The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  A stack of ivory dice sat next to Jessa, and she idly grabbed them, stuffing the dice into the leather shaker embossed with the logo of the Wretched Barth, that of a spindly old man, back bent as he leaned over a cane.

  They had been in the tavern for nearly thirty minutes but so far, no one else had come.

  “We can go,” Jessa said.

  Rsiran shook his head. “You’re right. We need to be out of the smithy more. I haven’t seen Haern in…” He thought about it, realizing it had been when they’d broken into the alchemist guild house. “A long time.”

  “You’re not even touching your ale.”

  He looked down at the mug. He wanted to take a drink, but hadn’t done more than sip. Were he honest with himself, it was because he feared dulling his senses. “It’s not the same,” he said, flicking his eyes toward the kitchen. Once, Lianna had been there, always bustling around, making certain to welcome everyone. Gillian was pleasant, but it really wasn’t the same.

  Jessa nodded, saying nothing as she took a long drink from her mug.

  The door pushed open and a gust of cool sea air whistled into the tavern. Rsiran looked over, not really expecting anyone he knew. The Barth had always been the place they congregated, but with everything that had happened, he didn’t know if any of the others had still been coming.

  Brusus walked in. Other than his dark tunic and pants, clothes more formal than usual in Lower Town, he looked mostly the same. Dark hair streaked with grey. Pale green eyes—a glamour of sorts hiding his true abilities—scanned the tavern before settling on Rsiran. A wide smile split his face.

  “Haern said you’d be here. ’Bout time you returned,” he said as he approached the table. Brusus threw himself into one of the open chairs, his back to the door, and looked from Rsiran to Jessa. One hand slapped down onto the table, the heavy ring he wore thudding against the surface. “You get your arrangements complete?”

  Rsiran let out a slow breath. Brusus knew what he’d been doing. Not surprising—he usually did—and Rsiran wondered how much he actually knew. Had he learned about the alloy? Or only that Rsiran worked to fortify the smithy? Either way, Brusus had given him space. For that he should be thankful.

  Jessa set her hand on his leg. He appreciated the warmth from it, the comfort she offered. “I just wanted to make sure we’d be safe,” Rsiran said.

  Brusus met his eyes with a solemn expression. “I’m sorry about what happened, Rsiran. Not sure I ever told you that. I should have brought you in sooner. After all that you did,” he lowered his voice, “and the fact that it was your knives I was using to get information, well… I should have told you.” He turned to Jessa. “And you. Having Josun take you…”

  Jessa shook her head. One hand pulled gently on her hair. It hung loose tonight, flowing over her shoulders. “I’m fine, Brusus. Really.”

  Rsiran didn’t know if Brusus recognized the catch in her voice. Jessa hadn’t spoken about what Josun had done to her while she was captured other than to say she was unharmed. Partly he didn’t want to know. If he did, would he have simply left Josun trapped within the second mine shaft at Ilphaesn or would he have done something more definitive? The first time he thought he’d killed Josun back in the palace had been hard, but at least then it had been self-defense. Anything he did now would be murder.

  Rsiran leaned forward and set both hands on the table. Instinctively, he checked his sense of the knives in his pockets, reassured by the connection. He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to confront Brusus, but they needed to understand what Brusus had gotten them into. Only then could they decide if they would help.

  “I need to know everything, Brusus. You can’t keep us in the dark anymore.”

  Brusus looked from Jessa to Rsiran as a young serving girl brought a mug of ale over and set it in front of Brusus. She had medium green eyes and long, wavy auburn hair. She flashed a smile at Brusus that he returned.

  When she stepped away from them, Brusus turned to Rsiran. “Dangerous topic, even for the Barth,” he whispered. “Talk of the Elvraeth, and especially the Forgotten—shouldn’t really be having those conversations here. After what happened with Jessa, I realized it was time I understood more.”

  “That’s when you realized?” Rsiran asked.

  “What can I say? I ignored the risk you both took. We all took. But I’ve been trying to correct that. Tomorrow, I’ll come to the smithy, and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned. It’s time for you to know everything.”

  “Just tell us,” Jessa said.

  Brusus shook his head. “Like I said. It’s a dangerous topic.”

  Rsiran snorted. “Why should we wait? We could go to the smithy tonight. I can assure you it’s safe.”

  Jessa squeezed his leg, and Rsiran immediately regretted pushing Brusus like that. He’d agreed they would spend the night away from the smithy, and now he suggested returning?

  Brusus’s face hardened. For a moment, his eyes flared a darker green. “That’s the problem. Nothing is really safe. Not like I thought. That was my mistake.”

  Brusus took a long drink from his ale and set it back down onto the table. He started coughing and a hint of blood streaked from the corner of his mouth. His eyes widened briefly, and he looked down at the mug, a curious expression as he stared at it.

  “Rsiran—”

  He looked over to see what had gotten Jessa’s attention. The music in the tavern had fallen silent. None of the serving staff were out on the floor as they usually were. The two men sitting at the table nearest them stood. Rsiran noticed their flint grey eyes first and the swords at their waists next.

  Brusus coughed again.

  Rsiran glanced down. Brusus’s head rested on the table. Blood pooled around his mouth.

  “Rsiran!”

  He snapped his head around. One of the men had grabbed Jessa. She kicked and jerked away, but he was stronger. The other man’s sword unsheathed, and he sliced toward her neck.

  Without thinking, Rsiran pushed one of his knives toward the man. It sank into his chest. He spun and collapsed. The other man twisted, pulling Jessa in front of him. Rsiran jerked the knife free from the fallen man and sent it flying toward the other’s leg. He collapsed with a scream but still held onto Jessa.

  She kicked again, stomping on the injured leg, and he let go.

  Jessa grabbed his hand.

  Rsiran reached for Brusus with his other hand. The only thought in his mind was escape.

  Another pair of men separated from the corner table. They had no swords, but the flash of green eyes told Rsiran they were of Elaeavn. Knives appeared in their hands. Slender blades made of steel. Had they been lorcith, he could have used them against the men.

  One of the knives spun toward him.

  Rsiran Slid.

  Taking two people with him was much more difficult than Sliding with only one. The only other time he’d attempted more was when they’d buried Lianna. That had taken him the better part of two days to recover.

  He had the sense of movement, slower than usual, and the hot, bitter scent like lorcith. Color blurred past, but not quickly enough.

  Something hot and painful stuck into his shoulder.

  Rsiran cried out and ripped through the remainder of the Slide.

  They emerged in Della’s home. Fatigue washed over him, and he nearly collapsed. A small fire crackled quietly in the hearth. Two chairs angled toward the fire. The smells of mint tea and the spicy scent of jarred herbs assaulted him.

  “Della?” His voice was weak. His shoulder throbbed and spasmed. Della should have felt the ripples of his Slide. Where was she?

  Jessa screamed.

  Rsiran spun. Jessa backed toward the wall, arms pinned behind her back by the man who’d thrown the knife at them. She tripped and kicked over a stack of books, but the man held her upright. His green eyes blazed. Rsiran wondered briefly what ability he possessed.

  He let go of Brusus, focusing on Jessa. “Let her go.” His voice came out
hard and angry.

  A dark smile twisted the man’s face. He had short black hair and a lean face. Heavy embroidery worked along the collar of his dark navy shirt. The forest green pants he wore were simpler, but still embroidered. Expensive clothes, Rsiran knew. Elvraeth clothes.

  “That’s not the job,” the man hissed.

  He jerked on Jessa’s arms. A knife suddenly appeared and pressed against her neck. A line of blood streaked where the blade touched. Rsiran hoped it wasn’t poisoned like Neelish blades.

  “What’s the job?” he asked.

  The man’s smile tightened. “You.”

  Rsiran pushed the two knives in his pockets toward the man. As flashed toward him, the man somehow managed to smack them out of the air with his knife, sending them flying across the room, before slipping it back against Jessa’s throat.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Come with me, and the girl can live.”

  Rsiran doubted he’d let her live. His knives were gone. Brusus was down—likely poisoned—and Jessa couldn’t move. Blood trickled from her neck.

  Without thinking too much—and if he had, he would’ve hesitated and risked Jessa—he Slid.

  He emerged behind the man and grabbed the arm holding the knife against Jessa’s throat and twisted. Years working in the smithy—especially the last few months—had built his strength. The man’s arm bent and snapped, the knife dropping to the ground. He screamed softly.

  Jessa jerked away, and Rsiran felt a moment of satisfaction that she was safe. Then the man twisted, spinning to face Rsiran. His knee came up and connected with Rsiran’s stomach. He bent over, the wind knocked from his lungs. Another knee struck his face, sending him backward, sprawling to the ground.

  The man knelt on Rsiran’s chest. His good hand slipped around Rsiran’s throat and squeezed. Rsiran’s vision faded, blackness swimming around him.

  The man grunted and fell over, the pressure coming off Rsiran’s chest.

  He looked up. Jessa held the man’s knife and had plunged it into his back. Blood slicked the blade. She kicked him for good measure. He grunted again and fell silent.

  “Are you…” he started. It hurt to talk and his voice felt rough.

  She put her hand to her neck and pulled it away. Blood stained her palm but at least crusted around the wound. “Fine. Just burns a little.”

  “Brusus?” Rsiran asked, pushing himself to his feet. Everything hurt. His neck, his stomach and face, but most of all his back.

  “Still breathing when I checked,” Jessa said.

  “He won’t for long. This poison will work quickly.”

  Rsiran looked over. Della leaned over Brusus, her hand running across his forehead, pressing down and wiping the sheen of sweat off him. She wore a thick, pale green robe and her grey hair twisted into a bun atop her head. Deep green eyes looked at Rsiran and Jessa before turning to the man lying motionless on the floor.

  “Can you help him?” Rsiran asked.

  Della stood. Wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deepened. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know the poison.” She looked down at Brusus. “I’m sorry, Rsiran. There are limits to what I know.”

  Chapter 5

  Rsiran sat next to Brusus. They had lifted him onto a cot Della stored in her back room. Since Rsiran had met her, she’d used it frequently, often for him. Dried blood caked along Brusus’s mouth. His chest rose slowly, his breathing shallow. Della stood on the other side, hands resting on his exposed chest, eyes wide and blazing a brilliant green.

  Their attacker was bound gagged, and shoved into a corner. Every so often, Rsiran resisted the urge to go to him and kick. Della watched him, her face twisted into a concentrated mask.

  “All I can do is slow it,” she whispered.

  Brusus hadn’t moved since they’d brought him from the Barth. Jessa had built the fire up in the hearth so it now blazed brightly, pushing out warmth he didn’t fully feel. She sat behind Rsiran in the other chair, eyes closed. Her neck had been bandaged. As she’d said, the wound hadn’t been deep. And, thankfully, not poisoned. Della promised to Heal her fully later.

  Rsiran’s shoulder throbbed. Somehow a knife had struck his back as he’d Slid. He didn’t think that was possible, but hadn’t expected someone could grab hold and Slide with him, either. Della had pulled the knife from his back and Healed his wound. Quick work, not like she would have done had she not had Brusus to worry about, as well, but enough that he wouldn’t die from it. His stomach and face still hurt from where the man had kneed him, but there wasn’t much to do for that except give it time.

  “He grabbed onto the Slide,” Rsiran said. He looked at where the man rested. His arms were bound tightly behind him, and his legs were lashed together. Della hadn’t attempted to Heal him, but said he’d live.

  She nodded. “That can happen if they know you’re going to Slide.”

  “How would they know?”

  She frowned. “What has Jessa told you that she sees when you Slide?”

  “Most of the time she comes with me.”

  Della smiled. “When I watch, I see nothing distinct, but there is a pattern. Faint swirls of color. You must know what you’re looking for to see it.”

  Rsiran understood what she implied. “You’re saying he’s been around another Slider before.”

  Della glanced at the man. He hadn’t moved since they’d tied him. “That’s likely how he knew what you were doing. Otherwise, I think you Slide too quickly to catch.”

  “I didn’t realize there was a speed to Sliding.”

  Della looked at him with concern. “You’ve grown strong since I’ve met you. Now all I see are brief flashes. I don’t know how he managed to catch you before you Slid.”

  Rsiran looked at the man’s clothing and remembered the deep green eyes. “He’s Elvraeth.”

  “Perhaps he was once.”

  Rsiran’s breath caught. “What are you saying? He’s one of the Forgotten?”

  Brusus’s breathing seemed to quicken, and Della touched his face again, running her hand across his cheeks. His breathing settled back into a steady rhythm.

  “All I am saying is he’s not of Elaeavn. Whatever else he is, I don’t know with certainty.”

  Rsiran sighed. Elvraeth and Forgotten. A dangerous combination. “Why did he want me?”

  She shook her head. “His barriers were too solid. Still are. I cannot Read him.”

  He looked down to Brusus. If he died, Rsiran would lose any opportunity to understand what he planned, and what he might know about the Forgotten. But it was more than that for him. Brusus was a friend. “Is there anything that can save him?”

  Della didn’t look up. “As I said, I do not know the poison.”

  “I could Slide wherever we need—”

  “And look for what, exactly? Whatever poison was used on him thins the blood. If we knew what it was, we might be able to help, but I do not. I can slow this, but that is all.” She shook her head. “Brusus knew the risks with what he did. Especially lately. I’m sorry, Rsiran.”

  He swallowed back the lump in his throat. The idea of Brusus dying was too much to take. He’d almost lost him once and had to reveal his ability to save him. Even after what he’d been through—or maybe because of it—he didn’t want to risk losing him again.

  “And Haern? Can’t he help?”

  “I can’t See where Haern has gone,” Della said softly.

  Rsiran thought about the lorcith knives he’d made, focusing on them for a moment, but he’d made too many, and there was no guarantee that Haern still carried his. Rsiran could Slide toward each, but what if he came upon a constable? Or worse, one of the Elvraeth? That would be worse for them and would draw attention to Jessa, to him.

  But this was Brusus.

  His chest felt tight and tears welled in his eyes. He’d been a fool. Letting anger push away his friends—the only people who’d accepted him after everything he’d been through—when he should have been looking for ways to help
. Had he done that, maybe he would have realized what Brusus was doing. The stress he was under and the risks he took.

  “I see you have come back to us,” Della said.

  Had Rsiran not known better, he would have suspected she’d Read him. But Jessa read him much the same way, using her Sight to understand the changes in his mood. “I’ve…” He didn’t know what to say. How to explain how stupid he’d been? “I’m sorry, Della.”

  She laughed, her voice light but strained. “No need to be sorry, Rsiran. We all must work through things in our own way. You have been through more than most in your short time.” She met his eyes. An unidentifiable weight settled in her gaze, something that came from years and wisdom. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you. For any of you, really. I suspect the Great Watcher brought you together for a reason. Brusus never saw it like that. Always felt it his responsibility to keep others safe, to protect them from what his mother went through.” She lowered her eyes. “Brusus only thought to keep you safe. He didn’t know how deep the Forgotten had managed to reach.”

  He looked over to where Jessa slept. Her breathing seemed easy and steady. Rsiran had panicked when they were attacked, fear nearly overwhelming him at the prospect of losing her again. He wouldn’t let that happen.

  “I’ve been doing the same with Jessa. She’s been pushing back.” It didn’t change what he needed to do. For Jessa, he’d do whatever it took.

  Della smiled and tottered behind a counter and brought him a mug of mint tea. “I never said it was the right thing to do. Only that was what Brusus chose.”

  She set her hands atop Brusus. Rsiran hadn’t noticed, but in the moments she’d stepped away, color had drained even more from his face. His breathing had slowed. Now that he was aware of it, he heard a steady wheezing. Everything eased as Della touched Brusus’s chest.

  “You’re slowing the poison.”

  Della nodded.

  “And you have to be by him to do it?” He couldn’t imagine the strength required to keep sustained use of her abilities.

  “I had thought to give him enough time to say his goodbyes.” She sighed. The wrinkles around her eyes looked deeper than they’d been. “He won’t wake up, but I can hold it at bay longer this way.”