Achan looked back to where Lord Nathak stood beside his horse, arms lifted in surrender to Toros’s sword. “And Lord Nathak?”
“Saved your life.” Sir Caleb pointed to the remaining black knights and Lord Nathak, then addressed Toros. “Bind these men and put them with the captives.”
“Don’t take me away. Not yet!” Ragged desperation choked Lord Nathak’s voice. “I must speak with the prince first. Please!”
Achan brushed the ash of Silvo Hamartano off his chest. “Say what you must, Lord Nathak. You have my attention.”
Lord Nathak swallowed, his gaze shifting over the surrounding soldiers. “I am tired, boy. Tired of living. Everything I’ve worked for is out of my hands. Always has been, I suspect. My son betrayed me. He answers to a new master now.”
“The Hadad?”
Lord Nathak groaned. “Macoun is a liar, as was Jibhal. But so am I, and so is my son. When you keep company with liars, at some point you will be deceived.”
Seemed obvious to Achan. “And the Hadad deceived you?”
“Oh, yes. They all did. Jibhal played on my weaknesses from the start. Knew too much about me. Used that.”
Achan narrowed his eyes. “What did he know?”
“Everything.”
“Did you really find me in the fields near Sitna?”
“No. I pried you from your dead mother’s arms.”
The words jerked the ground out from beneath Achan’s feet. “You were there when the Hadad killed them?”
Another wheezy chuckle. “Jibhal lied, you see. Promised I’d be free if they were dead. Free from the anger and pain. Free to take my rightful place as king…” Lord Nathak coughed. “I was never free. And it nearly killed me.”
Achan could only stare. He could barely comprehend what he was hearing.
“I’ve explained this to my son time and again, but he never listens. He doesn’t understand the consequences.” Lord Nathak tugged a finger at the ties under his mask. They came loose, and he pulled off the mask and tossed it on the ground. The skin on the right side of his face was withered and smooth, like a dried apricot. A saggy eyelid hung over his empty socket.
A murmur tore through the crowd. Achan shrank back.
Lord Nathak fixed his good eye on Achan. “My son has let his obsession with you overtake him, as I once let my obsession with my father overtake me. It has been my ruin, just as you shall be Esek’s. You have the gods’ protection.” He removed his glove and held out his hand. “I’d like to show you my memories. It’s the best way for you to see the truth.”
Achan glanced at Sir Caleb. What do you think?
I don’t like it. What does Duchess Amal say?
Achan reached for the duchess again. My lady? Are you here?
I am, Your Highness. Macoun left me suddenly.
Can this request of Lord Nathak’s be a trap?
It could. But if Shung stands with you to give you strength to close your mind quickly, you should be safe.
It’s worth the risk, Sir Caleb. Achan gripped Shung’s wrist, then held out his other hand to Lord Nathak, who gripped it tightly.
Images flooded his mind. Flashes of memory. Lord Nathak’s memories.
Sitting on the knee of a young King Axel.
The scowling face of Queen Dara.
A boy riding in a wagon, looking back at a castle on a lake.
Macoun Hadar, mid-age, coaching a young man in a bloodvoicing exercise.
A young, unscarred Lord Nathak kneeling before a man shrouded in black. Being knighted by the same man. Training alongside black knights.
Slitting Queen Dara’s throat. Stabbing King Axel and staring into his shocked, yet loving eyes as he died.
No! Lord Nathak had killed Achan’s parents? Achan tried to pull away, but Lord Nathak’s other hand clapped on top of Achan’s and held him there.
Dragging a toddling boy out from under an allown tree. Raising the bloody knife. Stabbing down. Lightning striking the tree, striking Lord Nathak. Falling.
Watching two small boys play together in a field.
Watching a young Myet brand one of the boys. Watching him brand Achan.
Giving the child to Poril.
Standing before Lord Levy and the Council of Seven, masked, holding the other boy in his arms.
Lord Nathak released Achan then.
Achan pulled his hand away and met the eye of the man who’d taken his childhood, enslaved him, killed his mother and father. He lunged to pick up Ôwr and thrust it at Lord Nathak.
The man jumped aside, elbowed a soldier in the jaw, and stole the man’s sword. Achan took Ôwr in both hands and stepped to the middle of the dirt road. Lord Nathak crouched, ready to fight.
“You’re my own… brother?” Achan recalled Toros’s story of the Battle of Gadowl Wall. The rumor of an illegitimate child born to King Axel. Eighteen years before Achan had been born. Nathak was about that much older than Achan.
And the way Lord Nathak had just shared his memories. The chill that came whenever he was around. “And you can bloodvoice.”
Lord Nathak smiled. “It was best if no one knew.”
“Then my mother—Queen Dara—was not your mother.” Achan knew this now, but wanted to hear Lord Nathak explain, for none of it seemed possible.
“The inability to produce a child shames any woman. But Queen Dara, pressured by the crown on her head, felt it more than most, I suppose. Especially when one of King Axel’s mistresses conceived before she did. The young woman gave birth to a boy, whom the king named Luas.”
Nausea shook Achan like a violent sea. He faked for Lord Nathak’s legs and cut for his head.
The blades clanked as Lord Nathak parried the blow. “It was covered up, half-brother. Swept away. Only the king, queen, my mother, and Macoun Hadar knew the truth of my lineage. My healthy birth only magnified the queen’s failure. She begged King Axel to send my mother and me away. And he did. Father banished us with a large sum of money to what became Sitna. And I became a stray. Scandalous, is it not?”
Achan could think of nothing to say. From what Kurtz and Sir Caleb had said of his father’s philandering ways, he didn’t doubt that it could be true.
Lord Nathak was his brother? His brother? Half-brother. Who killed his parents.
Achan stabbed. Lord Nathak knocked it aside. Achan swung under Lord Nathak’s blade and backslashed across his front. Ôwr’s tip scratched Lord Nathak’s leather jerkin.
Achan’s soldiers circled around, but no one tried to stop him from fighting Lord Nathak. They were likely as dumbstruck as he was.
“I was given âleh to stifle any possible bloodvoicing, so no one would discover me,” Lord Nathak said. “That was my— our—father’s idea. Macoun, being a stray himself, took pity on me. He ordered my mother to stop feeding me the drink and taught me to use my gift. He first taught me to block, so no one would know I’d learned to bloodvoice. Macoun mentored me for years. But he was taking orders from the Hadad, even then.
“And one day Macoun introduced me to Jibhal Hamartano, who was training an army of black knights. His abilities enthralled me, so I became his apprentice. Together, he and I plotted the king’s death and my ascension. I was the heir to Er’Rets, after all.”
And he was, in Achan’s opinion. First born son of King Axel. But killing the king had lost him any birthright he may have claimed.
The good half of Lord Nathak’s mouth curved up with his smile. “The shock in Father’s eyes when I stabbed him was bittersweet. He refused to accuse me, even when bloodvoicing Sir Gavin with his dying words. He loved me, you see, even as his assassin. He would have raised me as his heir if not for his controlling wife. Now, Queen Dara… Never in all my life have I taken such pleasure in killing someone.”
Achan swung Ôwr so hard he knocked Lord Nathak’s block back enough to nick his shoulder. Lord Nathak sucked air between his teeth and shrank back into the wildflowers edging the road.
“You defend a mother you never knew
?” Lord Nathak shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve such loyalty. She tried to bloodvoice my identity but only managed the word ‘stray’ before I silenced her forever. Bless her for that. It made hiding you so much easier all these years. I had intended to kill you next. But then Darkness came like a storm cloud from the west.”
Lord Nathak reached up and stroked the ruined flesh on his face. “It struck my face, crawled up my legs, and stopped only when I moved my blade away from your pudgy throat. The allown tree withered before my eyes. I knew Sir Gavin would be coming, so I took you and fled to Sitna.”
Achan’s thoughts clouded. His chest heaved. A stray had killed his parents. Lord Nathak—Luas Hadar—his father’s unclaimed child. “But why? Why not confront the king with bloodvoice mediators and make your claim? Why kill him?”
Lord Nathak growled a laugh. “One did not confront the king. Besides, the queen would never have allowed it. No, it was far too late for reconciliation. My father betrayed me. He deserved to die. And with his signet ring in my hand, the Council had no reason to doubt my story.”
“But Arman had not chosen you.”
Lord Nathak teetered in the thick moss. “Arman. The father god never favored me. I am Arman’s stray. Discarded, left to die.”
Pity pooled in Achan’s gut. He wanted to hate this man, not understand him. “That’s a lie. Arman has a plan for your life. But you hardened your heart because His plans did not match your own. I understand that. But one cannot rebel against Arman and succeed. And who would want to?”
Lord Nathak snorted. “Been listening to Sir Gavin, have you? Well, Arman took everything from me.” He gestured to his scarred face. “Still does.”
Achan squeezed Ôwr’s grip. “Why have you told me all this? Do you want me to kill you? Is that why you’ve come? Do you wish to die?”
“No! I want my son to live. I want Esek to let go of his vengeance before Arman ruins him too.”
“So you believe in Arman.”
“He is powerful. He destroys those who kill His anointed. If I had killed you that day, I would have died, I have no doubt. If Esek kills you, he will die. Unless you’ve sired an heir already.”
Achan shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“We are family—you, Esek, and I. We must work together. You can appreciate that, can’t you? You’ve always been a noble sort. Let Esek rule. Spare his life.”
Achan blew out a long breath. He could not deny that these men were his family. As much as Prince Oren was. “But Arman wants me to be king, and that I cannot refuse.”
Lord Nathak snorted again. “Arman is the reason I don’t rule already. His wretched curses have nearly destroyed me.”
“It was not His curses but your choices that have undone you, Lord Nathak. You chose to defy Arman and ally with servants of evil. Your own choices have brought Darkness on your soul and all Er’Rets.”
Achan cut Ôwr hard toward Lord Nathak’s neck. Lord Nathak darted back, and Achan stabbed for the man’s chest. He pushed Lord Nathak back off the side of the road and past the bushes, stepping over spongy moss.
Lord Nathak would only parry—would not take an offensive strike. In no time Achan had worked him up against a tree and pressed Ôwr’s tip against his chest.
“Justice has come to you this day, Lord Nathak. You have killed enough in your selfish quest. Take this moment to embrace Arman’s forgiveness before I send you to the foot of his throne for judgment.”
“I will never crawl to your Arman for anything.” The normal side of Lord Nathak’s face contorted, angry, wrinkling up to match the disfigurement on the other side of his face.
Then a look of surprise overtook him. His chest jerked up as if he’d been stabbed from behind. He moaned, breathless, and seemed to swell before Achan’s eyes. The ruined skin bubbled, smoothed out.
Dumbstruck, Achan lowered his sword and stepped back. What was happening?
An eye materialized in Lord Nathak’s empty socket. Before Achan’s eyes, Lord Nathak’s skin continued to heal until it was fresh and smooth. White hair turned black. Even his wrinkles vanished until he looked Sir Rigil’s age.
Two sparks of green lit his eyes then traveled down his shoulders and arms like a fiery green thread. Lord Nathak gasped, shook his head as if trying to throw something off.
Then he calmed, and his glowing gaze came to rest on Achan. A wicked smile twisted his now flawless mouth. “Macoun Hadar is dead, my brother. I have been… joined. It seems I no longer require your assistance.”
24
They were all back in the boat now, having met Sir Rigil, Jax, and Bran on their way down the tower. Averella felt crowded with seven people in the small boat. She sat with her father and Gren on the bench in the bow. Jax took up the center row, and Noam, Sir Rigil, and Bran were cramped into the stern. Water lapped against the sides of the craft as Jax navigated it down the dark canals. There were no more sounds of battle, yet the rotten stench of Darkness remained.
Averella called out to Harnu to check his location. Where are you, Master Poe?
I’ve been forced to retreat with Prince Gidon’s men. The enemy pushed us back. I tried to wait for you, but these soldiers refused to leave me. I took your horse. Hope you don’t mind, but I thought in case none of you got back…
Tears stung Averella’s eyes. Oh, bless you! We were forced to leave by boat. I hated to abandon Kopay.
The men are saying Iamos, Mikreh, and Marpay healed many, scaled the watchtower, and killed the sorcerer. It’s most amusing, for I know it was you, Noam, and Gren.
Averella remembered the child who had called her Iamos after she had helped the girl’s father. How silly that word had spread so quickly. The people must believe Noam was Mikreh, god of fate and fortune and elder brother to Iamos. And that Gren was Marpay, Iamos’s maidservant, a minor goddess gifted in herbs and healing. Averella gave all the credit to Arman. It still seemed unreal that she could do such things. That she had forgotten so much. That it was all coming back. How much more would she suddenly remember?
We are in a boat and have nearly exited the city on the southern side. Can we meet you somewhere?
Don’t risk yourselves for me. The knights will be better protection for you, anyway. I’ll remain with the army. I’m… enjoying being a soldier, I think. Perhaps we’ll meet again in Armonguard.
Arman be with you, Harnu Poe. You are a brave man.
Thank you, my lady. Take care of Grendolyn for me.
I shall. Averella relayed Harnu’s news to Sir Eagan.
He chuckled. “You are Iamos, are you? Well, I am proud of you, Averella. And your mother shall be, as well. How do you feel? Those gowzals wanted you for dinner.”
The memory of killing Macoun flashed in her mind, but she pushed it away. “I am sore, but I imagine being stabbed feels worse.”
Sir Eagan hummed. “Remembered that, did you?”
“No. But Mother says that is how I got the wound in my side.” A deep breath filled Averella’s nostrils with body odor and the stench of the canals. She sat on the center bench. A few distant torches glowed in the blackness, but their boat carried no light as it passed out of the city.
“I am sorry we lost Harnu, but glad for Kopay. That is silly, is it not?”
“We’ve no further need of Harnu,” Gren said.
Angry thoughts surfaced in Averella’s mind. “Gren, Harnu left his father for us. Risked his life. Fought in a battle. Mainly because of his affection for you. Have you so small a heart that you would leave him to die?”
“Harnu is tough. And now he can go back to his father.”
“You must know that he will not. He will do all he can to keep you safe. He said he will see us in Armonguard.”
Gren snorted a laugh. “As if Harnu could offer more protection than these knights.”
Averella scowled. “Of all the self-absorbed things to say. These men have more important matters at hand than escorting two women around. I blame myself. Why I ever
agreed to leave Carmine, I shall never understand.”
“To serve Prince Oren as a healer,” Gren said.
“Then why not travel with the soldiers?”
Her father answered. “Because Prince Oren, Sir Jax, Master Rennan, and your mother forbade you to come.”
Averella’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“You have become quite stubborn, my lady.” Bran’s voice floated up to the bow and startled her.
His tone brought more angry thoughts to mind, but she did not let her pride overtake her. She twisted around and addressed everyone in the boat. “Forgive me then, for I have caused you all much grief.” Averella paused, confused, and looked to Gren. “But why did you come, Gren?”
The water lapped. Silence. “I will tell you later.”
Sir Rigil leaned around Jax. “Tell us now, Madam Hoff, for—”
A horrible screech silenced Sir Rigil’s demand. The boat drifted past an intersecting canal, giving Averella a glimpse of a distant platform at the western Reshon Gate. A half dozen enemy soldiers stood on the platform, pulling ropes that were attached to a massive snake that had raised up from the water. The creature screeched again, then swerved from the platform and dove under the water, causing two black knights to fall off the platform.
Sir Rigil whistled low. “I must confess, Lady Averella, regardless of how or why you came to Mahanaim, I am glad you did. For you have saved dozens from such a fate.”
The boat passed into a deep canal and they lost sight of the platform. Darkness closed in again. “What supplies did you take from the keep?” Averella asked her father. “For I am hungry.”
Sir Eagan reached for a pack on the floor between his boots. “I have dried fish, flatbread, an apple…”
Averella took the apple and held the fruit under her nose. Its faint smell was sweet. She inhaled deeply, wishing Darkness smelled of fresh apples rather than spoiled ones. She bit down and the sound brought a memory to mind.
Achan’s voice. “And some apples. Crunchy ones!”
Followed by a thrill in her heart and the remembered knowledge that she would find Achan an apple no matter what.
From Darkness Won Page 33
