The Darkness of Glengowyn

by Isabo Kelly

  Dedication

  For my husband and sons because they keep my life balanced.

  Chapter One

  Nuala of Glengowyn kept her gaze forward and her shoulders proud but loose, determined to hide the tension twisting her stomach from the soldiers surrounding her. She hadn’t been outside Glengowyn in nearly a century, most certainly hadn’t been allowed to leave since the war between the Sorcerers and the humans of Sinnale began. This trip, necessary though it was, would not have been her choice for her first excursion back into Sinnale.

  She rode near the center of the military escort—both human and elven—her bow and quiver bumping gently against her back, comforting in their familiarity. The less comfortable knives in the scabbards strapped to her waist were a steady reminder of the danger. Even the glowering, deadly elf riding beside her couldn’t calm her anxiety.

  But she’d be damned if she let Einar see her fear.

  Lifting her chin to steady herself, she studied the grassy plains bracketing the road from Glengowyn to Sinnale. They’d left the safety of the forest not long ago, and she’d felt exposed and vulnerable ever since. The human city was in view, less than half a mile away, the buildings and houses rising and falling like a clunky, awkward mountain range against the deep blue sky. Beyond and to the west of the city, the real mountains of the Arei-atun Range rose up like purple and gray sentinels. The contrast between nature and the manmade structures was stark and sobering.

  “You’re hiding your tension well, my lady,” the towering man beside her said quietly, for her ears only. “But your mare is beginning to react to your anxiety.”

  Nuala scowled at Einar then focused on her mount for several moments, working at relaxing her body, her grip on the reins, her knees against the horse’s sides. She felt the large gray relax as well and only then realized how tightly the mare had been holding herself. If not for Einar’s comment, the gray would have started fidgeting openly soon, revealing just how scared her rider was. The fact that Einar had noticed Nuala’s unease so easily robbed any feelings of gratitude she might have had for his discreet help, though.

  But she was nothing if not well trained to be polite. “Thank you. I will make an effort to control my reactions better.”

  “You have always been in full control of your reactions, my lady. To everything.”

  He didn’t look at her as he spoke, his gaze sweeping their surroundings, ever watchful. But she heard the bite in the comment, the subtle jab most wouldn’t have noticed. She refused to respond, not entirely sure she could censor herself in that moment. Not when she expected a physical attack with every breath. And most definitely not with him.

  She kept her own gaze on the high grass beside the road so she wouldn’t have to face Einar and risk him seeing her inner turmoil. He was the only man, the only person, who had ever been able to read her with any level of accuracy. Even her cousins, Ulric and Althir, who’d looked after her after her parents were killed in the first goblin war, could never read her moods or thoughts.

  Einar was an entirely different story.

  She acknowledged, reluctantly, that the danger posed by the Sorcerers and the war weren’t the only reasons for her anxiety. When the Darkness of Glengowyn, personal bodyguard to the elf king and queen, had been assigned as her bodyguard, Nuala very nearly backed out.

  But to do so would have revealed too much. To everyone. Including him.

  “You will reach the city safely,” Einar murmured. “I swear it.”

  She continued to stare at the grass so he wouldn’t see her expression, though she was sure he wasn’t looking at her as he spoke. His words made her throat squeeze tight. “I know you’ll do what you can,” she returned quietly. “But no caravan reaches Sinnale without being attacked. This will be no different.”

  “I’m not afraid of the Sorcerers’ minions.”

  “Of course you’re not.” As soon as she spoke, she wished she could take it back. Too much. Those few words revealed too much. And Einar would know. He would understand everything if she wasn’t very careful.

  She thought maybe he understood too well already.

  “You’ve no need to fear them either.”

  “I’m not the warrior here. I make the weapons. I don’t go into battle with them.”

  “And I have no intention of risking you in battle now.”

  A traitorous part of her heart lifted at that. “When the minions attack, you’ll have no choice.”

  He actually turned to look at her and because she could feel his stare on the side of her face, she met his gaze. Black as the deepest, moonless night.

  “You think I will let those abominations near you? I have sworn to protect you as I would the king and queen. You doubt me?”

  She realized he was actually offended. Most wouldn’t have seen it. He hid his emotions better even than she did. Most of the elves of Glengowyn thought he didn’t have any, but she’d always seen beyond his façade. The sword cut both ways between them.

  “I don’t doubt your ability to protect me, Einar. But if the traitors have told the Sorcerers about me, they’ll be waiting for this particular caravan. You may not have the choice to keep me out of the fight.”

  “You’re not trained for combat. Do not engage the enemy. Stay beside me, and I will see you safe.”

  She shook her head and looked away. He was the most deadly elf in all of Glengowyn. But he wasn’t invincible. No matter what the others thought.

  The one thing in her favor was that, outside of the traitor elves, no one from Sinnale had seen her in the last two human generations. None of the minions would recognize her—if they still retained any memories of their human lives after the Sorcerers were done with them. She doubted any of the traitors would dirty their hands in an actual caravan attack. The Sorcerers never left the city, and none of them would know her on sight anyway.

  The attack, when it came, would likely be no different from any other. The heavy guard surrounding her and the wagons of her arrows, both her normal enchanted arrows and the special weapons the Sinnale were only now being allowed to trade for, should have no trouble repelling the minions.

  But as she studied the long, waving sheets of golden-green grass along the roadside, a chill skittered along her shoulders and her mare danced a step or two beneath her before she reined her in. Nuala’s stomach tightened.

  She hadn’t been allowed to take risks of any kind since the end of the second goblin war, not since she’d developed the weapon she was now delivering to Sinnale, the weapon that had helped the elves win that war. Once the conflict was over, her particular magic, and her skill in wielding it, had been considered too valuable to endanger.

  The sudden rake of terror along her spine could have had something to do with her lack of recent experience with tension and fear. Nothing in the grass signaled a change. The city’s outlier buildings grew closer with each clomp of the horses’ hooves, close enough now she could see some of the damage to the structures at the edge of Noman’s Land, not far from where they would enter the city.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

  A quick glance at Einar, then the other warriors, assured her they were keeping their focus on the surroundings. No one paid her any particular attention. Not for lack of curiosity, she was sure, but because the Darkness of Glengowyn had ordered them to ignore her. Staring would not only distract them from the possible dangers, it would single her out as someone significant. The soldiers were following that order perfectly. She was outwardly no different from any other mounted elf in the caravan.

  She studied the grass again, frowning in concentration as she searched the shifting waves.

  That focus saved her life.
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  Chapter Two

  An arrow flashed silver in the glinting sunshine, so fast and true, Nuala might have been impressed if not for the fact that the arrow was heading for her. She spurred her mare forward, ducking low to the gray’s neck, and still felt the arrow whisper just above her spine. She screamed a warning at the same instant, praying to the Goddess that Einar wasn’t hit by the deadly missile meant for her. She’d never survive that.

  Almost before she felt the weapon whistle past, more missiles flew into their ranks. A moment later, a horde of minions rose from the grass, swords high, silent as the wind as they attacked.

  Then Einar raced up beside her, shouting, “Ride! To the city.”

  She didn’t pause to think, just spurred the gray forward. Fortunately, the animal was war trained and didn’t panic. She charged over the rutted road, closing in on safety, without any reaction to the sounds of clashing metal and the cries of the wounded and dying.

  Keeping her head low, Nuala glanced over her shoulder, confirming Einar kept pace with her. They moved so fast through the middle of their own people, the minions had no chance to reach them—another part of Einar’s plan. But the column of protection wouldn’t take them all the way to Sinnale. Too soon, they raced beyond the fighting soldiers and into the open to cover the remaining three hundred yards.

  The appearance of three minions in their path startled her enough she screamed. Einar changed directions, forcing her and her mare parallel to the city without slowing their run. Behind her, she heard a shout, and another glance back confirmed a dozen minions followed.

  “Where did they come from?” she yelled.

  “Later.” Einar searched the edge of the city. “We need the cover of the buildings.” He angled his horse back toward Sinnale, and she followed his lead.

  This time when something blocked their path neither reacted fast enough to change directions. Her gray reared. Nuala tightened her thighs, keeping her seat, but the stench of death emanating from the Sorcerer made her gag. Her mare danced under her, faced with a horror beyond her training. Einar pulled his sword and pushed his own mount in front of Nuala’s to guard her from the new threat.

  The Sorcerer smiled, glanced beyond them. And vanished.

  In his place, three of the traitor elves closed in.

  Nuala had no time to absorb the shock of this new development. The minions following them were too close. Einar could handle the elves. She shifted her mount to face their rear, dropped the reins, and slid her bow over her head. The gray knew what to do in battle, and Nuala could guide her with her legs, leaving her hands free to use her weapon. She covered Einar’s back, firing arrow after arrow as the minions came within range. Of the dozen, eight fell with mortal or near-mortal wounds. Two more were injured enough to slow them down. Only two made it through her barrage.

  She tried to keep her mount, using the strong wood of her weapon to bat at the minions while her horse reared and thrashed. The mare held the two attackers off, but when the wounded minions joined the fight, Nuala knew she and the mare were outnumbered. Her greatest fear in that moment was that the minions would get around her and get to Einar.

  She had two arrows left in her quiver, but at close range, the weapon was less useful. As her horse whipped around sharply and kicked at one of the attackers, Nuala grabbed the mare’s mane in one hand for balance and dropped the bow over her head, across her back. She reached for the reins, but they’d slipped beyond easy grasp and she overbalanced trying to get them. When her gray spun and jumped sideways at the same time to avoid the swing of a sword, Nuala’s stomach clenched as she was tossed to the ground.

  She hit hard on her left side, the jolt knocking the wind from her. Over the sounds of clashing metal and screaming horses, she heard Einar call her name. Three of the human slaves stalked toward her as the fourth turned toward Einar and the traitors trying to subdue him. With a wheezing gasp, she stumbled to her feet, barely able to suck in a breath.

  Her left arm hurt but didn’t feel broken. When she drew both knives from their scabbards at her waist, her left hand worked enough to hold the hilt firmly. She wasn’t a trained warrior, hadn’t been allowed to train, but that hadn’t stopped her from learning a few things over the years. Thanks to Ulric and Althir’s secret lessons.

  She waited and watched the three minions as they approached. One smiled at her. The others remained strangely passive, as if the fight wasn’t something happening to them at all. One of the expressionless men limped badly, and she realized her gray had gotten in a clean kick, damaging his leg. He dragged the wounded limb, seemingly unaware of the injury.

  Nuala swallowed and raised her knives.

  “Stop.” A deep voice rose up behind the three attackers.

  A familiar voice. But not the one she’d hoped to hear.

  One of the traitors passed between the minions, his smirk both smug and confident. “I’ll handle the weapons master. Help the others with her guard.”

  She didn’t dare take her eyes off the traitor as he neared, even to check on Einar. The fact that the others were being sent to the fight against him meant he was alive. She could hear the sounds of swords clashing, the screams of pain that weren’t Einar’s. Even three more minions wouldn’t be enough.

  “He’ll kill them all, Byral,” she said as the traitor approached. “You know he will.”

  “Elves can’t kill other elves.” Byral stalked her, his gait smooth and graceful. Blood splattered his dark gray tunic, but he didn’t look injured.

  To kill another elf was a taboo among her kind, so ingrained in their society most elves believed it was physically impossible for one elf to kill another.

  Only recently had she been made aware of the truth. But this traitor didn’t need to know that. “The minions will be slaughtered. Einar will disable the other two traitors.”

  Byral’s eyes shifted slightly, their deep, intense blue clouding just a little. “Surprising,” he said with a slight tilt of his head. “I didn’t think the Darkness ever left the king’s and queen’s sides. But…” He shrugged. “I suppose for you, they would take the risk.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t have to elaborate. Byral knew what she was asking. Rather than answer, he angled around her, circling, looking for an opening in her weak defenses.

  “They won’t harm you,” he said. “The Sorcerers. They can offer you a lot.”

  “I’m no traitor.” He was close enough that the stench of death magic corrupting him filled her nostrils. “They’ve been teaching you?” She was surprised by that. The Sorcerers were jealous of their powers, despite what they’d told the traitors. She’d been led to believe they hadn’t shared any of their magic with the elves.

  “Only me.” His smirk returned. “I promised them you in return.”

  Nuala’s stomach clenched and her heartbeat jumped. She didn’t show the reaction outwardly but fear clogged her throat. Only an act of will kept her from panting as panic crept in around her control. “I won’t go quietly. And you can’t kill me.”

  “I can wound you enough to make you cooperate.”

  Rather than respond, she focused on her grip on the two knives, making sure she was prepared. When Byral lunged suddenly and with a speed she hadn’t anticipated, she reacted without thought. One wide step shifted her out of his reach and gave her an opening to slide her knife across his biceps. He snarled and whipped back to face her, diving into another attack before she had time to feel satisfied with her strike.

  This time, she stumbled and fumbled, swinging her knives awkwardly as she tried to put space between them. He didn’t raise his sword except to bat away her flailing weapons. He wanted her alive, even if he knew he could kill her—knowledge she wasn’t sure he possessed.

  She tripped over the grass tangling around her boots and dropped to one knee, losing a knife in the barely controlled fall. Byral chuckled. Behind him, Einar roared her name again. The fact that he was alive dampened her fear. She held Byral’s g
aze as he loomed over her. With a sniff of disgust, he grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.

  “They shouldn’t have allowed you out of Glengowyn. But I profit from their mistake.”

  “No.”

  She saw the slight flicker in his eyes, the beginnings of suspicion, the instant before she plunged her knife into his heart, burying the weapon to the hilt. His blue eyes widened, his mouth dropped open and his grasp on her arm fell away. He looked at the knife in his chest then met her gaze, his mouth moving in a silent denial.

  “You should have known better,” she murmured. “The Or’roan takes you now. Forever death.”

  The Or’roan, a curse only the king and queen could inflict on the elves, ended their existence forever—no afterlife, no rebirth into future lives, no hope for any future existence. The end of all they’d ever been and all they would be was greatly feared by every elf. And all but one of the traitors was currently under the Or’roan.

  Terror transformed Byral’s once starkly handsome face into a distorted mask. “No,” he forced out with his last breath. He never lost the grip on his sword, even when he collapsed.

  She swallowed down the bile in her throat, retrieved the knife she’d lost in the grass when she’d tripped, and forced herself to focus on Einar and his fight. She would deal with the fact that she’d just done the unthinkable, the impossible, later.

  The minions hadn’t stood a chance against the Darkness. They lay in silent heaps around the swirling rage that was Einar in battle. The two remaining elves were both bloodied and retreating under the hail of Einar’s attack. The flow of the fight moved them closer to the city, and Nuala realized suddenly that the elves’ retreat was strategic. She didn’t dare call out to warn Einar for fear of distracting him, but she knew with certainty the traitors were drawing him into a trap.

  The Sorcerer.

  She scanned the area, noting with an ache that would hurt more when she had time that Einar’s horse was among the wounded, its dark sides no longer rising and falling. Her mare was nowhere in sight, and she could only assume the animal had been smart enough to flee. Most of the Glengowyn steeds would fight to the death. Nuala couldn’t face the thought of another life lost, though, so was glad the animal’s training had failed.