“I never thought I’d know if you survived,” he said.
Mara blinked, remembering her escape. “I almost didn’t. But I had some help along the way,” she said.
Drake nodded. “I went looking for you in Redlow after you left, but you weren’t there. I was worried something terrible had befallen you in the forest, especially when the reward for your capture was never collected.”
“I am sorry about that, Drake. I didn’t exactly heed your advice.” Mara suddenly wondered how different the last year would have been had she actually listened to Drake. Would she have avoided the sadness that shadowed her?
“Yes. I know,” he said. “I feel as though I have been looking for you ever since. And I have been blaming myself. I was a fool for sending a young woman into the unknown by herself. I should have gone with you.”
Mara reached out, careful not to cause herself pain and touched his shoulder. “If it wasn’t for you, Drake, I would have been killed. You saved my life, twice, for that matter. So please don’t think you did anything less than that,” she assured.
“Yes, miss…Mara. But I could have saved your mother too. I should have...” His voice trailed off.
Mara shook her head, remembering her mother’s words. “I have never blamed you for my mother’s death. Nothing could have changed it. So please let go of any guilt you might still hold, Drake. And you can consider yourself relieved of any obligation towards me.”
Drake shook his head. “Oh no, Mara, I won’t let you out of my sight now that I’ve found you. We can continue to Oathlyre. It’s an old fortress to the north. There have been some rising tensions between the realms, and I doubt it will be long before the hills and forests are full of deserters and barbarians. It’s not safe here anymore.”
Annora’s eyes lit up. “They say it’s an old Morian fortress right on the ocean. Just like Valenia.”
Mara frowned with regret at her eager companion. “I can’t go there,” she said.
Disappointment crept into Annora’s eyes. “Why?”
“I have to find Corbin,” Mara said to Drake. “That’s why we were traveling in the first place. I’m certain he will be looking for us, as well. I appreciate the offer, but I must find him.”
“We can’t let her go now,” said Gareth, guilt still etched on his face.
“I appreciate your concern,” Mara said firmly. “But I am not even sure how far off our path we have traveled, and I am not about to go even further. I have to find him.”
Drake exhaled and placed a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “As you wish, Mara. We will accompany you to find your friend.”
Mara breathed a sigh of relief, glad they hadn’t challenged her. “He will be traveling with two other men. They were soldiers from Oakriver,” Mara said.
A glimmer of recognition crossed Drake’s face. “Oakriver?” he asked, his eyes grew large.
Gareth slapped Drake on the arm. “Inn’t that where you’re from?”
Drake nodded his head with a furrowed brow. “I am.”
Mara watched him with interest. “What is it, Drake?”
“Well, it’s true I am from Oakriver, though I don’t recall my life there. You see, the war left me injured, and I had lost almost an entire season of time before I was even able to stand again. I never did regain my memory.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Oakriver was razed after an invasion. There was nothing left to return to and none of our soldiers survived. I don’t know how I ended up so far south, but when I’d recovered enough, I joined the guard in Moorthrop. Perhaps it’s a blessing that the memories of lost loves, which haunt so many, have not found me.”
“Maybe you know Barrett and Ailwen,” Annora said excitedly.
“Perhaps,” Drake said.
Mara bit her lip, thinking how awful it must have been for Drake, knowing his entire home was destroyed and not to have any memory of it. Before she could offer any words of compassion, the door to the little hut opened and Agatha stepped out.
Mara clutched her side. “I want to go now,” she said, trying to conceal her urgency to get away from Agatha and her predictions.
Drake followed Mara’s gaze. “But you must rest some more. You’ve only just begun to recover,” he insisted.
Mara shook her head. “No. We must leave today. Too much time has been spent.”
Drake grunted with a nod and looked up to the sky. “We have about a half day’s worth of light left. Where would you like to go?”
“We need to move back towards the western sea.” The words almost stuck in Mara’s throat as she remembered her last days at Valenia, but her mother was right; she knew what she had to do.
Drake nodded. “Fine. As you wish,” he conceded.
Mara stayed as far away from Agatha as she could before their departure. It didn’t take long for the men to collect their things and saddle their horses. Then they paid their respects to Agatha and when Drake tried to offer her some coin she refused him, saying it was of no use to her in the forest.
Mara could see Annora was visibly disappointed they would not be going to Oathlyre, but when Mara reminded her that Ailwen would be with Corbin, Annora’s mood quickly lightened. Mara learned that in the days they’d spent waiting for her to recover, Gareth and Drake had done some training with Annora. She had learned to use a bow and arrow, and could handle a sword with increasing proficiency.
When they were ready to leave, Mara offered Agatha a hasty farewell and avoided the cloudy stare that seemed to cut through to the secrets she refused to acknowledge.
“Wait!” Annora cried. She ran back into the hut and emerged with a folded piece of black silk in her hands. “Your cloak,” she said, holding it up and letting the fabric unfold. “It had blood on it, but I was able to get it clean,” Annora said with a smile. She draped the sleek fabric over Mara’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Mara said. Her body warmed as soon as it touched her, still infused with the hint of the concealing spell. Annora tilted her head with a gentle smile and then followed Gareth, who hoisted her up onto the back of his chestnut mare.
Drake lifted Mara gently onto his horse and from his belt he withdrew the jeweled dagger. He held it out to her. “You might want this back as well,” he said.
“It’s yours. I was only borrowing it.”
“No, my lady. Consider it a gift.”
She took the dagger and secured it at her side. “I’m wondering if it’s this dagger that keeps me alive.”
Drake laughed. “Then it is an even better gift.”
Mara stayed silent while Drake’s horse ambled down the road and her mind churned with thoughts. Whatever the consequences for her, she had to get her Light back; not only because it’s what her mother said, but because she couldn’t live knowing Malcolm had won. Mara took a deep, trembling breath. The truth of Malcolm’s betrayal cut into her soul. How would she ever summon the courage to face him? And most frightening of all, would she succeed? Even if she found Corbin before returning to Valenia, Malcolm was still so much stronger. Was that what the old woman’s prophecy foretold? Would Corbin perish fighting Malcolm for her?
Mara closed her eyes and pushed the thoughts way. They were only causing more fear to shake her resolve. She would find Corbin first, and only then would she decide how to keep him safe.
“Why does my lord seem so ill-tempered? Am I so disagreeable that I can’t distract him from his troubles?” The woman on Malcolm’s lap traced the tip of her finger from the base of his ear down to his neck. Malcolm reached up and grabbed her hand before she could reach his chest. She winced from the pain.
“Your voice is what I find disagreeable,” he said through clenched teeth. He lifted his goblet of wine and shoved it to her mouth so that it sent a splash of ruby liquid trickling down her chin and bulging bosom.
She frowned, but drank the wine from the tilted cup.
This whorehouse was larger than the one he frequented in Dunport, but that was only because there were no clergy or churches near
the town of Tyemore to put a stop to it. Small, rounded tables dotted the room, and a doorway at the back led to a row of stalls, each separated by thin sheets of wool. A narrow, curving staircase off to the side led to a second level of the wood and stone structure, where there were two private rooms reserved for the better paying customers. But judging from the state of the declining border town, Malcolm guessed those rooms weren’t occupied often.
Malcolm filled the empty cup with the last bit of wine and drank it back in one gulp. After several jugs of it, he was finally beginning to feel intoxicated.
More than a fortnight had passed since he began following Corbin and his mortal cohorts. Malcolm took extra care as he followed Corbin’s energy so as not to alert Corbin to his presence. The trio passed Tyemore only recently and was headed further north. Malcolm decided to stay behind and bide his time before resuming his pursuit.
But he was growing restless.
Too much time had passed since Mara’s escape, and still Corbin had not found her.
In the beginning, Malcolm was confident Corbin would lead him to her, but as the days wore on and there was still no sign of her, Malcolm began to doubt his plan. Perhaps making her mortal and blinding him to her presence was a mistake. Malcolm wouldn’t even let himself think of the dangers she might have encountered as a mortal. Was he concerned for her, or simply concerned with what he wanted? He certainly had a deep loathing for her betrayal, but still, he found himself lost in moments of worry for her. He shook off his thoughts with a laugh and decided he’d waited behind long enough. He would leave Tyemore at sundown.
But in the meantime, he was trying to calm his nerves with jugs of wine and the irksome woman on his lap. He glared at her pouting face and followed her gaze across the room. At the other end sat a group of seven wayfaring men. Malcolm could see they weren’t peasants or nobility. More likely, they were renegade soldiers traveling through the hill towns on their way to Isca.
Malcolm looked back at the whore and listened to her thoughts. She watched the boisterous, drunken men kissing the necks of the girls beside them, wishing she was with them and not stuck with the surly white-haired man. She was disappointed. Clearly she had misjudged from his fine clothes and noble gait that he would be a profitable customer. All she felt for him now was contempt.
Malcolm smiled as he listened to her insipid thoughts. She was not a clever woman, but luckily for her, her looks were what kept her clothed and fed. And while her talents provided for her, the salacious burden of her profession had begun to age her young face. Malcolm noted the small creases that had begun to appear on her forehead and around her eyes, and a few scattered strands of gray poked through her thick black hair. She looked a little bit like Mara, as did all the whores he chose, but this one was of the closest likeness yet. And if he could only get her to shut up, he might be able to enjoy himself.
The rowdy men on the other end of the room roared with laughter, irritating Malcolm to no end. He stood up, sending the woman tumbling forward, but Malcolm caught her by the hips.“Let’s go upstairs,” he breathed into her ear.
He could hear her heart quicken. This wasn’t caused by lust, but rather the warning unease that mortals experience and often ignore when danger is near. She led the way up the narrow staircase and into a room with a single straw bed. The woman lit a candle in the windowless room. Malcolm closed the door behind him, lowering the latch.
She sat on the bed in her best effort to appear seductive. “Come here,” she whispered with a crook of her finger.
Malcolm walked up to her and slapped her across the face. She screamed and held her hand out defensively. Malcolm pressed his thumb into the burning spot on her cheek. “I thought I told you to be quiet,” he growled. “Now stand up.”
She sat still, peering at Malcolm with fear and disgust. Malcolm grabbed her by the shoulders and glared at her, allowing her to see the blazing glow within his eyes.
She gasped in horror.
“You are going to do what I tell you to do,” he said.
She looked up at him for a brief moment before nodding her head as she stood.
Malcolm hooked his finger on the tie that laced up her dress and pulled it loose in one swift movement. “Take off your dress.”
She slid the opened piece of fabric down her shoulders and inched the dress over the curves of her hips. He liked looking at her body, but the moment his eyes returned to her face, he could no longer fool himself into thinking this was Mara. “Turn around,” he said. “And don’t make a sound.”
After he’d finished with the whore, she lay still on the bed, uncertain if she should move. Malcolm slapped her hard on the backside. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
She turned and looked up at him with fire in her eyes.“I’ll never understand what causes men to become so wicked.”
Malcolm found her defiance charming. “I’m afraid I can’t speak to the follies of men, my dear, for I am certainly no man.”
When he emerged from the room, the brothel was quiet. The group of men from earlier had gone off with their women to the stalls in the back. Malcolm threw a few coins next to the empty jug of wine on the table, walked out into the waning daylight and untied, Gorias, his gray horse. The idle town gates stood open as he made his way out onto the plateau of land just before the rolling hills. The air was crisp and calm flakes of snow began to float through the air.
Malcolm followed his senses in the direction of Corbin and his men, who were still close enough for him to follow the path of energy. The muscular horse moved with ease up the incline and Malcolm nudged him into a faster trot down the other side. On either side of him, wide clusters of hawthorn bushes spotted the trodden roadway until he veered off its path and onto the virgin land. He enjoyed the cool wind on his face as he rode, wondering where Mara could have gone and if she was safe. He assumed she was still alive because even though she had no Light, Malcolm was certain he would have felt it if she wasn’t.
But time was running out, and he wasn’t willing to pursue Corbin in search of her for much longer. If he did, he might be trailing the countryside for years, following that fool and his humans. If Mara didn’t turn up soon, Malcolm would simply kill Corbin, and go in search of her himself. A being with his kind powers should have little trouble weeding out the fugitive young women, especially when one of them has a large burn scar on her face.
Malcolm wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings when his horse suddenly jerked its head back. He tried to nudge it to run faster when a rustling in the bushes caught his eye. Malcolm tried to halt the horse, but not fast enough before a group of men charged at him. Malcolm’s horse bucked, sending him reeling off the backside. He landed hard on the ground. Though the impact startled him, it did no harm, and Malcolm was up in an instant. He planted his feet and broadened his shoulders as the troop of men from the brothel lined up with their weapons drawn.
Malcolm stifled a laugh at their arrogance. What fools, he thought.
They all wore varying types of clothing, but Malcolm noticed they displayed no colors of allegiance or crests to indicate their loyalties. They were rogue soldiers.
A middle-aged man that seemed to take the position of their leader stepped forward. Malcolm challenged his approach with a fierce glare. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“We want whatever it is you have there in your purse.” The man pointed with the end of his sword to the pouch of coin at Malcolm’s side.
Malcolm pulled the pouch loose and held it up. “You want this?” He gave the man a devious smile.
“Aye, and whatever else you have in that sack there.” He pointed to the bag on Malcolm’s horse.
Malcolm laughed and watched the man’s face harden with anger. “What are you laughin’ at, boy?”
Malcolm continued to smirk and asked, “For whom do you fight?”
The leader frowned with confusion, not by the question, but the fact that this strange white-haired man felt brazen enough to as
k it. “We fight for ourselves, boy. And I best advise you to give us what we ask for if you want to walk away from here with both of your legs.”
Malcolm laughed again. “Is that so?”
The man shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Aye. I haven’t survived to this age by taking mercy. So give it up.”
“Hmm.” Malcolm tapped his chin in thought, and then he locked eyes with the man. “No mercy. That’s interesting, because I live by the same philosophy.” And without pause Malcolm withdrew his Dia spear and hurled the glowing rod at the man. It pierced him directly in the center of his chest, pinning him to the ground. The other men gawked at him for a moment, but quickly readied their swords to attack.
Fools, Malcolm thought, exactly what I need – brave fools.
Malcolm shot up his hand to create an invisible barrier that appeared like a thin layer of water between him and the soldiers.
The downed man was hanging on to his last breaths of life as blood spewed from his mouth. Malcolm met his eye and pulled a purse of gold from the man’s belt. He held it up, letting the coins jingle. “Perhaps you should have stayed at the whore house and bought some cunt instead of becoming one.”
Rage swept over the man’s face as he struggled to remove the spear.
Malcolm knelt down. “Do you need a hand with that?” In one swift jerk, Malcolm ripped it from the man’s chest so fast it almost tore him in half. He turned to the armed men, who had begun to inch backwards. Malcolm could see the alarm in their eyes, and although their swords were still drawn, their minds showed fear of the preternatural being that was now apparent to them. But still they did not retreat.
Good, Malcolm thought.
He held up the dead man’s coin. “Is anyone still interested in gold? There is some that has just become available.” He sifted through the contents. “There’s not much here, but if that’s what you came for, have at it.”
The men stared at him without a word. “Good,” Malcolm said. “Now does anyone else care to fashion themselves into a hero? Join your friend perhaps?” He waited, but they said nothing. “No? Very well, then.” Malcolm raised his hand and dropped the invisible barrier. “Then I’ll ask you again, where are you from?”
The Darkness of Light Page 20
