From Darkness Won by Jill Williamson
Published by Marcher Lord Press
8345 Pepperridge Drive
Colorado Springs, CO 80920
www.marcherlordpress.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
MARCHER LORD PRESS and the MARCHER LORD PRESS logo are trademarks of Marcher Lord Press. Absence of TM in connection with marks of Marcher Lord Press or other parties does not indicate an absence of trademark protection of those marks.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Designer: Kirk DouPonce, Dog-Eared Design, www.dogeareddesign.com
Cover Photo By: Kirk DouPonce
Creative Team: Jeff Gerke, Dawn Shelton
Copyright © 2011 by Jill Williamson
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
An application to register this book for cataloging has been filed with the Library of Congress.
International Standard Book Number: 978-0-9825987-7-1
Advance Praise for From Darkness Won
“A satisfying end to a ground-breaking trilogy. Can’t wait to see what Jill Williamson comes up with next!”
Kathy Tyers, author of The Annotated Firebird
“From Darkness Won had me up until 3:00 a.m. reading. It bonds to your hands the moment you pick it up, refusing to be put down until the last page falls.”
Christian Miles, author of The Scarlet Key
“From Darkness Won is filled with action, romance, adventure and mystery. The storyline races forward, launching the reader through battle, loss, and victory. Just when the reader thinks all is known, Williamson twists the tale with one or two or five more surprises.”
Amy Meyer
“My life wouldn’t be the same without By Darkness Hid, To Darkness Fled, and last but not least, From Darkness Won. Jill Williamson held me a captive audience from first to last.”
Adele Hajicek, writing as Adele Treskillard, 19
“Aside from finding a wife of my own and following God, I can say that one thing I would love to see/help with is making the Blood of Kings series into movies. From Darkness Won is the riveting conclusion to a series of epic proportions.”
Leighton, 16
Praise for To Darkness Fled
“Williamson pens an action-packed, imaginative second installment in the Blood of Kings trilogy. All the familiar epic elements and emotions are freshly rendered, with Vrell and Achan especially memorable as they grow during their journey. The pace gallops along, leaving readers hungry for the concluding book.”
Publisher’s Weekly
Praise for By Darkness Hid
“This thoroughly entertaining and smart tale will appeal to fans of Donita K. Paul and J.R.R. Tolkien. Highly recommended for CF and fantasy collections.”
Library Journal
“Kings, politics, orphans (called strays), knights, squires, bloodvoicing (mind reading), darkness, and light. This book is packed full of everything you could possibly ask for.”
USA Today Faith & Reason Book Club Blog
“Wonderfully written with a superb plot, this book is a surefire hit with almost any reader. An adventure tale with a touch of romance and enough intrigue to keep the pages turning practically by themselves.”
Voice of Youth Advocates
“It is rare to come across a book in the fantasy genre that has such an organic feel… Once in a while there comes along an author who takes classic fantasy plot contrivances and breathes new life into them.”
Church Libraries
“By Darkness Hid is the kind of fantasy that should be on Christian bookstore shelves everywhere. Fascinating and complete. If you like fantasy novels at all, you owe it to yourself to get hold of this one. I can’t wait to explore it further. Highly recommended.”
Christian Fiction Review
“I love a good fantasy, and By Darkness Hid more than fills the bill. With an unpredictable plot, twists of supernatural ability, and finely crafted tension between the forces of good and evil, Jill Williamson’s book had me captivated. I jumped into the skin of the heroine and enjoyed her journey as if it were my own.”
Donita K. Paul, author of the Dragon Keeper Chronicles
“Jill Williamson is a major arrival. She presents characters full of mystery and leaves room for plenty of further exploration. By Darkness Hid is a fast-paced addition to the world of swords and sorcery, using a backdrop of political and spiritual intrigue to heighten the tension. When readers begin lining up for the sequel, you’ll find me at the front of the line.”
Eric Wilson, author of Field of Blood and Haunt of Jackals
To Adele, Chris, Jacob, Leighton, and Ness
for your enthusiasm, help, friendship,
and random texts of the day.
PROLOGUE
Torch in hand, Sidal climbed behind his master up the spiral staircase of the Mahanaim watchtower. “But, sir, why is the teacher called ‘Hadad’?”
Macoun sent his reply to Sidal’s mind. The title was chosen for its meaning and similarity to the royal name Hadar. And it is the Hadad, not simply Hadad. It isn’t a name but a role, a human host for the keliy.
“What does ‘the Hadad’ mean, then?”
God of rain, storms, and thunder. Division.
Sidal considered this as they reached a short landing then started up another flight of stairs. “Does the Hadad believe that claiming such a title makes him a god?”
No one claims the title “the Hadad,” boy. For hundreds of years past, the keliy has chosen its host. Not the other way around.
“What is a keliy?”
The keliy. There is only one. It is a powerful deity.
That a god would take a human form intrigued Sidal. The chosen one must be a great man. “Will your master approve of me?”
Perhaps. If you hold your tongue and mind your place.
Sidal glanced over his shoulder. The torch cast light and shadow over the armored men walking behind him.
Sakin Magos. Black knights. Two of them.
Sidal had never accompanied his master on such an outing before. The presence of the black knights shot a thrill through his stomach. He picked up his pace. “How does your master decide who to train? Will it help if I tell him I’ve always wanted to be a Black Knight?”
It will help if you speak to me with your bloodvoice and not your audible one.
“Sorry, sir.” I mean, sorry, sir. Do you think it will help, though?
The Hadad trains who he wants to train. Your prattling on will not make you more endearing.
Right. Curse his babbling tongue, anyway. Sidal had never seen a talkative black knight. If he wanted to join their ranks— to impress the Hadad—he would have to practice being serene and silent.
At the top of the stairs, Macoun stopped at a board and batten door. “Wait outside,” he told the black knights. “Sidal, come with me.”
Sidal slipped the torch into a ring on the wall outside the door and followed his master into a warm chamber.
The circular room was mostly empty, lit by a candle on the floor beside a narrow cot. There was nothing inside but the cot, the candle, and a birdcage on a fluted pedestal before a small window. A gowzal sat on the perch inside, watching them with its bead-like eyes. Sidal did not see the Hadad anywher
e. The heat of the room warmed his face, though he did not know where the heat came from.
“How is it so warm, Master?”
Macoun shot Sidal an irritated glare.
Forgive me, Master. But there is no fireplace. I don’t—
A voice sizzled out of the darkness. “We have nearly accomplished our goal, Macoun. Everything is in place.”
Sidal jumped, for he had not seen the man standing before the window. His hooded black cape masked his body against the shadowed walls.
The Hadad.
Sidal stood beside his master, trembling in the presence of the great teacher.
The Hadad gazed out over the city. “So many years and it’s nearly within my grasp.”
“What is, sir?” Sidal asked.
Silence, boy! Macoun sent Sidal another glare.
The Hadad turned, his dark gaze falling on Sidal, who straightened under the teacher’s scrutiny. “Who is this, Macoun?”
“One of my apprentices, Master.”
“His name?”
“Sidal son of Lekim.”
“Lekim.” The Hadad drew out the m. “Lekim is a black knight, is he not?”
Sidal dared to glance up. “Was, my lord. He was killed during an attack against Sir Gavin Whitewolf and his prince just outside Mirrorstone.”
The Hadad lifted his chin. “Yes, I remember. I daresay you have no love of our king in waiting.”
Sidal pulled his dagger from his belt and squeezed the handle. “If I were to see Sir Gavin or his princeling, I would kill them both.”
The Hadad chuckled. “He’s precious, Macoun. Wherever did you find him?”
“His mother brought him to me after his father was killed.”
“Hmm.” The Hadad peered down on Sidal. “Seems to me the father was a failure. And so the son will likely be. You do find the lowliest apprentices, Macoun.”
Fire shot through Sidal’s veins. How dare this man call his father a—
Macoun gripped Sidal’s empty hand. Put the knife away, boy.
Sidal obeyed, as if he had no choice.
Macoun lifted their joined hands. “I use what comes to me, Master, as you once instructed. See?”
A chill shot up Sidal’s arm and pooled in his chest. He tried to pull away from his master’s touch but found he could not move.
Macoun pushed his other hand outward, palm facing the Hadad. Green lines of light crackled around his fingers, swirled in his palm, and settled there like a ball of light.
“So this boy is your crutch,” the Hadad said. “Very clever of you to find a way to make magic, Macoun, but I have more important things to discuss. What does Lord Nathak say his son will do now that—?”
“Not today,” Macoun said, his voice a droning hum. “For you have tarried too long.” He thrust out his palm, lobbing the ball of light at the Hadad.
The teacher caught it in a burst of sparks and wind that blew Sidal’s hair back from his face. “Too long for what?”
Macoun’s robes billowed around him as a new ball of light gathered on his palm. “The time has come for another to take your place.”
The Hadad’s eyebrows curled. “And you think it will be you?” He motioned to Sidal. “You can barely stand without stealing some poor fool’s energy, and your strikes”—he lifted his hand and deflected Macoun’s next attack—“are child’s play.”
Sidal didn’t understand what Macoun was doing. They had never practiced such magic. He wanted the cold to stop. For his master to release his hold. But he could not move.
Macoun lobbed another ball of green flame. “The keliy tires of your pace, master. It came to me. Suggested I could do what you could not.”
“Lies! The keliy has been loyal to me all these years. It would never betray me so.” The Hadad threw a handful of green fire at Sidal.
Sidal wanted to duck aside, but he was still frozen by Macoun’s touch.
Macoun disintegrated the fire with a pulse of green smoke from his hand. “That is where you are mistaken. The keliy is not your servant. It is your master. It wants what it wants, and you have taken far too long to deliver.”
The Hadad sputtered. “How dare you! I have spent years setting everything up. The time is at hand. All my hard work—”
“Will become mine.” Macoun shot a stream of light that singed the sleeve of the Hadad’s robe.
The Hadad howled.
Macoun sent a second stream. “Did you not wonder why Esek did not call out to you when his arm was severed from his body?”
This time the Hadad dodged the attack. “The keliy told me he healed him.”
“I healed him,” Macoun said. “The keliy gave me the power.”
The Hadad stumbled on his robe, and one of Macoun’s streams of fire burned his cheek. He screamed, straightened, and conjured a shield of green light before him. “You cannot use your lies on me. Do not forget who taught you. Who raised you.”
Macoun stilled, his hand suspended before him. “I will never forget the life you gave me, Master. But the end comes to us all. And when it comes to you, I am the next chosen. So the keliy has said. I feel it only wise to take my position posthaste. Esek is subject to me now, as is his father. Only you stand in my way.”
“If you wish to die, you only need ask.” The Hadad thrust both hands out before him. His shield broke apart like a hundred glowing knives flying their way. The gowzal in the cage shrieked.
Slivers of fire knocked Sidal to the floor, breaking his contact with Macoun. Heat flooded back into Sidal’s body. He lay on his side, facing the open floor. His vision spun, everything a blur of flashing green light and dancing shadows. He blinked until his sight cleared. He wanted to get up, to slip down the stairs and flee the stronghold, but Macoun had taken all his strength.
The two sorcerers circled one another, throwing bolts of green lightning like spears. The bitter tang of charred wool wrinkled Sidal’s nose. When the green light flashed, Sidal could see feathers floating in the air. Hundreds of gowzals circled the tower outside, squawking, shrieking, passing by the window in a tangle of black wings.
Macoun struck the Hadad with a blast of green steam. The Hadad’s robe and hair blew back. He countered by flinging a glowing scythe. Macoun spun to the side, and the scythe cut through the back hem of his robe.
Macoun attacked again, as did the Hadad. Their power clashed between them. Knotted. Macoun pushed. The Hadad pushed. They stood on opposite sides of the chamber, the Hadad with his back to Sidal, his heels barely an arm’s length from Sidal’s limp hand. Peering around the hem of the Hadad’s robe, Sidal could see only half of Macoun’s face across the room.
They stood like that, grunting, pushing. The gowzals continued to screech and flap their wings. Sidal stared at his fingers, squeezed his fist. He could move again. His energy had returned. He sat up and backed against the wall.
“Haahh!” the Hadad roared. A blast shook the tower. Sidal looked around the Hadad in time to see Macoun’s body fall.
A snare coiled around Sidal’s stomach. His master! What could he do to—
Sidal’s limbs turned again to ice. He stiffened, cold, yet mobile this time. Immense. Strong. Against his will, his body pushed to his feet, crept forward a step. And another. His hand slid to his belt, withdrew his dagger.
Watch and learn, boy.
The voice was Macoun’s, yet it was Sidal’s thoughts, deeper and more intimate than mere bloodvoicing.
The Hadad, lit now by nothing but the lone candle, stood over Macoun’s body, kicked it. “Fool that you are, Macoun. As if you could ever defeat—”
Sidal plunged the dagger into the Hadad’s back. The act horrified him, thrilled him, confused him. He still had no control over his own actions.
The Hadad screamed, turned to look at Sidal, but before he could speak, his body seized, his back arched, and a pale face rose out of his chest.
Tall and impossibly thin, a semi-transparent creature seeped out of the Hadad’s body until it loomed over him, hu
nching under the ceiling. Its long limbs were corded in muscles. It had no hair, but cragged ridges ran from its chin, up its cheeks, over its head, then curled and darkened into black ram’s horns. Charcoal veins bulged all over the creature’s milky skin. Its eyes, mouth, and stub of a nose were blackened.
“No! Don’t leave me!” The Hadad crumpled to his knees at the creature’s feet. “I have nearly completed your task. Heal me. Let me finish what I started, I beg you!”
The creature roared, a sound that shook the tower and Sidal’s bones. The Hadad whimpered and ducked his head under his arms.
The creature turned its black eyes to Sidal and spoke in a gravelly voice. “Set the snare.”
Sidal wanted to run, but Macoun still controlled his body. He flicked Sidal’s hand at the ceiling, conjuring a dome of light over the Hadad’s body. The entire chamber glowed green, illuminating bits of feathers floating on the air from the birds flying outside.
“Master, please.” The Hadad sucked in a short breath. “If my body must die…” He wheezed. “At least let my soul serve you here.”
But the creature glided over the Hadad and sank into Macoun’s body that still lay lifeless across the room.
The Hadad, the great teacher, fell, choking in hitches of breath. Suddenly, a transparent image of the man floated out of his body, leaving a limp shell on the floor. Sidal started, not comprehending how any of this could be possible.
The misty form of the Hadad drifted low, staring at the dome of green light as if it were a sword to his throat. Please reconsider, Master! I beg of you.
Sidal thrust his hand at the Hadad’s spirit. “I think not.” Macoun’s words came out in Sidal’s voice.
The Hadad flew up. His scream cut off quickly as he passed through the dome and vanished. Sidal lowered his hand. The green light went out.
Sidal blinked a moment in the dull light of the lone candle, then staggered back as heat engulfed his body. He was himself again. By the time Sidal could see clearly, Macoun was sitting up on the floor.
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