From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  The memory warmed her cheeks. Merciful heart! She did not understand why these memories brought on such reactions. And in them he was always Achan, not Your Highness nor Prince Gidon nor even Master Cham. Mother said no one knew he was the real Prince Gidon Hadar when Averella had first met him. And since she had been dressed as a stray, she would have had no reason to speak formally.

  See? There was nothing scandalous to these memories.

  Water splashed over the side of the boat, bringing Averella back to reality.

  They were approaching the end of the canal. Though it was too dark to see, she knew that Arok Lake lay to the right and that going left would take them to the inner Reshon Gate. “How will we pass the gate with the soldiers there?”

  “We will not pass through the Reshon Gate,” Jax said. “Even if we managed to get through the gate, there will be too many of Esek’s men on the King’s Road. There is an underground river not far from here that comes out in one of the Nahar caves. From there we’ll go on foot to Xulon, get supplies and horses, then decide how to continue on to Armonguard.”

  It sounded like a wise plan. They soon exited the canal and swept into the dark waters of the eastern end of Arok Lake. Stone houses edged the southern shore, their windows flecks of light in the Darkness. Jax steered the boat toward two cottages built into the low cliff. A narrow canal separated them. Jax propelled the boat inside, and Sir Rigil ignited a green torchlight.

  The green light cast an eerie glow. Moss-covered beams stretched between the buildings above, perhaps to help support the walls on either side. Or perhaps to support the floor inside each home.

  Jax pulled the paddles inside and reached up to slow the boat by slapping a beam. He kept his hand in the air and used the next two beams to slow the boat to a stop before an iron door coated in rust and moss. A stone wall encased the door and matched the masonry of the cottage on their right. Anyone who traveled this canal might assume this a back entrance to the cottage.

  Jax reached around to the backside of the beam overhead and pried out a knot of wood. He reached inside and handed an iron key to Sir Eagan.

  Sir Eagan took the key. The boat bobbed under his weight as he stood and reached for the door. Waves smacked the sides of the boat and the stone walls, and Sir Rigil’s green torchlight swayed over their faces.

  Sir Eagan fiddled with the key until a soft click sounded. He handed the key to Averella. “Pass that to Jax, please.”

  Averella did, and the giant put the key and the wooden knot back in place. Sir Eagan pushed the door inward. It moved slowly in the water, creating a small whirlpool. Sir Eagan pulled on the door frame, drawing the boat into the dark chasm. Jax helped by pushing on the beam.

  “Bran, close the door?” Jax said.

  The door clanged shut. Gren whimpered. The torchlight lit up the canal walls. They were smooth stone with patches of slimy lime coating. Bushy green moss covered sections of the roof like sheepskins.

  Wood scraped behind her. Jax picked up the paddles. They splooshed into the water and the boat surged forward.

  The tunnel walls raced by, their contours rippling in the torchlight. Averella felt as if they were being poured down a long stone chute.

  “Noam, help me take this armor off,” Gren said.

  “Leave it on,” Noam said. “It’ll keep you safe.”

  “But it’s too heavy. I can’t bear the weight anymore, nor can I breathe. And if I fell overboard, I’d go straight to the bottom. Master Rennan, would you like to wear it?”

  “Sir Rigil is the better warrior.”

  “Which is why you should wear the armor, Master Rennan,” Sir Rigil said.

  Averella was just as tired of the stiffness of her own armor. “Sir Rigil, you may wear my armor, if you like.”

  Still holding the torchlight, Sir Rigil stretched his arm out over the edge of the boat. “As long as you can bear the weight, my lady, I beg you keep yours on.”

  The boat rocked as Averella and Sir Eagan removed the armor from Gren and Noam and Sir Rigil fastened it onto Bran. Averella passed the time by fishing her old rope belt out of her pack and tying it around her waist. She sheathed the new sword she had acquired in the Mahanaim courtyard, hoping her old sword, Firefox, would serve Harnu well. She put her helm and satchel in her pack to make everything easier to carry, and she felt for Prince Gidon’s ring. It was still hanging on the twine around her neck. Good.

  Hours passed before Jax said, “Here we are.”

  The tunnel came to an end in a circular cave. The ceiling was covered in pale dripstones that resembled dirty icicles, some of them furry with what looked like frost but was likely some type of lichen. Perhaps Jax could reach a sample so Averella could take a closer look. A small cave in the back must be the way out. The idea of standing on solid ground again lightened the weight of Averella’s armor some.

  Jax jumped out of the boat. Sir Rigil handed the torch to Bran, then got out on the other side. The men ran the boat aground, splashing through the water. A cluster of black on the ceiling shifted. The torchlight reflected dozens of tiny pricks of light. Eyes?

  “Sir Jax, are those bats?” Averella pointed toward the blackness on the ceiling.

  “Gowzals, I fear.” Jax helped Gren out of the boat. “It’s best we move quickly. They can be savage in a bunch.”

  They certainly could. Again Averella pushed thoughts of the Mahanaim watchtower away. She put on her pack. Jax helped her stand, then grabbed her waist, lifted her out of the boat, and set her feet on pebbled sand before the mouth of the cave.

  “Ooh, look how pretty the rocks are!” Gren crouched and scooped up two handfuls. “Could they be obsidian?”

  Averella’s breath caught, frozen by a distant memory she could not quite grasp. “No, Gren. Do not touch—”

  Gren screamed. She dropped the rocks and jumped up and down, shaking her arms and hands.

  Sir Rigil ran over. “What is it?”

  Black spots wriggled on Gren’s skirt. She screamed again. “Get them off!” She shook her skirt, but the black things remained. “Get them away! I don’t want them to—”

  “Shh!” Jax said.

  Sir Rigil batted at the beetles on Gren’s skirt.

  Gren continued to shriek. “There’s another one there!”

  A shriek of a different kind chilled Averella’s blood. Gren quieted. Everyone’s head turned in unison toward the cluster of black on the ceiling. The gowzals rustled and chirped, a sweet sound like a hundred hungry baby chicks.

  “Out.” Jax waved at the cave. “Quietly as you can.”

  Averella took Gren’s hand and walked over the crunchy ground to the cave. Gren’s hand trembled. Averella pulled her along, trying not to think about the beetles underfoot. Sir Rigil lit a second torchlight and handed it to Gren.

  The green light revealed a bare tunnel. No beetles in sight or gowzals on the ceiling. The sound of rustling wings behind Averella caused her to increase her speed. Then the gowzals cried out, high-pitched screeches that seemed to shake the tunnel walls. Steel scraped against wood. A sword drawn.

  Averella and Gren passed through the dark, winding cave, stumbling over rocky terrain. She glanced over her shoulder to see Sir Rigil run around the corner holding his torchlight above his head, followed by Jax and Bran, who moved backward, shuffling their feet, swords drawn.

  The gowzals came in a cluster, the way a herd of cattle might stampede. Hundreds of eyes glinted in the torchlight.

  “Run!” Jax shouted.

  Averella’s memory of the gowzals in Macoun’s tower made her legs move faster. Gren stumbled. Sir Rigil grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

  A hole in the ground swallowed Averella’s right foot. She fell, breastplate and sword clanking on the stone floor. Her hands, knees, and her left cheek slammed against the ground. Jax lumbered past, but Bran tripped over her. His sword clattered to the ground, and their armor scraped against each another.

  “Averella! What are you doing?” Bra
n said.

  “I fell. There’s a hole.” She pushed her raw palms against the ground to lift herself, but Bran threw himself over her, pressing her back against the cool stone.

  Wings flapped above like the trill of a tabor drum, fanning what little bit of her arm that was not shielded by armor or Bran’s body. Averella held her breath, praying the creatures would not notice them, praying the panic and excitement would keep the flock together.

  Sudden silence but for Bran’s heavy breathing in her ear.

  He shifted, and his weight left her back. “It’s all right now. They’ve gone.”

  “I do not hear Gren screaming. Think they are well?”

  “They must be,” Bran said.

  “Unfortunate that they have taken both lights with them.” Averella pushed up with the sides of her hands, avoiding the stings of her ravaged palms. She put down a knee, but it hurt as well. She grunted and pushed up anyway.

  A sword scraped against wood. Bran sheathing his weapon. “Are you well?”

  “I skinned my hands and knees. I shall live.”

  Bran wrapped an arm around the armor protecting her waist. “Need me to carry you?”

  She laughed. “If I can breathe, I can walk. How can we know which way is forward?”

  Bran’s hand found hers. “Let me worry about that.”

  His touch sent a thrill through her. She held tight as they proceeded forward slowly. Averella’s free hand found the right wall and used it as a guide. She relaxed when torchlight gleamed around the curve of the cave. But then it went out, and the blackness returned. Her temples itched.

  Jax mi Katt.

  We are well, Jax. I fell in a hole and skinned my—

  Ebens at the mouth of the cave, Vrell. Keep quiet!

  25

  Lord Nathak thrust his hands out. Green fire sizzled from his palms like a bolt of lightning. Achan threw himself to his stomach on the mossy ground to avoid the hit. The fire bolt struck the already burning wagon, causing it to leap off the ground and come smashing down in a pile of shredded wood.

  Lord Nathak cackled like a madman and let fly two more streams of green fire, one to Achan’s men to the north and one to the south. Men screamed. Some fell to the road, on fire, rolling in the dirt.

  Achan pushed himself up, standing between Lord Nathak and his men. He lifted Ôwr, breathing through his nose like a bull, terrified but unwilling to watch more of his men be slaughtered. “You came here for me. So deal with me.”

  Another ball of fire formed on Lord Nathak’s palm. He flung his hand backward as if to throw it, but the green fire flew off his hand and struck a tree behind him.

  His eyes widened. Achan looked up.

  High above their heads, the tree trunk severed. The top cracked as it broke away and fell. Lord Nathak leaped back just before the tree trunk stabbed into the mossy ground.

  Achan stumbled back over the squishy terrain. The leafy treetop tipped toward him. He dived out of the way just as the branches slapped against the road, leaves rustling. A few whipped his back.

  When Achan got back to his feet, the fire had jumped from the wagon to the tree, but the leaves and branches sizzled and smoked, too green to burn well.

  “This isn’t over, brother!” Lord Nathak yelled.

  Achan peered through branches. Lord Nathak had mounted his horse. “Now that I am the Hadad, you would be wise to give up your claim to the throne and serve me.”

  As if Achan would give up now. “That’s never going to happen!”

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to kill yet another family member.” He turned his horse and rode off through the forest.

  Achan backed out of the branches and sat down on the fat end of the tree trunk. It smelled fresh and sharp, a pleasant change from the thick smoke of the fire. A misty green cloud swarmed with the black smoke and hung over the wreckage. Orange flames licked the sky over the remains of his wagon. He wiped the sweat off his face, then wiped his hands on his trousers. His arms were trembling.

  “Are you well, Your Highness?” Sir Caleb stepped off the road. He sank in the moss, nearly up to his knees.

  “I dropped Ôwr under the tree.”

  “I’ll get someone to look for it.”

  “I don’t understand it,” Achan said, shaking his head. “What came over him? He got so powerful all of a sudden. And then that last green magic ball… it looked like it fell off his hand, like he meant to hit me with it but dropped it.”

  Sir Caleb stood. “The ways of sorcerers are beyond me. Perhaps they make mistakes as well.” He looked around at the carnage, then back at Achan. “Why don’t you rest here while I fetch another wagon? It may be a while. I’ll have Shung and Kurtz come sit with you.”

  “See to those burned men.” Achan wanted nothing more than rest at the moment. His mind was too full to think or logically discuss matters.

  A knock rattled the shields around Achan’s mind, mincing his already sore head. Duchess Amal.

  Achan didn’t know when he’d closed his mind to the duchess. Yes, my lady?

  How do you fare?

  As if he could put such a thing into words. Lord Nathak had just admitted to having killed his parents. The keliy had come to him, healed him before Achan’s eyes. His men had been burned alive. And Prince Oren had been stormed. I am yet living, my lady.

  Do not be glum. Look around you. We have done what we set out to do. Your army has crossed over into southern Er’Rets. Tonight, you and your men will rejoice in a job well done.

  If I had been better trained I would not have made such terrible mistakes, and Prince Oren might still be here. I am no Veil warrior.

  None of that now. Prince Oren knew the risks. We all did. Any one of us could have perished.

  But only Prince Oren had.

  Achan cried out to Arman. Let it not be so, I beg You, Arman. Spare his life. Spare my family. But that prayer only made him think of Lord Nathak—another member of Achan’s family. You know who I mean, Arman. Spare Prince Oren.

  Achan’s ear smarted like a dozen bees had stung it. He reached a hand up and found his head bandaged. Right. The green fire had struck him. Barely.

  What, then, had it done to Prince Oren?

  That evening, Achan sat at the head of the table in the meeting tent. Also present were Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, Captain Demry, Toros, and Shung, who stood just inside the entrance.

  Sir Caleb unwound the linen from Achan’s head, while Achan held his breath at the way the flesh burned. How had Shung ever survived the horrible burn to his hand and arm?

  “This should not have been bandaged,” Sir Caleb said.

  “Shung said it was bleeding,” Achan said. “And I had to go back to the Veil.”

  “But it’s a burn,” Sir Caleb said. “I’m not as good a healer as Eagan, but I do know that burns should be left to air out.”

  The last of the linen fell away. The cool air soothed Achan’s ear, but the men’s stares made him feel uncomfortable. “What? Is it that bad?”

  Sir Caleb’s fingers brushed the hair above Achan’s ear. It sounded coarse, like a beard. “You’ll need a haircut.”

  Achan tugged out the thong holding his hair in a tail. A handful of hair came with it. Long strands. A lot of them. He groaned and set his forehead against the table.

  “Has Sir Eagan still not returned?” Captain Demry asked. “I can call one of the other healers.”

  “Sir Shung can send Matthias,” Sir Caleb said.

  Achan lifted his head to see Shung dart out the door.

  “Sir Eagan has not returned,” Sir Gavin said. “Esek’s northern army blocks the King’s Road, so Sir Eagan is taking an alternate route. He has killed the Hadad, who was Macoun Hadar. When that happened, the keliy must have passed to Lord Nathak.”

  This statement made Achan shiver as he recalled Lord Nathak’s transformation. He rubbed his arms. “We’ll have to face him at some point, right?”

  “I fear that’s always been the case, Achan. Not that
you face Lord Nathak, necessarily, or even Esek, but that you face the keliy.”

  Achan winced at a throb in his head. “But how can I stand against such power? Such evil?”

  “You can’t. But Arman can and will.”

  Achan swallowed an angry retort. People threw that phase around as if it were nothing more than a greeting. Arman will do this. Arman will do that. Trust Arman. But Achan was the one prophesied to push back Darkness. He did not doubt Arman would help him, but he still felt overwhelmed, insignificant, and clueless as to what he would need to do.

  Just don’t forget to let me in on the plan, Arman.

  “What will you do with the black knights who survived the attack?” Captain Demry asked.

  Sir Gavin tugged on his beard braid. “Keep them bound and full of âleh as long as we can. Then throw them in the dungeon at Armonguard. Maybe execute them. That will be your choice, Your Highness.”

  His choice. A shudder coursed through him. Lord Nathak’s story… his whole life. What a waste. How could Queen Dara have been so cruel? And why had the king done such a thing in the first place? Sir Gavin had said King Axel loved his wife. What had gone wrong? The question brought his thoughts back to his own blunder with Challa.

  “And what about Kurtz?” Toros Ianjo, the warrior-priest of Arman, directed his question to Sir Gavin. “Will you arrest him as well?”

  Achan perked up. “Arrest Kurtz? For what? He saved my life and Shung’s. I should knight him.”

  “I’m afraid there is more to it than that, Your Highness.” Sir Caleb swallowed, as if he’d rather not admit what he had to say. “When I went to claim a new wagon for you to travel in, I found them all at the back of the procession. The prostitutes Kurtz hired were living in them. Kurtz and his comrades had shifted the supplies to carts and such to make room.

  “The women have been traveling at the back of the procession so that the officers would not notice them. But the wagons were designed specifically to hide you. That’s why they all looked alike. And they were to be spaced evenly throughout the procession. Kurtz’s decision made it obvious to the black knights which wagon was yours. One of the black knights confessed as much. I don’t know what in flames Kurtz was thinking.”