punch.
Achan's mind floated into the air, drifting, detached from any other. He looked down on the scene from above. Gren, Chod, and Mak in the center of the vineyard. A dozen rows away, Bran searched.
Achan blinked and found himself inside Bran's head. The squire was filled with a fury and fear that matched Achan's. Aye, Achan much preferred Bran's thoughts.
Achan concentrated in Gren's direction. She's that way.
Thank you, Arman! Bran took off, sprinting, ducking under trellises, dodging low vines, cutting across paths.
A scream tore through the air, and Bran poured on the speed, heart beating as though it might erupt.
You passed them! Achan concentrated harder on the location. Go back two rows and turn left.
Bran obeyed and found Gren and Chod rolling on the ground. Gren clawed at the big man's bloodied face. He tried to hold her down, but Gren kneed him and wriggled free.
Bran drew his sword, steel scraping over wood. Chod froze.
Pulse thudding in his ears, Bran's hands trembled, making his blade quiver. Get up!
Chod stared, heavy eyes sizing up his opponent.
I could kill you or let you rot the rest of your days in the dungeon. Decide now!
Chod pulled one knee up and pushed himself to--
Icy water doused Achan's head. He jerked and gasped. He lay on cold ground on a dark night. Shadowed men stood above him. How had he gotten here? Was this Chod's reality? In the dungeon?
"Achan, for Lightness sake, lad, speak to us!"
Achan pushed himself to one elbow. "Sir Gavin?"
The sound of a long sniff and sigh met his ears. "Welcome back, lad."
Achan clutched the frosty grass beneath him and shivered. "Gren." Bran had arrived in time. He relaxed but his throat tightened, his eyes flooded. He blinked rapidly, not in the mood for his emotions to best him. "I looked in on Gren." He panted, sniffed away his agitation. "All is well now."
"Tell us," Sir Caleb said.
So Achan did.
Inko groaned. "This is going to be the end of him. You're all knowing that, right? If he's not being taught the proper way to use his gift, we'll be losing him."
"How?" Achan asked. "What did I do?"
"'Tis my fault," Sir Gavin said. "I told him to look in on a friend the other night, to teach him to watch. I forgot to explain he shouldn't do it often."
"What Sir Gavin means," Sir Caleb said, "is you should never watch without someone staying with your body, to check on you. The longer you watch, the more comfortable you can get. You can forget to come back or be lost to the Veil--"
"Or be killed," Sir Gavin said. "'Tis happened plenty of times. Man gets too fond of watching and someone stabs him while he's out of his body."
"And you mustn't control others with your mind," Sir Caleb said. "That's not an ethical use of your gift."
"It is a dark use of your power," Sparrow said. "Macoun Hadar wanted to teach me. Thankfully I left before he could."
Achan recoiled under the weight of so many rebukes. Hot frustration took over. "But I was saving her! You don't know. You weren't there. I couldn't let them... What was I supposed to do?"
"You must focus on your task, in your own body," Sir Caleb said.
"There's nothing to focus on! We're riding through Darkness for days on end."
"The lady is not your responsibility," Sir Caleb said. "You must leave her to Sir Rigil and Master Rennan."
Achan fought to bottle his anger. "Sir Rigil wasn't present. Bran was easily fooled by dung-wielding rascals who got paid for their diversion. No offense to Bran, but he failed today."
"And he'll learn from this experience and next time be more prudent," Sir Caleb said. "These things happen to us all. It's part of learning how to--"
"I'll not risk Gren to his inexperience." Achan stood and brushed the wetness from his britches. "He should learn before being entrusted with a lady's well-being, not during."
Another long sniff and sigh from Sir Gavin. "Let's keep going and we'll talk more of this tonight at camp."
* * *
Vrell kept a close eye on Achan. She worried for him. All he'd lost. And now his guilt over putting Gren in harm's way. She could think of nothing to do but pray.
They found the ZamarRiver and followed it north. Their horses carried them over the first patches of snow. Sir Caleb gave Achan and Vrell capes he'd acquired in Mirrorstone. Then he taught Vrell to make a snare out of twine, though they blessedly never stopped long enough to try it. He also gave more swordplay lessons and lectured Achan and Vrell on technique. Vrell's confidence grew the more she learned, but she dreaded every rustle or creak as an impending battle she would fail to survive.
The weather got colder and, thankfully, there were no more mosquitoes. Vrell woke one morning to find fresh snow covering her bedroll. They were still a day or two from Berland and were not supplied for such weather. When they stopped the next night, Sir Gavin allowed Sir Caleb to build a campfire. Sir Caleb tried to talk Vrell into going hunting with him along the river, to sneak up on a gowzal nest. Vrell did not want to kill anything with a knife. She went to Sir Gavin and begged his help. Sir Gavin urged Sir Caleb to take Inko instead.
But once they had gone, Sir Gavin lectured her. "If Vrell Sparrow doesn't wish to be Achan's squire, he should be honest with Caleb about it. There's no shame in being a healer. 'Tis a noble profession for a young man. Squiredom isn't for everyone. Caleb will understand."
"I'll find a way to tell him." Vrell cleared a spot in the snow beside the fire and put out her bedroll, loathing the impending confession. She stared into the orange flames. Sir Caleb might understand why Vrell Sparrow did not want to be a squire, but would Achan?
21
Achan trudged through the snow into the small clearing the knights had dug out. Sparrow sat cross-legged on his bedroll, pink fingers
outstretched toward the flames.
Achan crouched beside the boy, numb from the cold. He drew his cloak tighter. Sir Gavin stood by the horses, rummaging through his saddlebag. Inko and Sir Caleb were hunting. The day's ride had been long and tedious. He had to do something active or he'd freeze. Or go insane.
He glanced at Sparrow. Time for another lesson. He pounced, knocking the boy off his bedroll. Their heads sank beneath the snow edging the clearing. Sparrow squirmed like a fish on the bank and beat his fists on Achan's chest. Achan rolled to his knees, flipped the boy over, and straddled his waist. Sparrow was a feather, despite his chubby gut.
"Get off!" Sparrow yelled. "The snow is freezing."
Achan swung his leg off the boy and fell into the snow on his back. "You should be more aware of who's around you."
Sparrow crawled to his bedroll. "I was aware you were warming your hands, but I did not expect you to attack."
Achan sat up and shook the snow from his hair. "If you don't take this seriously, I'll have to replace you as my squire."
"I have been practicing hard--" Sparrow paused. "Ah, well, now that you mention it, I am certain another would be better qualified for your squire."
"Exactly my point. I don't want someone else, but you're a weakling. There must be a way to help you grow some muscle. Maybe you should start carrying Sir Gavin's pack."
"You are supposed to be a king, not a jester."
"I wasn't jesting. Sir Gavin made me do exercises to strengthen my arms. You should too. Come here."
"But I am cold."
Achan stood. Snow fell over the tops of his boots and melted down his legs. "Come here, Sparrow. Now."
Sparrow sighed and stood. He trudged through the snow and stopped before Achan, slouching, eyes rolled in defeat.
It amused Achan how well Sparrow obeyed. "Try the leg sweep again. Knock me down."
"I cannot do the leg sweep." Sparrow's voice warbled. "You know that."
"You can, you're just afraid. The trick is to get close and push. Best if I don't see it coming."
To Darkness Fled--Kindle Page 23