From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  Then Bran’s posture relaxed. He slid his hands into her hair and moved his mouth against hers, tasting of mentha. He slid his hands down to her throat. One finger tangled in the cord at her neck. Achan’s ring.

  She pulled away. “I am sorry!”

  Silence descended but for Bran’s heavy breathing. He finally growled. “Why must we always kiss to test our love?”

  “I…” Had they done that before?

  “Were you able to figure things out this time?”

  Averella swallowed her shame. “Not really.”

  He grunted. “Here.” He patted the ground beside him. “Sit and I’ll tell you what I know of the prince. Perhaps it will help you remember.”

  Averella did as Bran asked, not wanting to hear about Prince Gidon, but feeling too guilty to protest. He told her how Achan had beaten Silvo Hamartano at a tournament, long before he’d known he was of royal blood, and how he was brave enough to insult Lady Jaira back after she’d insulted him for being a stray.

  After a long while, Bran’s voice faded. Averella lay awake, trying not to think of all Bran had told her. But visions of Darkness came then, so she focused on herbs, picturing them in her mind and thinking about their medicinal uses, wondering how she knew so much about them all. When she finally did sleep, it was restless.

  Dreams came again. Ebens. Esek. Prince Gidon. A man named Khai Mageia. Macoun Hadar. Sir Gavin. And Bran. In her dreams, she walked along a stone corridor, exiting the Mahanaim dungeons, wondering where might she find the best apples.

  Mags would know.

  “I don’t put ’em here, I just keep ’em here,” a man’s voice snapped from up ahead. “Take it up with Lord Levy if you like.”

  Averella rounded the corner to see the back of a guard standing at the dungeon gate. The man he was talking to sidestepped as if preparing to leave.

  Bran.

  It felt strange to see him after so long. He looked different, but the same. Maybe even taller. She wanted him to recognize her, sweep her off her feet, and take her home. At the same time, she hesitated. If she revealed herself in front of this guard, he would report it. She might be taken prisoner.

  As she approached the gate, she struggled to know what to do. She wanted to go home, did she not?

  Of course she did, but first she had to help Achan.

  Her surroundings shifted. She stood in a dungeon cell. The smell of mildew and human waste made her gag. Across the cell, Achan hung from his wrists, shackled face-first against the stone wall. Deep red welts crisscrossed his back. A guard raised his arm and whipped him again. Averella jumped and looked away, hands covering her face. But nothing could mask the sound of the leather against flesh and Achan’s grunts as he fought the pain.

  She awoke, panting. Her chest burned as if coals were smoldering inside. It had been a dream. Simply another vision from Darkness. She lay on her side on the hard ground. She clutched the blanket to her chest, wanting to burrow under it. The blanket did not give.

  She propped herself onto one elbow to see what the problem was. Master Rennan lay on his side, facing her. She had been pulling at his sleeve.

  Reality came rushing back. They were in Darkness. Achan was far away, likely engaged in battle.

  She shook her head. Why did it matter where Achan was? She lay back down, putting space between her and Master Rennan.

  She suddenly knew that those last scenes had been memories. She had seen Bran in the Mahanaim dungeon. He had brought Achan’s bag. But Vrell had not confessed her identity. She could not fathom why she had kept silent.

  But she already knew. She had not confided the truth to Bran that day because she had been too concerned for Achan’s welfare. More concerned about this mysterious young man than her betrothed.

  She turned around and stared into the darkness where Bran lay sleeping. He had not been to blame for their parting.

  She had been the one to go astray.

  27

  Achan and his army moved south toward Armonguard and the eventual battle—now only eight thousand strong, having lost a thousand in the battle of Reshon Gate. Desperate to be outdoors in the sun, Achan rode Scout behind Shung and Manu. Sir Caleb had insisted he wear his armor if he were going to ride, though he couldn’t wear his helm due to the burn on his ear. His new haircut garnered more stares than ever. The fireball had singed so much hair that Achan’s short haircut made him look like a little boy.

  The army moved in one seemingly endless line, stretching in both directions as far as he could see, which wasn’t far considering the thickness of this massive forest. Achan rode beside his wagon, which moved at the back of the vanguard and at the head of the center of their procession. He could see the archers before Shung and Manu, bows strapped to their backs or saddlebags. Scouts moved through the forest, keeping watch for any who might come at them from the sides.

  Since Achan had ridden Dove yesterday, he rode Scout now. Scout tended to get jealous of Dove. Bart, the piebald packhorse Cole was riding, didn’t seem to care who he belonged to. Though he likely believed Cole his owner, if anyone, since Cole rode and cared for him.

  Achan steered Scout up to Bart’s side. “How are you today, Cole?”

  “I’m well, Your Highness. Thank you for asking.” Cole always spoke to Achan with more decorum than a noblewoman would use.

  “Have you thought any more about training as a squire?” Achan asked.

  Cole shook his choppy brown hair out of his eyes. “I’m but a stray, Your Highness.”

  “So am I, in case you forgot. Both my parents are dead.”

  Cole merely stared.

  “Do you want to train as a squire or not, Cole? Let your rank have nothing to do with it and answer the question.”

  Cole flushed so that his face blended in with his hundreds of freckles. He combed his fingers through Bart’s mane. “Suppose I’d like to try, Your Highness.”

  “Then try you shall. Come to my tent after dinner tonight.”

  Cole looked up with wide eyes. “I’m to be your squire?”

  “Why not? I don’t have one. Only four shadows and a valet-page.”

  “But you should have a trained squire, one who can serve you well. I could squire for someone else. Kurtz, maybe.”

  Achan glanced behind him to where Kurtz and Cortland rode side by side. Sir Caleb had freed Kurtz at Achan’s request. “You’re not squiring for Kurtz.”

  “But I bunk in the same tent as him. It makes good sense,” Cole said. “Then you could pick someone better.”

  The last thing the lad needed was Kurtz teaching him the ways of the world. “Only knights and royalty take on squires. Since Kurtz is neither, he’s not an option. I’d prefer to train my own squire, Cole, and have chosen you. What say you?”

  “I’m… I’m honored, Your Highness. Thank you!”

  Achan chuckled. The boy was honored whenever Achan looked at him. “You’re welcome, Cole. Until tonight.” Achan rode up beside Shung’s mount. “I’m going to ride down the line.”

  Shung nodded and turned his horse. “Kurtz, Cortland, ride ahead. Manu and Shung will follow the prince.”

  Achan stifled a grin. Shung only ever referred to him as “the prince” when he spoke to others as the head of Achan’s guard. Otherwise, Achan was always Little Cham.

  Achan followed Kurtz and Cortland down the line, greeting the men, especially those who bore injuries. Thanking them for their service. Most seemed happy to talk with him. Only two glared openly. Perhaps they’d been deeply affected by the segregation of Kurtz’s lady friends.

  The soldiers’ horses parted for him like cream in water. Achan rode along merrily, until he spotted a face so familiar and so out of place as to almost unhorse him.

  Harnu Poe? Riding a stunning white and black courser.

  “Whoa, boy.” What was Harnu doing here? Anger flooded him as he looked at Harnu’s pockmarked face. Achan swallowed, torn by how to address the bully who’d tormented him all his childhood. Politene
ss would be best, so long as they had an audience. “Harnu. I’m glad to see you well. When did you join our army? Is Noam with you?”

  “No…” Harnu glanced at Shung, then bowed his head. “Y-Your Highness. We were separated in Mahanaim.”

  “Separated? How?”

  “I was trading my wagon for a boat when your men attacked the city. I was unable to get to the boat, so I joined the battle and just… decided to stay on.”

  “Your Highness,” Cortland said. “Why not bring this man to the side of the road so the others can keep moving.”

  “Of course.” Achan steered Scout into the grass on the side of the King’s Road. Harnu followed, his horse flicking its tail. The army trudged on, horses’ hooves scraping over the dirt, men talking, wagon wheels creaking. “Tell me, Harnu. What became of Gren, Noam, and Sparrow?”

  Harnu’s dark eyebrows sank over his eyes. “Sparrow?”

  “Vrell Sparrow. She was traveling with Gren. She told me you and Noam rescued her from Sitna Manor.”

  “Oh.” Harnu’s forehead wrinkled. “They’re together, the women and Noam. The lady, er, Vrell, she spoke to my mind. I told her to leave me behind since Captain Demry allowed me to join the ranks.” He bowed again. “Your Highness.”

  Sparrow must be safe if she’d left Mahanaim. “If Captain Demry asked you to join his men, you must have fought well.” Achan felt some of his anger leaking away. Harnu now served in his army. And served nobly, at that.

  Harnu lowered his gaze. “I did my best. I have no formal training with a sword. As you know.”

  “If only Captain Demry had some pitchforks on hand.”

  A mixture of expressions fought for purchase on Harnu’s face, but he settled on a smile that looked painful.

  Achan continued before Harnu said something he’d regret. “But you’ve likely created enough swords to know a weapon’s strength. Did you find that knowledge useful?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, I thank you, Harnu, for assisting Sparrow. Vrell, that is. For helping Gren rescue her from Lord Nathak’s wagon, for getting her safely to your father’s cabin, and for watching over her until she returned to her body.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  Achan glanced at Shung. “We bloodvoicers talk.”

  Harnu’s gaze darted between Achan’s guards, his face suddenly pale. “Uh… Your Highness, since I took care of your lady friend, might I ask a similar favor?”

  Achan frowned. Don’t push it, swine. “You may ask.”

  “Help me convince Grendolyn to marry me?”

  A moment passed before Achan realized that his mouth was hanging open. He barked out a laugh. “Uh… I think Gren may have her heart set on… someone else. Furthermore, I won’t force Gren to marry anyone she does not wish to marry.”

  Harnu scowled. “Didn’t stop you before.”

  Achan straightened in his saddle. “What do you mean?”

  “Riga. Gren didn’t want to marry Riga.”

  “Well, I know that. She wanted to marry me, but her father would not hear of it.”

  “But you set the marriage in motion. Riga told me so.”

  “I had to!” Some of the passing soldiers stared at Achan, so he lowered his voice. “To save her.”

  “No,” Harnu said. “I’d been trying to talk Riga into marrying Kelmae Samsol. I’d nearly convinced him too, ’til you came barging in with your accusations.”

  “It was no mere accusation. Esek wanted to take Gren as a mistress.”

  “Only to spite you.”

  Achan’s stomach boiled. But Harnu had more to say.

  “Where were you on her wedding night?”

  The question shocked Achan. He glanced to the passing army, to a cart stacked with rolled-up tents. “I was in bed under the ale casks.” Grieving. The brief memory brought a weight over Achan. He was done speaking to Harnu Poe. He wanted to go back to his wagon, but Harnu’s next words snared him.

  “You caused her misery and left. But I had to stand outside their bedroom door and pretend I didn’t care what was taking place within. I had to stand guard, indifferent to the sound of her crying while—”

  Achan shook his head. “Don’t.”

  “—Riga took what—”

  “I said don’t!”

  Harnu gave him a pointed look, his dark eyes like arrows trained on his head. “You need to hear this.”

  “I do not!”

  Cortland nosed his mount between Achan and Harnu’s. “Your Highness, perhaps it’s time to move on?”

  Harnu’s face hardened. “You’re just like him, now, aren’t you? Esek? Ruining lives. Barking orders. Running off to hide in the comfort of your private chambers.”

  “Your Highness?” Kurtz rode up on Achan’s other side. “Shall I cuff this drudge for you?”

  Achan held up a finger, but did not look away from Harnu. “I helped Gren the only way I could. The wedding would have happened anyway. It—”

  Harnu shook his head.

  “—would have! And you’re a fool to believe otherwise. Nothing you or I could have done would have changed it.”

  “She loved you,” Harnu said. “Loved you. Despised Riga. But me… I was invisible. And I was the only one who didn’t break her heart. And she can’t see that, even now.”

  This was madness. “You broke her heart every time you broke my face, or some other poor sap’s.” Achan grimaced. “If you have loved Gren always, tell me why. What about her is so grand?”

  Harnu’s disposition softened at this question. He ran his fingers through his horse’s mane. “She’s kind to everyone, no matter their station. She’s loyal, truthful, and honorable. She’s a hard worker and can do as much with fabric as I can with iron. Her voice makes me calm when I hear it. And I only have to look on her face to know peace in my heart. I’ve no joy without her in my life.”

  Blazes, the fool did love Gren. “Have you told her? What you just told me?”

  “She never gives me opportunity. And I can’t write.”

  Scout flicked his ear at a fly. “Where would you live and how?”

  “I maintained Riga’s cabin. Added a second room for the child. If she allowed it, I’d live there with her. Or we could live with my father. His age has altered him greatly. The armory will pass to me when he dies, so I’ll be able to provide for her and the child. If the child is male, he’ll inherit Master Hoff’s trade. If the child’s a girl, Gren will teach her to make clothing. I’ll keep the child safe and see she makes a good match in marriage—one of her own choosing as much as possible.”

  Achan stared at Harnu, enthralled by the dreamy look in the man’s eyes and weighted down by his own guilt. The idea of caring for Gren had crossed his mind only once since he’d heard of Riga’s death. Was Harnu a better man than he was? What had happened to Achan’s nobility?

  He knew the answer without even thinking her name. Vrell Sparrow. She had stolen his heart from Gren. When this war ended, he would find her and do all he could to mend what was broken.

  “Harnu, I cannot promise such a thing without speaking to Gren. I will speak to her, though. That much I can do.”

  Harnu’s grin looked foreign on his pockmarked face. Achan didn’t think he had ever seen the man offer a genuine smile until this moment. “Thank you, Your Highness. That’s all I ask.”

  Achan nodded. “Go on then. Catch up with your men.”

  Harnu spurred his horse into a canter along the grassy edge of the trail. Achan watched him go, thoughts drifting like pollen in the wind.

  “No one could doubt his love is true,” Cortland said. “He could be a minstrel, the way he talks about his girl.”

  His girl. Achan glanced at Cortland, a man who knew nothing of the knotted past Achan shared with Gren and Harnu. And Riga.

  Gren, Harnu’s girl?

  Only Arman knew the answer to that.

  28

  “My lady, it’s time to wake.”

  Averella opened her eyes ex
pecting to see Bran. Instead, she saw the faint outline of an old bald man. She blinked and sat up to find that it was not an old man at all, but Peripaso, the man who lived in the tunnels under Nahar Forest. His thin, bony body, though young, was hunched from years of scuttling through tunnels like a beetle. His skin was wrinkled like a raisin from living in the constant moisture of the underground hot springs.

  Before, he had worn nothing but blackened undershorts. Today he was wearing a brown tunic and trousers—filthy in the knees—and shabby leather shoes. He held a coil of rope looped over one shoulder.

  “Well, now,” he said, his voice twangy. “Who’d of thought that all this time you were a lady?”

  She grinned. “Hello, Peripaso.”

  Bran stepped beside Peripaso and extended his hand. “We are ready to depart. You might want to eat something first.”

  Averella accepted his help to stand. She straightened the bottom of her skirt that had twisted under her bronze breastplate. “Peripaso, what is our plan?”

  He patted the rope. “I’m goin’ to lead everyone out, Lady Vrell. There’s a tunnel not too far from here. It’s larger than most and goes straight up. It’ll be hard climbin’, but once we reach the top, we’ll slide down the other side. Lets out a day’s walk from Noiz.”

  Noiz was the king’s sanctuary. “We are going to Noiz?” Averella asked.

  “Jax thinks it wise,” Bran said.

  “Ebens are camped all over Nahar Forest,” Peripaso said. “We’d never make it to Xulon. And Noiz isn’t far from Armonguard.”

  Averella recalled the slide in Peripaso’s cave. But slide down an entire mountain? “I thought you caved in all the tunnels that let out into Darkness and Eben territory.”

  “I did, Lady Vrell, but that was ’fore Darkness shifted. Now plenty let out in Darkness. Ebens set up camp by most of ’em. Lazy hunters. Waiting for critters to take shelter. Ebens haven’t bothered with this one, though. Guess they figure no creature would shelter somewhere so steep.”

  Gren had already packed up Averella’s things, so she quickly ate the dried dates Bran had given her to break her fast.