From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  Achan sat on his bed and pulled off his boots. It was not even time for dinner, yet he was ready to sleep.

  • • •

  A whimpering pup woke Achan. He blinked, found his surroundings dark, and sat up in a panic. The pale moonlight filtering through the privy door proved he was still in his chamber in Carmine. What hour was it?

  Another whimper. The sound was coming from the far corner of the room. Not a puppy, though. A weeping child.

  Understanding fell on Achan. “Matthias, come here.”

  The sound turned to sniffling. Bare feet padded over the floor until Matthias’s silhouette stood at Achan’s bedside. The moonlight shone on the lad’s tear-streaked cheeks.

  Achan’s chest tightened. “You miss your father?”

  Matthias sniffed. “Yes, sir. And Mama. And Linos. The bed is so big. I used to share one with my brothers… before.”

  “How many brothers?”

  “Three, sir. But Armas had his own bed.”

  “So, three of you in one bed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Must have been cozy.”

  Achan got up and dragged Matthias’s straw mattress across the room until it was beside his bed. “Get in.”

  Matthias scrambled onto the mattress and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

  Achan climbed back into bed and propped his head on his fist, looking down on the boy’s face. “Who’s Linos?”

  “My brother closest to me, sir. He’s lived nine years.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

  Matthias turned wide eyes to Achan. “Father said I might never see any of them again.”

  “Oh. Well, I can’t promise you will, Matthias, but I’ll do all I can to see it happen.”

  Matthias hummed and squirmed. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now go to sleep.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The next time Achan woke, voices were coming out of the privy.

  He sat up, squinting in the dim light. Shung’s pallet, which had been dragged in front of the entrance to keep Achan from sneaking out alone, lay empty.

  The distant sound of a trumpet tooted. He slipped out of bed and walked to the privy. Shung stood at one of the privy’s arrow loops, an arm around Matthias’s waist. The boy stood on the ledge of the hole. Both peered out the northwestern arrow loop.

  The trumpet sang again, this time louder. Men were yelling. Horses whinnying. Achan stepped inside and wrinkled his nose at the rank smell. “What is it?”

  Shung turned his hairy profile to Achan. “Castle under attack.”

  A prickle scuttled up Achan’s neck. He lunged to the northeastern arrow loop and peeked out. Thick, black smoke filled the pale, predawn sky. The northern vineyards were ablaze, as was the roof of the stables. A man and woman were setting horses off at a run from the stable doors. Two other men stood on ladders fighting to get the fire out. One shoveled off the burning thatch with a pitchfork, while the other heaved shovelfuls of dirt up on the roof.

  Movement beyond the stables caught Achan’s gaze. Men dressed in black scaled the wall.

  “They’re using the fire as a diversion.” Achan’s heart raced. “We must dress for battle.” He ran back into his chamber, opened the armoire, grabbed his padded stockings and jerked them on. They sagged around his waist. He snatched his gambeson and pulled it over his head. The satin felt cool and soft on his bare skin. “Shung, help me.”

  By the time Achan’s eyes came through the opening of the gambeson, Shung and Matthias were at his side. Matthias fumbled with the points so much that Shung had to do them. The lad had memorized the order in which Achan’s armor was to be attached, so now he went about laying items out in a row on the floor. Shung held up Achan’s mail trousers.

  Achan put a foot into one leg of the trousers. Sir Caleb, the castle is under attack. The enemy scales the northern inner curtain wall while our soldiers work to quench the stable fire.

  We are aware of the attack. I’ll tell Captain Loam about the men scaling the wall.

  Achan seethed inside. Sir Caleb, this is the second time the enemy has attacked while I slept. You will wake me next time, is that clear?

  Of course, Your Majesty.

  Achan was dressed in all but his gauntlets, gorget, and helm when the doors burst inward and Sir Caleb strode inside. He fixed his owl-like eyes on Achan. “Oh, no, Your Majesty. You’re not going out.”

  “Of course I am.” Achan waved Matthias toward the gorget.

  “Captain Loam and his men are meeting the threat. There is no need for your assistance.”

  Maybe not, but Achan felt he should still go out, make an appearance. He set his jaw and motioned for Matthias to bring the gorget. “Is it Lord Nathak? Esek? The Hadad?”

  “Too early to say. No one has made any demands. It appears they approached under cover of night and hid in the vineyards, waiting until first light to attack. Shung, take the prince through the passageway to one of the secret meeting rooms until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  Achan stared Sir Caleb down. “What kind of ruler hides when the battle begins? Isn’t this my war?”

  “Do not argue, Your Highness. Matthias, you go too.”

  The boy set the gorget down on the bed. “Yes, sir.”

  Shung strode to the secret panel on the wall and tugged it open.

  Achan drew a long breath in through his nose. He should be outside with his men, meeting this enemy head on. He glanced at Sir Caleb, knowing the man wouldn’t relent. Should Achan continue to state his concerns? He felt like a child who must wait until he was older to play this game.

  Only this was no game. It was war. His war. He would always be much younger than his advisors. He needed to take charge before they all got into the habit of ruling him.

  Though his heart pounded like a hammer against iron, he said, “Sir Caleb, I will not hide like a coward. I am Arman’s chosen. I will fight.”

  Sir Caleb raised his bushy blond eyebrows. “I am also Arman’s chosen. My purpose is to protect you. In that one matter I am free to disobey you. I’m sorry, Your Highness, but Arman outranks you.”

  Achan shot a long glare at Sir Caleb and clomped toward the secret doorway, grabbing his helm on the way. He turned sideways to step through the narrow opening, but his breastplate scraped against the doorframe, knocking him off-balance. He stumbled against the far wall of the passage.

  He took a few short breaths to calm his frothing nerves, then sidestepped toward the arrow loop and leaned into the V-shaped crevice, hoping for another glimpse of the battle.

  The stable fire had been extinguished. No sign of fighting in the inner bailey, though a few peasants and soldiers lay injured. Beyond the curtain walls, the northern vineyard smoldered, clouding the hundreds of soldiers clad in red or black capes. It was the New Kingsguard—troops loyal to Esek. But was Esek or someone else their leader?

  “Little Cham, come.”

  Achan pulled back from the arrow loop. The panel to his room was closed. Shung’s shadowy form blocked the flickering light from the torch he held in the passageway. Matthias stood between them. At least the boy would be safe. But Achan would not start this war in hiding. He knew not whether Shung would obey him over Sir Caleb.

  Best not to put the man in the position to choose.

  He put on his helm and followed Shung down the narrow passage, slowing as they took the awkward steps that led underneath Achan’s privy antechamber. Achan ran his gloved hand along the low ceiling so his helm would not scrape against the stone.

  The end of Ôwr’s scabbard tapped against each step behind him. Achan pushed the hilt down to keep it from hitting the steps. Shung paused in the small space at the bottom and looked back at Achan before starting up on the other side of the privy.

  Did he suspect Achan wanted to slip away?

  Once the passage leveled out, it was easier to move. Achan paused at each arrow loop and looked out on the distant battle. He should try aga
in to use his bloodvoice to look in on Lord Nathak, see if he was out there commanding the New Kingsguard soldiers. Achan knew better than to walk and watch at the same time, though.

  Shung stopped at the corner before the hidden tower stairs. He turned, waiting for Matthias and Achan to catch up. “Not far now.”

  Achan swallowed his regret and nodded, hoping Shung would understand why Achan needed to join the battle.

  Achan’s chambers were on the fourth level. The secret meeting chambers were on the third. Shung led them down one flight and stepped out onto the third level. He moved quickly along the western wall, south. Achan lagged behind, pausing at another arrow loop.

  Three bodies lay on the inner bailey ground below. Two cloaked in black, one in red. Red-caped men crouched in clusters on the sentry walk behind each battlement. A good sign. Captain Loam’s men must have stopped the infiltration and pushed the battle out to the vineyards.

  “Little Cham.”

  Achan stepped back to see Shung waiting at the top of the next flight of steps that passed under another privy. If Achan’s memory was correct, there were two such detours along this wall, then a long stretch leading to the secret rooms near Duchess Amal’s study.

  Achan moved on. “Captain Loam has taken the battle outside the fortress.”

  “Good. It will end soon.” Shung took the steps slowly. Matthias followed, then Achan. When they reached the bottom, sure enough, Shung looked back to meet Achan’s gaze before starting up the next flight.

  Achan turned and practically crawled away up the steps. At the top, the light from the arrow loop lit enough of his surroundings that he was able to skip sideways along the corridor until he reached the tower. He took the stairs down too fast, stumbled, and slid down six or seven steps on his knees. He grasped at the wall and managed to catch his footing. He froze a moment, heart dancing, listening for Shung’s voice.

  Nothing.

  He checked to make sure Ôwr was still at his side, then, with one hand on the wall, he took the steps one at a time, thankful for arrow loops and the pale light that seeped through them. Blessed sun. ’Twas dawn, and none could refute it. The curse of Darkness had not reached this place. Not yet, anyway.

  Achan’s temples twinged. Shung Noatak.

  And there it came. Achan ignored Shung’s knock and continued on until the light from the last arrow loop faded. He hesitated, weighing his options, unwilling to admit he should have stayed with Shung. He wanted the first floor. If there were no more arrow loops, did that mean he was underground? Or did the first floor not have arrow loops? He wished he’d been more observant when he’d last walked outside Granton Castle.

  He pictured the layout of the castle in his mind. As long as he chose the right level to exit onto, he would need to turn south, or right, which should lead him to the great hall.

  Unless the stairwell let him out in a different direction.

  He inched down the stairs in the darkness, keeping a hand on the outer wall to be sure not to miss the opening. His leather glove scraped over the rough stone like a serrated knife cutting a loaf of bread. The wall fell away. Achan gripped the corner with his fingers and walked them around the edge to lead the rest of his body down the next corridor.

  A soft beam of light shot out from the left a few paces ahead. Achan moved toward the light and found an indentation in the stone wall like an arrow loop, only this one looked in on a room. He hunched down and peered through the slot into an empty solar. Peek holes. A clever way to learn more about guests, though Achan’s stomach clenched at the thought of anyone looking into his chambers. Perhaps later he and Shung could find any viewing places that looked in on his chambers and block them.

  He stepped back, annoyed that neither Anillo nor the duchess had mentioned the peek holes. Surely they hadn’t been spying on him.

  Achan followed the dark passageway, keeping his right hand on the wall. Anillo had said a passage led into the great hall. Achan would likely have to turn right at some point to walk down the dais wall. Maybe the passage let out under the dais as it had in Tsaftown.

  The wall under his right fingers vanished. He stopped and felt for walls around him. Yes. A corridor spilt off to the right here. Achan turned, walking slowly, scouring his surroundings for any sliver of light. Logic should put a door somewhere along the left wall, but he did not find one.

  The wall disappeared again, as did the floor. His knees buckled and his right hand waved for purchase. His left hand and knees broke his fall, thudding against dirt. The musty smell had changed to the bitter scent of soil. He groped for the wall, stretched as far as he could until his fingers found a soft surface. Strange.

  He popped back to his haunches and pulled off his gloves. He touched the wall again, scratched the ground beneath him with a fingernail. Packed dirt. Had he left the castle?

  He took a deep breath, mind sifting through his options. The idea of following this tunnel blindly left him hesitant, yet so did backtracking when he obviously had the layout wrong in his head.

  He could use his bloodvoicing power to leave his body and try to see what was above him, though that would be risky. Not only would there be no one around to wake him if he couldn’t get back to his body, who would know to come looking for him here?

  He should go back to Shung.

  Failure vexed him. Sir Caleb would be cross no matter when he returned. Best have some manner of success to show for it. Prove he was right? That he could fight alongside his own men?

  Stubborn man.

  He smiled at the small voice in the back of his mind. Something Sparrow had said to him once. In fact, she had called him stubborn in one way or another almost daily. He had always thought it odd, coming from a boy. Though her odd words and ways were not so strange for a woman.

  A crick in his ankles brought him back to the present. He would try the Veil. Since one should always sit or recline to enter the Veil, he twisted his sword out of the way and sat down. He shifted to lean against the dirt wall of the tunnel and stretched out his legs. A long breath filled his nostrils with the scent of soil. Straight up, then straight back down. No distractions. He focused and drifted up.

  Through a black void. Memories from his time in Darkness chipped at his thoughts. He ignored the temptation to despair and held fast to his concentration.

  Up. Straight up.

  Light blinded him. He recoiled and found himself outdoors, floating a foot above a grassy lawn. A wide shadow darkened the grass a few feet away. He floated into the shadow, and the brightness of the sun dimmed, allowing him to take stock of his surroundings.

  His mind’s eye abided in the shadow of Ryson Tower, to the left of the stronghold and inside the inner bailey. Indeed, the tunnel had taken him out of Granton Castle. If he followed it, he would likely exit the stronghold altogether at some point.

  He floated up to look over the curtain wall. Smoke billowed in the western fields and beyond. The invaders had set fire to the vineyards and several cottages. Both baileys were deserted but for some injured men and those caring for them. A couple dozen bowmen patrolled the curtain walls. Beyond, a fierce battle raged. Achan floated toward it.

  Duchess Amal.

  Achan let himself drift, momentarily shocked by circumstance. He had been expecting to hear from Shung or Sir Caleb, not Duchess Amal.

  He opened his mind to her at once. My lady?

  Your Highness. You have us all affright. Are you safe?

  I am. I… got turned around in the passageway. A heaviness grew in Achan’s mind. Never before had any lie—let alone such a small one—come with such instant remorse.

  Going off alone is unwise, Your Highness.

  Achan closed his mind, ashamed to treat the duchess so rudely, but unwilling to give up his attempt to help his men. If he could drift closer to the battle, perhaps he could see their leader. Why had he not tried this before?

  But when he looked for the distant battle, he only saw sky. He whirled around. Nothing but sky in every d
irection. He looked down. All of Carmine stretched out like a map below, Granton Castle a speck under his transparent boots.

  How had he gotten so far up?

  The shadows of clouds dotted the land below in puffy shadows. How small the battle seemed from such a height. How small everything seemed.

  Arman, you are great indeed to have created all this. To love each of us so completely when there are so many of us and we are so very small.

  Achan stared at the awesome sight for a long time before jolting back to reality. He tried to float down but found he had no control of himself. He concentrated hard. Willed himself back to his body.

  Nothing happened.

  A gust of cold blew over him, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Sir Gavin had warned him not to leave his body. Why had he been so cocksure as to ignore the Great Whitewolf?

  Stubborn man. What if he couldn’t get back?

  He called to Duchess Amal. My lady, I am lost.

  Why did you close your mind? Are you in danger?

  No, my lady. I mean, I’m not certain. I entered the Veil. I hoped to see the enemy, but I drifted up and can’t get back.

  Where is your body? Your physical body?

  In an underground tunnel beneath the inner bailey, just outside the great hall.

  One moment.

  Achan’s gaze locked onto a flock of birds below him. How strange to see flying birds from above.

  I have found your body, Your Highness. You say you drifted straight up?

  Very far up. I cannot control my movement.

  I am coming.

  Carmine seemed even smaller below him now. He saw movement. Another bird? The mist of a cloud?

  Then he saw her. Duchess Amal, soaring toward him like an eagle diving for a fish. Her arms at her sides, her body straight, her hair and dress smooth from her apparent speed. Her eyes fixed on his. She stopped before him and her hair and gown billowed out around her, floating on air.

  She held out her hand. Shall we, Your Highness?

  Breathless, he took her hand in his. Thank you.

  She tucked his hand around her arm and pulled them down. Slowly. Down. Through a misty cloud.