Sir Jax just informed Sir Caleb of this. Do not despair, Averella. I shall send help. But rest assured, once you are back under my roof, you will be living in another kind of prison. Do you understand my meaning?
Yes, Mother.
Vrell exhaled a shaky breath. Something moved across her cell. Her heart jolted, and she drew the peasant skirt tight around her knees, no matter how much the fabric itched.
Feathers rustled. Odd. How could a bird have gotten so far underground?
“Greetings, favored one,” a low voice purred.
Vrell glanced to the cell on her left. The man had stopped singing and lay asleep. The cell on her right was vacant. Who had spoken?
A sound came from the corner of her cell, like a boot scraping over dirt. A rat, perhaps? Digging at the dirt?
Vrell swallowed and stood, wanting to climb the walls.
A hooded figure stepped into the stripes of torchlight. “Many years have passed since I have seen a woman garner such attention from men.”
Vrell pressed against the half-stone wall. The bars that rose to the ceiling cut into her shoulder blades. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
“First, Lord Nathak asked for your hand.”
Vrell’s mouth went dry. No one but Vrell and her mother knew Lord Nathak had also asked to marry her. “Lord Nathak had no right to ask for my hand. He is already married to Lady—”
“When he could not obtain your favor, his son set his sights on you. You refused him as well.” The man’s voice was a soft hum, horribly familiar. “Yes, many a suitor found himself not good enough for Lady Averella Amal. Why, half the male population of Carmine asked the duchess for your hand, not to mention nearly every nobleman in Er’Rets. And then there was Bran Rennan. Poor fellow was beneath you as well, wasn’t he? No, you wanted the stray. Of course, he turned out to be much more than a stray, didn’t he?”
“You twist words, sir. Most of those men wanted my dowry, not my heart.”
“My mother was like you,” the man said. “So beautiful she couldn’t see it. Women don’t understand how beauty is more than a pretty face and figure. Men like those things, of course, but most prefer a woman with spirit, who stands for something and is willing to fight for it.
“Katine was like that, you see. Hated her husband’s magic, his gods. Tried to fight him, which only made him control her more. Yet her spirit drew the attention of the king. He told her to leave her husband, promised to keep her safe. But her husband was stronger. He killed the king, and eventually, Katine too. She didn’t know her place. Pushed things too far. As have you.”
Vrell could not breathe. Was this man saying he knew who killed King Axel? But the name Katine made her think of Lady Katine, a distant relative who lived far before King Axel’s time.
The man glided toward her as if floating, though his steps scraped over the dirt floor. He stopped an arm’s length away. In the distant torchlight, she could just see the outline of his face beneath the black hood. A face she recognized.
Macoun Hadar. The man who had been her master in Mahanaim, who had taught her to bloodvoice, then tried to trade her to Esek for Achan. How in all Er’Rets did he do this magic? He had never been strong enough.
“My master hoped to take Achan Cham under his wing, mold him into a powerful sorcerer. Yet the stray turned him down. When I killed my master, I had no desire to give that boy a second chance. For I received a better offer. And now the stray must die, for he alone stands in my way.”
Vrell trembled, unhinged by the evil in this man’s very presence. How had he become so powerful?
“Esek still wants you, girl, though I’m not convinced I want him in Carm. Perhaps I shall wed you to Sir Jabari instead? Put him over Carm Duchy.”
“You cannot wed me to anyone,” Vrell said.
“Oh, but I can. Carm is a necessary duchy to control. And you are the key to that.”
So everyone thought. But Gypsum was the true heir to Carm. Yet Vrell could not publicly announce that, at least not until Achan assumed control of Er’Rets. For she could not allow this wicked man to go after Gypsum. Her breath caught as she wondered if he had been the one who had tried to abduct Gypsum days ago.
Macoun lunged forward and gripped Vrell’s neck with his wrinkled, coarse fingers. His breath smelled like rotten eggs. She kicked him, but her leg passed through his body. Solid hands but vaporous legs? Was he a black knight now too?
Vrell closed her mind. Pain stabbed the base of her skull and swelled until it engulfed her entire head. She screamed, slapped his arms and head but found no purchase. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She ground her teeth, sucking short breaths, but her shields crumbled under the pain.
Macoun’s voice boomed in her mind. You are still quite strong. You could be useful for more than what you will inherit. Now, tell me what you know of the prince’s plans.
Vrell focused on squirrels and herbs and the waves in the sea, but her mind betrayed her. Jax said Achan was leaving today. Mother was training Achan’s mind. Vrell saw herself sitting at Achan’s bedside, singing to his unconscious form.
Ah, he’s hurt, is he? the old man said.
“No!” Vrell focused on Kopay in the Sitna stables. Of Gren’s baby. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would Bran marry Gren? Be a father to the child? Or would Harnu?
The old man’s oily chuckle brought her gaze to his shadowed face. Clever girl. But what of the prince? What of the young man called Achan?
Against her will, Vrell pictured Achan, fallen in the vineyard.
Good, good. His fingers rubbed her neck like sandpaper.
Vrell sobbed. She had to break away from his probing mind.
She had to protect her thoughts.
Arman, help me!
As if thrown, her perspective soared out of her body and through the bars of three cells. She screamed, startled by the motion. She could see all the way back into her cell, where her body crumpled to the floor.
Macoun glanced around. “Don’t be a fool, girl. Leaving your body is a good way to die.” Macoun spoke aloud, as if he could not see where she was now.
So Vrell stayed put. She knew the dangers of the Veil. But she could not return to her body. Not until Macoun left.
Footsteps drew Vrell’s attention. Three men walked down the narrow corridor that separated one row of cells from another. They stopped before her cell.
Macoun Hadar vanished, leaving behind a flock of squawking shadows.
Gowzals?
“Hear that?” a man said. “Sounds like birds.”
“There ain’t no birds down here, fool. Just rats.” Something banged against the bars. “Lady Averella?”
Vrell tried to drift closer, wanting to see who they were, but she suddenly realized she was drifting near the ceiling. She circled her arms, as if trying to catch her balance, but the action only made her lift higher until she passed through the ceiling and lost sight of her body completely.
11
“My brother and his family are safe, for now,” Sir Caleb said. “They are being held in one of the outbuildings.”
“But not with Sir Jax?” Achan asked.
“No. Sir Jax and his men are in the dungeon.”
Achan sat at the head of a table in one of Granton Castle’s frescoed assembly rooms. To his left sat Sir Caleb, Sir Eagan, Inko, and Altair Bentz, captain of the contingent from Zerah Rock. Sir Gavin sat on Achan’s right. Beside him, Captain Tristan Loam of Carmine, Sir Eric Livna of Tsaftown, and Sir Koyukuk Orson of Berland. The duchess sat at the opposite end of the table. Anillo stood by the door.
Achan wished Sparrow were here. Given the heavy nature of this meeting, he could use her bloodvoicing quips. Plus she made a tea that could quell any headache. “How many were lost in the attack?” he asked Sir Caleb.
“Baruch fears it was a slaughter,” Sir Caleb said. “They attacked at dawn the same day they attacked here.”
Pig snout. “How many men did Allowntown have?”
&
nbsp; “Just over one thousand.”
A thousand men. Lost to the devil who might have killed Achan’s parents. He rubbed his throbbing temple with the heel of his palm.
Are you well, Your Highness? Duchess Amal’s voice soothed his pain. Perhaps Sir Eagan had taught her the trick.
Only a headache, my lady.
“Anillo?” Every head at the table turned to face the duchess. “Some chamomile tea, please?”
Anillo nodded and slipped from the room.
Thank you, Achan said.
“Berland will help destroy this enemy, we will,” Sir Koyukuk said to Achan. Like Shung, the young general from Berland was hairy and dark. He wore needles of white bone through each ear lobe.
Achan worded his reply to fit Berland customs. “Your presence and offer honor us.”
Sir Koyukuk smiled and bowed his head to Achan.
Sir Gavin stood and rolled out a leather map that covered their end of the table. The bitter smell of tanned leather filled Achan’s nostrils as he leaned forward to examine the burned lines that depicted roads.
Sir Gavin set his finger on the word Allowntown. “We now know that at least part of the enemy army is gathered in Allowntown. That there will be a battle before we reach Armonguard, none now can deny. I can’t guess whether they intend to wait in Allowntown in hopes of blocking our path south or if they will advance north. If we move now, we may be able to avoid both those options—at least make it a battlefield of our own choosing.”
“How so?” Achan asked.
“If we can pass the Sideros River before they reach us, we can move south over the Allown plains, perhaps bypass Esek’s army altogether.”
Achan examined the map. “Why Allowntown? Wouldn’t they make a stronger stand in Mahanaim since it is the only way through to the south?”
Sir Gavin grinned, but his thin teeth made it look more like a grimace. “’Tis not the only way, Your Highness. And the enemy is greedy, trying to take every town at once. My scouts tell me their forces are divided, with the majority of their men south of Mahanaim. The northern troops are going to do all they can to keep us from reaching Armonguard. And while they distract us, the southern troops will march against Armonguard. Prince Oren’s Mârad is scattered throughout Arman and Nahar duchies. Without our aid, Armonguard will not be a difficult victory for Esek.
“So our first objective is to bypass the enemy army in Allowntown. After that, to cross the Lebab Inlet into Southern Er’Rets in hopes of reaching Prince Oren before Armonguard is lost to the enemy.”
“What if Armonguard is lost before we can reach her?” Achan asked.
“Then we take her back.”
A silence descended over the table. The idea of such battles twisted Achan’s stomach. Duchess Amal’s voice distracted his dark thoughts.
“I received a letter from Lord Levy.” The duchess glanced around the table. “He informed me that the Hadad has made Sitna the ruling city of Carm Duchy until he appoints someone to replace me. I, of course, am not leaving.”
“What else does this Hadad say?” Altair asked. He was a man with a long neck and sunken eyes.
Duchess Amal’s expression sobered. “He placed Lord Levy to rule Sitna, Macoun Hadar over Allowntown, Dovev Falkson over Barth, and Rapha Gibbor to rule the giants and Nahar. Esek is set to rule Armonguard.”
Esek was alive. Truly? Achan couldn’t believe it.
“Who is the Hadad, anyway?” Sir Eric, Duchess Amal’s nephew and Lord of Tsaftown, was dressed in black that matched his trim black hair and beard. “I thought at first you’d meant to say Hadar, our line of kings.”
The door opened and Anillo entered with a pot of tea. He carried it to Achan’s end of the table, and poured a steaming mug.
“No,” Duchess Amal said, “the two are quite different. Hadar, as you say, is the family name of the line of rightful kings in Er’Rets. The prince’s true name is Gidon Hadar, for instance. But the Hadad is something supernatural. Something evil.” She looked like she didn’t want to say more but lifted her chin and continued. “There is a dark legend of a creature that feeds off men. Just as our service to Arman gives us the strength of His light, men who serve this creature are strengthened by its darkness. It is called the keliy.”
Sir Gavin cast a knowing gaze at Sir Eagan.
“Unlike its master, Gâzar, who abides in the Lowerworld, the keliy lives among men,” Duchess Amal said. “Its purpose is to influence events through one man at a time. The keliy has always chosen its host, and that person, that host, takes the title the Hadad and sets out upon a life of utter destruction, depravity, and evil. I believe this name, so similar to that of our kingship Hadar, was chosen to confuse, mock, and steal loyalty away from the throne.”
Achan realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it. The Hadad had done just that to him. Confused him with a name being so similar to Hadar.
Duchess Amal continued, “The last suspected keliy was a man named Jibhal Hamartano. He ruled Jaelport with his wife, Katine, during the reign of King Johan. It was suspected that Jibhal murdered King Johan. I believe that this act of evil was what drew the attention of the keliy.”
Sir Eric cast a stricken look to his aunt. “Surely not. Jibhal Hamartano died young. And Lady Katine lived in Tsaftown for years, a lonely old widow. She was mad. Crazy Katine, the people called her.”
“She was not crazy, Eric,” Duchess Amal said in a firm voice. “Once Jibhal killed King Johan, he banished Lady Katine and relocated to Land’s End, where he began training young men in dark magic. We now know them as black knights. Years later, Jibhal, host of the keliy, took an apprentice: a young boy cast off for his illegitimacy. Macoun Hadar, whom I have recently discovered was King Johan and Katine’s son.”
Sir Eagan’s complexion paled.
The duchess continued, her piercing green eyes fixed on Achan. “Lady Katine was not mad. She was telling the truth about the creature who stole her husband and murdered the king. It took a while to uncover this mystery, Your Highness, but I believe it is the truth.”
Achan let out an audible moan. His great, great grandfather murdered for taking another man’s wife? How long did men in his family usually live? Had every king been murdered? He looked around the assembly room as if an assassin might’ve appeared from the shadows.
“I am believing it,” Inko said. “When I was serving Macoun Hadar in my youth, I always was knowing that he was serving someone who was being even more powerful.”
Achan shook off the shock of the story. “How does knowing any of this matter?”
“Because it always helps to know your enemy’s past.” Duchess Amal’s eyes lost focus, and she pursed her lips.
“We now know we face an enemy greater than Esek and Lord Nathak. And I do not speak merely of numbers of men in our armies.” Sir Gavin’s moustache arched into a frown. “The keliy is an enemy of Arman himself. So, Your Highness, just as you are Arman’s chosen, the keliy—and its human host of the hour—is Gâzar’s chosen.”
That statement so took Achan off guard he couldn’t form a reply. So now, not only must he push back darkness, he must fight one of Gâzar’s supernatural creatures?
“Surely Jibhal Hamartano can’t still be living,” Captain Loam said. “He’d be over a hundred years old.”
Inko turned his grey, pockmarked face toward the captain. “If he has been practicing dark magic all these years, he could easily be prolonging his life.”
Duchess Amal stood. “Please excuse me a moment.” She strode from the room, Anillo at her heels.
Achan watched her go, curious at her departure.
“Jibhal Hamartano would only be one hundred twenty some years old, Tristan,” Sir Eagan said to Captain Loam. “Dark magic could have kept him alive this long.”
“He uses gowzals,” Achan said.
Altair looked at him, confused. “What are gowzals?”
“A cross between ravens and bats,” Sir Gavin said. “Weak minded creatures that
black knights use to wield their magic.”
“Berland will help destroy these creatures, we will,” Koyukuk said. “Fowl is best roasted on a spit.”
Achan fought a smile. “You honor us with your offer, Sir Koyukuk.” Yet even Koyukuk’s eagerness to roast gowzals did not keep the Hadad—whoever was the current Hadad for the keliy—from coming back to his thoughts. The man— creature?—had killed his great, great grandfather, and perhaps Achan’s parents. “What if the Hadad is watching through me right now? Shadowing me with his bloodvoice?”
Sir Eagan’s keen blue eyes locked with Achan’s. “Do not give in to paranoia, Your Highness. You are wise to be concerned and on guard, but no one can watch through you when your shields are up. None can hear your thoughts.”
“But it’s been weeks since he spoke to me, and I’ve lowered my shields at least once during that time. If he’s not trying to see through me now, why did he stop trying?”
“He has not spoken to you since you swore fealty to Arman,” Sir Caleb said. “Is that correct?”
“Aye, right.” Arman was with him now. How could Achan have missed that vital difference? Arman, help me withstand this foe.
A flash of heat welled up in the pit of Achan’s stomach.
FEAR NOT, FOR I AM WITH YOU. THE ENEMY SHALL COME IN LIKE A FLOOD, BUT I SHALL LIFT UP A STANDARD AGAINST HIM.
Relief chased after the heat, bringing a peace over Achan. Thank You, Arman. Thank You.
The door opened, and Duchess Amal returned to her seat at the foot of the table. Was it Achan’s imagination or did her eyes look red?
They discussed the plans to depart. Sir Eric mentioned that his brother, Captain Chantry Livna, was bringing a fleet of battleships to Armonguard, but they had not passed Zerah Rock yet. The army would have to march south without their aid and face whatever enemy it met along the way.
When no one had further business to discuss, Achan adjourned the meeting.
He was in his chambers, making sure all of his things had been gathered, when Sir Eagan entered.
“Your Highness, Duchess Amal is in need of your immediate assistance.”
From Darkness Won Page 16
