By Darkness Hid bok-1

by Jill Williamson

  A familiar laugh grew in her mind. The subtle scent of grape blossoms brought a gasp to her lips. It was Mother!

  A warm breeze flittered across her mother’s face, blowing her auburn hair about. Honeybees buzzed around her. Someone held her arm. A friend.

  It’s been a warm spring, Mother said. We’ve had an incredible crop. Lost nothing so far. But once the grapes set, we’ll have to put out bird nets.

  Lady Coraline’s voice came loud, as though spoken in Vrell’s ear. Bird nets?

  To keep them from eating the grapes, Mother said. Orioles and cardinals are the worst. I cannot blame them — the grapes are very sweet. Everything will have to be netted.

  Is that difficult?

  Yes. It takes the workers several weeks to cover all the crops.

  The smell is enchanting. All these years, and I still haven’t gotten used to the fishy smell of—

  The sun blazed overhead. Vrell was not with her mother anymore. She was back with Prince Gidon’s caravan. And the young soldier. He tossed his cape up over his shoulders again to let his skin breathe. He wore far too many layers for such a journey on foot. His linen shirt clung to his chest with sweat.

  Why had he pulled her away from Mother? What do you want? she asked the him.

  The soldier tensed, but this time he spoke back. What do I want? It’s you who are in my head. I didn’t invite you.

  Yes, you did. Stop pulling me here.

  Vrell tried to leave, to focus again on Mother and Lady Coraline, but she hit something hard. Her eyes flashed open and she wheezed.

  She found herself lying on her back on the cold floor of the chamber. She tried to lift her head but couldn’t. She opened her hand, and the lock of hair fell to the floor. Good. She still had some control of her limbs.

  Master Hadar peered down from his stool, the golden glow of the lantern casting black fissures over his lumpy skin. “What did you see?”

  Vrell closed her eyes and tried not to show her alarm. Why did Master Hadar have a lock of her mother’s hair? Was he spying on her? And why hadn’t she tried to communicate to Mother when she’d had the chance? She breathed deeply until the pressure faded from her mind. When she opened her eyes again, she met her master’s hollowed eye sockets. They were wide, watching.

  “I couldn’t see…” She took a deep breath, half exhausted, half exaggerating her state. “Why does this weaken me so?”

  “Perhaps you’ve not practiced enough. There are ways to get stronger. I’ll teach you everything in good time. Let us stop for breakfast. Food gives strength as well, and you’ve not eaten, have you?”

  Vrell shook her head.

  Master Hadar rose and swept to the door. “Breakfast then.” He left her lying on the floor.

  She stared at the timber ceiling and shivered.

  How dangerous this bloodvoicing business was. Not only did it weaken her, she had almost given away her identity. Master Hadar could not sense her thoughts, but she supposed he might be able to jump through her to Mother. Maybe it was best that she hadn’t had time to try to send her a message.

  And what of that soldier? Who was he? How could he pull her mind into his without meaning to? Clearly he knew nothing of his own power. Could he be the one called Achan, whom Master Hadar thought was a boy? Surely one so powerful wouldn’t be relegated to walking in the dust while so many horses and wagons were available with the prince’s entourage.

  It was nice to know the crop at home was good. Carmine would eat well for the next year unless a storm came, which was doubtful now that they were well into spring.

  Vrell’s energy returned quickly, and she joined Master Hadar and Carlani for breakfast. The master had business afterward and sent her away. With relief, she went outside the keep.

  The courtyard was bustling with activity. Vrell wove between people, horses, and wagons, looking at the things for sale. She was thankful she had the bag of coins from Lord Orthrop. She purchased small linen cloth and a sage tooth scrub so that she could clean her teeth. She also bought a small antler bone comb. She could hardly wait for the cleansing she would give herself that night.

  She came to Dâthos’s temple. The round structure, surrounded in regal pillars, was beautiful, but it gave Vrell a chill. Vendors had set up booths on all sides selling gold, silver, and bronze cups in all shapes and sizes. People plunked down a lot of coins to give temple offerings to gods who were false. Guards stood at the entrance, keeping the peasants, slaves, and strays from entering. Such lowly worshippers left offerings around the outside of the temple instead.

  Vrell walked on. She enjoyed the feel of the breeze, but it was not the same as the haunting smells from home. Mahanaim was a port city, and as such it smelled of fish and the rancid saltwater that filled the canals. Vrell bided her time, browsing the carts of merchants selling furs, fabrics, wooden bowls and cups, tools, and weapons.

  She paused at the local smith’s workshop and watched from a distance as he pounded red-hot iron into a long shape. She stepped closer, enthralled by the flying sparks.

  The smith’s apprentice was a short, husky boy in his early teens. The youth filed another blade. He glanced up through sweaty dark blond hair, meeting Vrell’s gaze with a bored expression before turning back to his work.

  Vrell stepped closer. “Do you sell any swords, sir?”

  The smith looked up. His dark skin was caked in sweat, black smudges, and pockmarks from sparks that had scarred his skin. “You’re in the market?”

  “Aye. My master wants I should buy one.”

  The boy glanced at Vrell again, this time with curious eyes. “Who’s your master?”

  “Jax mi Katt,” Vrell said.

  The boy’s mouth lifted in a one-sided grin.

  The master smith turned to her, his face wrinkling with amusement. “You’re training in the Kingsguard?”

  “Aye,” Vrell said, straightening her posture.

  “Why come to me? Kingsguard knights get their weapons from Kingsguard smiths.”

  Oh. Well, if Vrell had known that, she would not have weaved such a tale. She furrowed her brow. “I am not training to be a knight. Still, my master says I should buy one. He is going to show me a thing or two once I get myself a sword.”

  “Is he now? And just how much money do you have, boy?”

  Vrell was no fool. “First tell me the cost.”

  The smith laughed. “And if I said a sword costs a hundred silvers?”

  Vrell smirked and glanced at the apprentice, who had stopped filing to watch this exchange. “Then I would have to keep looking, for that price is thievery. Surely you are not the only one selling weapons this fine morning. Maybe I would do better to purchase a bow or axe.”

  At this, the young apprentice burst into laughter. “You’d be struck down thrice over before managing to swing a battle axe. Even a bow requires more muscle than you have. I suggest a set of handaxes or a dagger. Perhaps you could use them while your enemy sleeps?”

  Vrell huffed and said to the smith, “Thank you, sir, for your time.” She turned away, scanning the carts for a peddler with premade weapons.

  “Come now,” the smith called after her. “Don’t mind the boy. If you’ve got ten silvers, we can make you a fine short sword. Nothing fancy, but it would hold its own for you to learn on.”

  Vrell turned back to the smith and beamed. “When can I have it?”

  The smith took the blade he was working on and thrust it into a drum of water, sending a cloud of hissing steam around his face. “Pay half up front, and you’ll get it in a week.”

  “Agreed.” Vrell pulled out her coin purse and counted out five silvers.

  *

  “I’m going to teach you two new things today,” Master Hadar said.

  It was after breakfast. They were sitting in the empty cell across from Master Hadar’s chambers. The room was cold and dark, but for the lantern.

  “These are very important to the work you’ll be doing for me. First, you must lear
n to recognize a knock. This is when someone is trying to message you while your mind is closed. And you must also learn to message, to speak to one person without anyone picking up on your conversation. First we will practice messaging.”

  Vrell fought to keep herself from beaming. She was going to learn to contact Mother! She waited patiently for Master Hadar to explain.

  “Speaking to one person at a time is all about concentration and control. You must allow one person inside, blocking off an area for them in your mind, careful to hide everything else from them. The stronger your mind, the easier this is to do. You will exercise by jumping from one individual conversation to another, trying to keep them each private as you go. You’ll practice today with Sir Jax, Khai, and myself. Once you understand the concept, we will practice knocking.”

  Master Hadar brought out his basket of trinkets and dug through it. He selected a little stone horse and a charm made from feathers and beads, and set them on the table. “The horse belongs to Jax. The charm is Khai’s. Reaching me shouldn’t be difficult since I’m right here. Begin.”

  Vrell practiced. With bloodvoicing, that seemed the only way to learn.

  She gripped the little stone horse and focused on Jax’s face. Jax mi Katt, she called to the picture she visualized in her mind. Jax mi Katt.

  Hello, Vrell. Jax’s voice boomed in her head. It startled her so much she dropped the horse and lost the connection.

  “Well?” Master Hadar said.

  “It worked!” Vrell said. “But I lost him.” She picked up the stone horse. “Are you certain he cannot know all my thoughts when he speaks to me?”

  “Not if you are guarding them.”

  Vrell tried again and had a successful conversation with Jax. Master Hadar made her practice that for a while, then he moved on to conversations with multiple people at once. She spoke to Jax and Master Hadar at the same time.

  Khai made things difficult, always barging in uninvited. Vrell solved this problem by setting up a cottage in her mind and organizing her thoughts into rooms. A knock, as Master Hadar called it, felt like a heavy itch to her ears or a quick stab to her temple, depending on whether it came from Jax or Khai. It was followed by the voice of the person trying to reach her saying her name. This was what Mother had been doing to reach Vrell, but Vrell hadn’t known how to answer at the time.

  Khai knocked over and over, bringing a dull headache to Vrell within minutes. To combat him, she added a foyer to her cottage. The next time Khai knocked, she invited him inside there to wait his turn. Soon she had Khai and Master Hadar waiting in the foyer while Vrell and Jax had a private discussion about skinning reekats.

  Master Hadar was thrilled with Vrell’s progress. Although she got better and better at the process, her energy continued to drain just as fast. Master Hadar could find no reason for this.

  It had been a blessing, finally learning to bloodvoice someone securely. Vrell made good use of her new skill that very night.

  Alone in her chamber, she fortified her mind. When she was certain no one could overhear, she focused on the memory of her mother’s face and called out to her.

  Within seconds she got an answer.

  Vrell? Is that you, dearest?

  Mother! Vrell laughed though her tears. Mother, forgive me. I have been so frightened. I wanted to answer you, but… Oh, Mother. I am in Mahanaim. I have been taken as a bloodvoice apprentice to Macoun Hadar. Do you know of him? I had wanted to confess to Lord Orthrop when the Kingsguards came to fetch me, but I was afraid. You had said to trust Coraline, but I did not know how Lord Orthrop would respond.

  You are still disguised as a boy?

  Yes. I am almost certain that none suspect. Master Hadar is training me. I learned just today how to message.

  My dear child, tell me everything.

  Vrell started at the beginning and told her mother all she had gone through from Walden’s Watch to her new training with Master Hadar.

  I know of no man named Macoun Hadar, Mother said. You say he is old?

  He must be in his eighties.

  I will write my brother and ask if Father ever spoke of such a man. I am not sure where else to inquire. You say the giant cautioned you against him?

  Yes. Jax said that Macoun Hadar was not to be trusted.

  I do not like this, my love. I want you home.

  What shall I do?

  Prince Oren will be in Mahanaim soon for the Council meeting. You should be able to find him without much difficulty. I will tell him to be looking out for you. Sir Rigil will be there as well. He may be more easily approached by a stray than the prince. Find him or Prince Oren and either will see you safely from Mahanaim.

  But you will be coming as well, will you not? Mother held a seat on the Council of Seven. If they were meeting, she would be there.

  Only if I can be assured that my land will be safe in my absence. Lord Nathak is up to no good. Though I know he will be at the Council meeting, I do not trust him. His men have been spotted on our land. They claim to be hunting. If I think there is any danger of trouble, I will not leave. I will send my proxy with Anillo.

  Anillo was Mother’s trusted advisor, a man Vrell had recently discovered had the ability to bloodvoice. He was a logical choice to send in Mother’s place as he would be able to instantly relay to her all that was taking place.

  Vrell did not like to hear of trouble at home. Regardless, after that talk with her mother, she slept soundly for the first time in months. Her days as a boy were numbered now. Soon she would be going home.

  17

  Achan traipsed alongside the prince’s litter, dust from the horses clouding him in a fog. He threw his cloak up over his nose to try and filter the air, but the dust stung his eyes as well. He considered walking a few yards out, but he didn’t want Gidon to think he was running away.

  He tried not to focus on anything, but his mind kept flitting back to Gren. He didn’t want to dwell on her, that he’d never see her again, that she was Riga’s wife. He gritted his teeth and counted to twenty, hoping to distract himself. He wanted to leave. He hated Prince Gidon.

  A scratchy voice said, What’s your name?

  Achan froze at the voice in his mind and thought of the allown tree.

  “Hey! Keep moving!”

  Achan turned to see a mule in his face. The beast was pulling a cart. The man steering held up both hands. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Sorry.” Achan scurried after the litter and resumed his pace beside it, tensing against the flood of voices that were sure to fill his mind. Were they going to come back? What had kept them gone for so long?

  A charcoal palfrey trotted off to the side of the procession, traveling in the opposite direction. Achan recognized the squire from Carmine, Bran Rennan. He steered the strong horse toward Achan. Bran looked bigger than he truly was on such an animal, though no squire could hope to look fierce with a peeling, sunburned nose like Bran had. He turned the animal to walk alongside Achan. “You were given no horse?”

  Achan looked up. “You’re observant.”

  Bran frowned. “Sir Rigil suspected as much. He sent me to check on you. Have you got water?”

  “No.” Achan hadn’t thought to ask Poril for a water jug.

  Bran lifted a strap from over his neck and lowered a water skin down to Achan. “You’re welcome to it. We always carry plenty anyway, and this is a short trip, so running out isn’t a concern.”

  Achan draped the strap over his head and worked the cork free. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see you at camp.”

  Achan nodded. Bran’s horse cantered away. Achan hadn’t expected to befriend anyone. The idea lightened his mood somewhat. He guzzled half the water and replaced the cork in time to dodge a trail of horse dung. The sun blazed above. He tossed his cape back up over his shoulders and reveled in the cool air on his arms. His linen shirt clung to his chest, drenched in sweat.

  What do you want? the scratchy voice demanded.

  Achan
tensed, but this time he left the connection open. What do I want? It’s you who are in my head. I didn’t invite you.

  Yes, you did. Stop pulling me here.

  Achan waited for the voice to speak again but it didn’t. He constructed a theory. Somehow, the tonic quieted the voices. Since he hadn’t consumed it this morning, the voices were coming back. But why Lord Nathak insisted he take the tonic, and why Sir Gavin insisted he didn’t, baffled him. He considered Noam’s mention of bloodvoices, but the idea seemed too farfetched. This was life, not a bedtime story. There were no such things as bloodvoices.

  Or strange voices who rejected other gods.

  In the early afternoon, the procession paused at the foot of the ChowmahMountains to water the horses at a rocky stream. Achan was drawn to the forest. It was thick with allown trees. He wished he could someday live in such a place.

  Achan came back from filling his new water skin to find a chamber pot sitting outside Prince Gidon’s litter. He thought nothing of it until Chora came by and said, “What are you standing around for? Do you think this empties and cleans itself?”

  Mortified, Achan carried the stinking bronze pot toward the river. He dumped it in the bushes and sloshed it about down river. When he returned, a young lord and lady stood talking to the prince. Chora had drawn back the curtains on the litter to each side, and the prince sat on the floor of the litter like it was a throne.

  Thin and tall with shocking orange hair, the young lord pleaded his case. “It’s just that the heat is so much stronger than we expected. Kati nearly fainted twice from heat stroke and this the first day of the journey. I fear she may fall from her horse.”

  Achan wondered why the fool had insisted on bringing along his wife — dressed in twenty-five pounds of embroidered wool — when all the other women had waited to travel in the slower moving party.

  “I would love to have company.” Prince Gidon offered his hand to the pretty, plump, grey-skinned lady. “I am bored to weeping in here all alone. Gods know my squire is as dull as the dust coating his hair.”

  Lady Kati burst into a screeching giggle and spoke with a strange accent. “Oh, Your Highness. You are being so funny.”