The harbinger snarled, narrowing its eyes again before leaping forward. The blades crashed and came apart multiple times in a blur of motion.
—Press him, Ambrose said, and Aidan smiled. His ancestor’s voice was tight, but tinged with excitement. The strategy of swordplay, the ability to outthink an opponent and land a winning stroke. Ambrose had lived for this, had never felt more alive than when he was in the thick of battle. Now Aidan had become a vessel that thrummed with his ancestor’s ability, and his passion for the fight.
The harbinger proved a worthy opponent. The creature pressed forward then, suddenly, fell back, stepped into a shadow near one of the columns—and vanished.
Where...?
—Behind you! Ambrose said.
Aidan turned to see the harbinger leap from another band of shadows. He raised Heritage and deflected two quick blows, stepped forward in a thrust. But the harbinger had jumped into another pool of darkness. This time Aidan heard it mutter a clipped phrase. Dark magic. He recognized the Language of Light. He pivoted, eyes darting around to anticipate where the beast might reappear.
—Bide your time, Ambrose said tensely. He will slip up. And when he does—
But Aidan had another idea. He had been the prey for weeks, always waiting for hunters who wore darkness like a cloak to make the first move, expecting him to react. That, and his body could not keep up this pace much longer, not even with Ambrose guiding him like a mother holding a babe’s hands while he took his first steps. Unlike Ordine’cin, overuse of Ordine’kel came with no fever. Physical exertion inevitably pushed the body to exhaustion, and Aidan’s body had already been fed through a grinder. His ribs flared with pain, bruised or worse from the harbinger’s beating in the depths. His arms burned; the sword felt unbearably heavy in his hands.
Aidan stopped pivoting and lowered his guard, panting.
—What are you doing? Ambrose said in a strangled tone.
Footsteps sounded behind him, rushing from a bank of shadows behind the thrones. Aidan stepped to one side and heard the harbinger’s blade whistle as it cut the air. Not daring to think, he plunged into the shadows and drew them in around them, embracing cold and darkness. The prayer the harbinger had used passed through his lips.
Then he sped across the room to another cluster of shadows. He looked around frantically, trying to get his bearings. His eyes caught sight of a balcony far above. He darkened and prayed again and suddenly he was soaring toward it, like an arrow taking flight. He looked down to the shadows between the thrones and flowed there, rushing in. The sensation was exhilarating, not quite as instantaneous as shifting or fast-traveling the tunnels, but smoother, like water streaming over a fall. He enjoyed the movement, and marveled in speeding from spot to spot.
He looked below and saw the harbinger twisting around as he had, spitting curses and trying to pinpoint where Aidan might reappear. Aidan waited until he stepped near one of the side walls. Abruptly he was there, lunging at the harbinger. The Edmund impostor had just enough time to raise his blade, but Aidan’s stupendous momentum sent him sprawling. His blade skittered away, lost in darkness.
Aidan wasted little time. He hit the ground running, called Sight, and leaped atop the harbinger, pinning it on his back.
“You’ve lost,” Aidan said.
It would have smiled, had it been able. “Not quite.” Its hands shot forward, palms open. Strands of darkness shot forth, wriggling like worms and straining for Aidan’s throat. Aidan grunted and felt his arms quiver like chords. A chill had settled over him from the darkening.
“Fire!” Aidan cried in desperation, raising the Eye to point at the harbinger. A fresh jet of flame leaped from the jewel, carved through the strands of shadow and poured over the harbinger’s face. It screamed and thrashed. The flame cut off as Aidan rolled free, sword raised, ready to continue the fight.
But the fight was over. The harbinger’s cries died away and it fell still. Tendrils of smoke rose from its face. The last sense Aidan had of coherence was the smell of burnt flesh, and with it, the memory of what he had done at Sharem.
Cold stabbed every inch of Edmund as the creature who wore his wife’s face dragged him deeper beneath the surface. He beat at her unyielding arm with one hand as the other stretched forward, gripping her face, gouging her eyes in a desperate attempt to be released. She jerked away from his grip, and to his horror her face slipped off easily in his hand. The true face of the harbinger stared back at him. Cockroaches and maggots floated to the surface, kicking and struggling before the water’s icy clutches stilled their tiny legs.
Edmund released the mask. His wife’s face stared blankly at him as the disguise floated to the surface. His free arm returned to squeeze at the creature’s hand still clutching his neck. He kicked at it, but the water slowed his kick, muting it. His lungs burned. Her grip tightened as spots wavered across his vision. He kicked out again with one leg. From the boot on the other he tugged free a dagger and drove it through the back of its fleshy head. The thin strips of flesh covering the orifice trembled and went still. Its grip slackened, and the creature drifted toward the dark, icy depths, its empty eye sockets bulging and its mouth frozen in an endless scream.
Edmund felt his lungs burst into flame. The last sight he saw before blackness took him was his wife’s face, floating up to the surface.
Chapter 38
Flight of an Arrow
AIDAN GASPED AND SAT upright, sweat rolling down his bare chest like a tepid, sticky waterfall. The dream, again. Tyrnen. Chasing him. Catching him. Killing him.
He looked around the room and let out a long, slow sigh, expelling his terror like steamy breath in winter air. He was back in his bed in Sunfall, and Tyrnen was gone. Not locked up in the depths beneath the palace, but safely away from his home. At least he hoped so. He settled back and closed his eyes. Within moments he felt his eyelids grow pleasantly heavy.
—There’s no more time for sleep, I’m afraid, his grandfather said.
Aidan covered his face with his blankets.
“There’s always time for sleep,” he mumbled.
—Not for you. We gave you two full days to recuperate.
His eyes flew open. “Two days?”
—You were in and out, and I suppose you did need the rest. You pushed yourself hard again, Aidan. He paused. Darkening saps the body of even more strength than kindling, as I understand it.
Aidan ran his hands over his face. His mad flight from Sordia to Calewind, the energy he had given to Anastasia to reverse his false mother’s transfiguration, the bone-chilling cold of the dark magic used to swim the shadows in his battle against the Edmundharbinger... His grandfather was right. He did not feel as weakened as he had after the battle at Sharem, but he certainly wasn’t ready to race Daniel through Sunfall’s corridors.
Frowning, Aidan looked around again. How did I get back to my own bed?
—You were found in the throne room, barely cognizant and delirious from fever. Wardsmen found you, and Christine—
His face warmed at the mention of her name, and the memory of the night they had spent together. And, his grandfather hadn’t referred to her as “that Sallnerian girl.” It was a start.
—put you to bed and gave you healing. How do you feel?
“Tired,” Aidan said.
—Do you remember much of what happened?
“Yes.” He remembered all of it: the trial, the fight for his life in the Night Terror. But what he remembered more clearly than anything else was his mother’s tortured face peering at him from within the spirit stone.
“I saw her, Grandfather. I saw my mother.”
Charles said nothing.
“I will free her. She will not suffer another night as Tyrnen’s prisoner.”
—Once a soul is captured, it cannot be released unless the stone is broken, or unless the stone’s master grants it release, Charles said. His voice was firm, practical, but Aidan knew his grandfather well enough to see past his gruffnes
s. There was an underlying despair in his tone, not much, but enough to shake the old man’s confidence like a wind pulling leaves from a tree.
—The harbinger you killed in Night Terror is, for all intents and purposes, still alive, Anastasia interjected. You only destroyed a temporary vessel. As long as Tyrnen controls their souls, he can resurrect his slaves again and again. All he needs are bodies.
“But destroying Tyrnen’s spirit stone would free those souls, and prevent him from creating more harbingers.”
—Yes, Anastasia said.
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
—It isn’t that simple, Charles said. Getting to the stone means getting close to Tyrnen.
“That’s fine with me,” Aidan said grimly.
—It shouldn’t be. Remember, your soul is vulnerable to him.
I thought you would want her set free as badly as I do, Aidan thought angrily. A wave of shame settled over him as Charles inhaled sharply. I’m sorry, Grandfather. I really need to learn to keep a hold on my temper. I just felt so helpless seeing her that way.
—I understand. And I do want her with us. But remember that Heritage cannot protect you from a spirit stone. It did not protect your mother. You must be careful. If you fail, every soul on Crotaria will be lost to Tyrnen, not just your mother’s.
Aidan nodded and swung his legs to the floor. “I’d better get moving. We can—”
—There’s something else we need to discuss, his grandfather said, voice prickly.
Aidan sighed again. He should have known this was coming. “Dark magic.”
—We know you used it to run the tunnels, Anastasia said. We understand.
You do?
—You needed to reach the Prophet quickly, and she... did not dissuade its use, exactly. But dark magic is still forbidden. Remember what it did to my parents.
Aidan’s eyes widened. Aside from the legend relayed during every Gairden’s Rite of Heritage, little mention was made of the fact that Anastasia was Dimitri and Luria Thalamahn’s daughter. In a very, very distant way, the Thalamahns were family. And he thought his parents had been strict.
—It leads to corruption in all who use it, Anastasia went on. Darkening is dangerous.
“I haven’t sprouted a second head, nor do I feel any inclination to take over the world.”
—Do you ever listen to yourself talk? Charles muttered.
Aidan ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Anastasia” he said. “Please forgive me.”
—You have been through a lot, she said after a moment. You are a remarkably strong young man. But I will not let the matter drop so easily, Aidan. This is important to me. I need your word that you will not darken again.
Aidan folded his hands. “No.” He braced himself for a tirade, but received only silence. Anastasia drew in a large breath. It was like the creak of a catapult drawing back.
—Perhaps we should ask Aidan about his reasoning, Ambrose interjected in a soft tone.
—Husband! Anastasia sounded shocked. You saw firsthand what my mother and father became. You agreed that—
—I did then, and I do now, Ambrose said. But Aidan has given you your say. I think we deserve to hear him out.
—I agree, Anastasia, Charles said. Aidan can be impetuous, yes. Emotional, very much so. A bit slow at times, I’ll concede that. A procrastinator, no doubt. And he tends to—
“Where exactly are you going with this?” Aidan said tensely.
—My grandson is an intelligent young man, Charles said. I say we hear his reasoning.
The three Gairdens muttered for several moments.
—Very well, Anastasia said. You may speak, Aidan.
Aidan took time to wrestle with his thoughts. His feelings on the subject of dark magic, and its brighter counterpart, had been jumbled and slippery since his first time darkening in the tunnels. He had not had time to sort through them in all the excitement since then. Now, he knew, was the time. Not only to share his thoughts with his family, but to finally take firm hold of a concept that had been dancing just out of his reach for days.
“When I darkened in the tunnels, I was not sure what to expect, what I might feel. What I felt was... well, I felt cold, like I had decided to go hiking through a blizzard wearing only my skin. The sensation was the opposite of what I feel when I kindle the Lady’s light. Other than that, everything felt the same. I used the Language of Light—which seems an inappropriate name for what appears to be a universal language of magic—and Kahltan answered my prayer.
“That surprised me, at first. Why would the Lord of Midnight answer the call of a servant to the Lady of Dawn? But he did.” Aidan hesitated, his heart beating faster. “And then, in the recall spell, I watched as the Lady gave Tyrnen spells to kill my mother.”
—That is blasphemy, Aidan, Anastasia said sharply.
—Let him finish, please, Charles said. The old man also spoke tightly, but he also sounded curious.
“Thank you, Grandfather. And Anastasia, you know my thoughts. You must know I love the Lady of Dawn, as I loved her Prophet. But I saw what I saw, and I heard what I heard. Tyrnen prayed to the Lady. She answered. I’m not so sure that’s how it works, now.”
—How what works, Aidan? his grandfather asked.
He fell silent again, try to shape his thoughts. “When a man fires an arrow, he chooses the target. Magic, to me, seems to function the same way. We draw in the resource we need, speak the words, and create a result. We use the word prayer, but that doesn’t seem quite right. We set the arrow, take aim, and release. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Why would the Lady answer Tyrnen’s request for magic to destroy a Gairden, a member of the bloodline she chose to protect her people? Because he didn’t ask her.”
His voice grew quieter. “Why would the Lady grant me the power I needed to cause such destruction and bloodshed at Sharem? What I did was terrible—and it was my choice. Not hers. That’s how the Prophet described it to me in the Duskwood. She said the Lady’s light can be used to destroy, or to protect peace. It seems to me that dark magic works the same way. Your parents, Anastasia, used it to destroy. I used it again to battle the harbinger, a force of destruction, who used it to battle me, an agent of peace. We selected the same tool and used it to achieve different ends.
“Why would the Lord of Midnight help us both? Well, I don’t think he did. Maybe... maybe he doesn’t have anything to do with what we do. Maybe the Lady doesn’t, either.” Realizing what he had just said, he rushed on: “Or maybe not as much as we think.”
He sat back, took a deep breath, and waited for someone to break the silence. Not surprisingly, Anastasia spoke up first. What did surprise him were her words, and tone.
—You have given us much to think about, she said thoughtfully. I... am sorry for being so harsh before. You have indeed put a great deal of thought into this.
Aidan shrugged, smiling a little. “Just a little here and there, in between running for my life and battling the walking dead.”
She laughed, full and rich. Then she grew quiet again. —I would like to talk more of this. For now, we need to concentrate on your immediate concern, Anastasia went on.
“Tyrnen,” he said.
—Nichel, Charles corrected. You have a war to stop, first.
Chapter 39
Promises from the Past
AIDAN GROANED. “THE CLANS. I almost forgot.”
—There wasn’t any ‘almost’ involved, boy, Charles said, though his voice was light. Now then, find your father, and—
“My fa...” His eyes widened. “Is he...?”
“Alive,” said a voice from the doorway.
The door swung open to admit Edmund. He limped into the room on a sturdy pair of crutches. His breeches and green shirt seemed odd to Aidan’s eyes; he was so accustomed to seeing his father in armor that Edmund had convinced him that he wore it to bed until his mother had rolled her eyes and intervened. Weeks’ worth of stubble had been shaved away, revealing a
smooth face covered in faint scars.
Aidan rose from the bed and embraced his father. Edmund said nothing, only patting Aidan’s back.
“I haven’t seen this much of you since we went swimming in Lake Carrean when we were twelve,” said a voice from behind Edmund. Daniel, his face covered in sweat and his clothes stained with dirt, grinned as he entered. Christine flowed in behind him, her eyes bright. Looking down, Aidan blushed and leaped back under his covers. Christine sat next to him and scooted close. Edmund frowned disapprovingly between them, but neither noticed.
“How did you get here so quickly?” Aidan asked Daniel.
“Christine learned how to travel the tunnels,” Daniel said, shrugging.
“What tunnels?” Edmund asked.
“The sneaks move underground to get from place to place,” Aidan explained, glossing over the method of fast-travel. He was not ready for another discussion on dark magic just yet.
Edmund looked crestfallen. “You already know about those?”
“How are you feeling?” Christine asked, placing a hand on his forehead. The other was curled protectively around her belly.
“Better than I was, thanks to you,” he said.
Christine blushed. He was once again struck by how beautiful she looked when he managed to catch her off guard. He would have to get better at that.
“You look awful,” Aidan said to Daniel as he took in his friend’s haggard appearance.
“Not as bad as you,” Daniel said back.
“I mean you’re filthy. Did you run here all the way from Sordia?”
Daniel’s smile was not quite genuine. “I just returned from an errand,” he said, glancing at Edmund.
“An errand?” Aidan repeated. He looked questioningly at his father.
Lowering himself beside Aidan with a weary sigh, Edmund said, “We’ll discuss that in a bit. What did Tyrnen do to us, Aidan? One moment we were in the courtyard. The next, I was back at Lake Carrean with...” He swallowed and looked away.
Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles Page 31
