By Darkness Hid

by Jill Williamson

  Shung grinned down on Achan, baring his yellow teeth. “You ready for Shung?”

  Achan’s eyes stung, and he realized he was staring at the circle of carved bone that looped through Shung’s ear. “Aye.”

  The herald’s voice started the match, but Achan and Shung remained still, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

  “How old are you anyway?” Achan asked.

  “Two and twenty.”

  That explained it. “Shouldn’t you be a knight by now?”

  Shung sidestepped. “In Berland, peasants can’t rise above rank of squire.”

  Yet another city in Darkness. Achan stepped back and right. “What’s Darkness like?”

  Shung cracked his neck. “Dark.” His long legs brought him within striking distance, and he swung his sword with immense power, screaming as he did.

  Achan tensed, pushed his shield into the blow, and the force rattled his chain coat. He swung for Shung’s arm as he had with Silvo, but his opponent blocked the strike with the edge of his shield then cut for Achan’s legs with another piecing cry.

  Forgetting his shield, Achan barely managed to parry with his sword, but Shung’s force drove his guard back and the blade nicked Achan’s shin.

  He danced out of reach and tried to look as if he wasn’t hurt. The cut sent throbs of pain up his leg. Achan grew instantly frustrated. He didn’t know how to use a shield as well as Shung, let alone a sword. What was Sir Gavin thinking?

  Shung crept nearer, and Achan put all his force behind his shield and rammed into his opponent. Wood, leather, and fur scraped against each other. Achan swung for Shung’s legs and met plate armor under his trousers.

  Oh, well, that was fair. Where was Achan’s leg armor?

  Shung’s sword came over the top of Achan’s shield and struck his helmet. Achan ducked back and swung Eagan’s Elk out blindly. It clattered uselessly against Shung’s shield.

  Achan circled. “So, is Berland dark like twilight or dark like a moonless night?”

  Shung came back with a downward cut from high guard, growling as he did. Achan parried with his shield, and Shung’s blade cleaved into the wood, stuck.

  Achan spun to the side, hoping to rip the sword from Shung’s grip, but the sound of splintering wood sent him running as he realized he’d left his back unguarded. In the corner, he turned back to see Shung advancing.

  “Dark like black,” Shung said.

  For a long while, nothing but the muted crack of swords on shields, and Shung’s yelling, rang in Achan’s ears. He focused, his heart stampeding, his body sweating—partly from fear—but he breathed, he followed through, he moved his feet, and he made a point of glancing into Shung’s beetle-black eyes as much as possible.

  And for some reason, he kept up the conversation. “So was that concerning? When Darkness came? Do you remember?”

  Achan’s head suddenly filled with pressure, and he gleaned Shung’s desire to strike at his legs. The thought confused his actions, sending his feet hopping about awkwardly.

  Shung easily drove him back against the fence. Their shields clunked together again. On a whim, Achan thought of the allown tree. The pressure, and Shung’s strategies, faded from his mind.

  Interesting.

  When they broke apart and circled again, Shung said, “Therion forest always dark. Briaroaks and snarespruce grow thick.” He adjusted his grip on his furry shield.

  “Sounds painful.” Achan lunged forward and struck Shung’s wrist hard and fast.

  Shung wore chain mittens, but the force of the blow caused him to drop his buckler. He backpedaled, using his sword two-handed to deflect Achan’s offense. “Only if you forget your handaxes.”

  Achan didn’t know what handaxes were, so he focused on where Eagan’s Elk would strike next. Shung’s jerkin roused Achan’s interest. Black suede, fur, and dozens of dangling brown tails. “How many animals did you kill for that vest?”

  Shung grunted and stabbed under Achan’s shield, into his hip. “Seven and thirty.”

  Achan jumped back, stunned and furious that Shung did as well without his buckler. Achan needed much more practice with this ridiculous shield. He reminded himself that most squires had practiced daily for the past five or six years. Shung, closer to ten. Achan should be thankful to still have all four limbs.

  He lowered the shield a bit, emulating the grey squire from Barth, then rained his favorite combination of strikes on Shung. The moves felt strange and awkward one-handed.

  Shung darted forward with a cry and gave Achan’s forearm a bruising blow, splitting the strap on Achan’s shield. It clattered to the ground, and Achan stumbled over it. He gripped Eagan’s Elk in two hands and they fought on.

  Achan felt better this way. This was familiar, what he’d been practicing day after day. Still, his side pinched from fatigue, and his hip, shin, and forearm throbbed from Shung’s strikes. “I’m tired.”

  Shung laughed, a deep throaty sound akin to gargling. Maybe he was tired too.

  Achan felt pressure under his boot. His ankle twisted, and he stumbled back, catching his balance too late. Shung struck, and Eagan’s Elk betrayed him by zinging from his hand and clattering to the ground. Achan dodged a thrust by falling onto his stomach and found himself lying on his shield, the cursed object he’d tripped over. He picked it up and cowered behind it.

  Shung barred his yellow teeth in a wide grin. “Maybe you should give up now.”

  “Likely.” Squatting, Achan twisted on his toes as Shung circled. “But I’m stubborn.”

  Shung swung again, silent this time.

  Achan heard Sir Gavin’s voice. “Yield, Achan.”

  Yield? He wasn’t about to yield. Eagan’s Elk was only a few paces away. If only—

  Shung came at him again, silently. Achan, still crouched on the ground, parried a staggering wallop with the shield. The force knocked him to his rear. He planned to inch his way around the pen toward Eagan’s Elk, but Shung stepped on the shield.

  For a lighter man, this would have been a mistake. Achan could have pushed up or twisted the shield to the side and caused his opponent to fall. Shung, however, pressed Achan into the dirt like butter between two cuts of bread.

  The herald proclaimed Shung the winner—although technically, Shung hadn’t pinned him with the blade. Perhaps the herald was as tired of this match as Achan was. The sparse crowd clapped as if they’d rather be somewhere else. Apparently a squire from Berland and a stray brought little excitement.

  Shung offered his hand. Achan gripped it, and Shung yanked him to his feet. “You well to talk to, Achan Cham. If ever you venture to Berland, we will hunt the beast of your name.”

  8

  The next morning, Vrell stood in a steamy chamber similar to the bathhouse but three times as long. Torches flickered in rings on the walls. Mosquitoes swarmed. Instead of a stone floor that dropped off at the underground river, here a dirt floor sloped like a beachfront into the same vaporous tide. The river looked to be twice as wide as Jax was tall.

  Lord Dromos and Ez stood in the chamber with Vrell and the knights. Six animal-skin boats were anchored to the shore by ropes looped around stone spikes, their wide ends bobbing in the rippling current. Ez, the wispy manservant, lowered two burlap sacks into the boat on the far left and strode to the chamber’s wall. Khai darted forward and dropped his pack in the boat. Ez returned carrying a long staff with a glowing lantern on the end. He lowered it into a slot in the bow.

  The slimy, brown tunnel wall gleamed in the lamplight. The walls were not clean here as they were in the bathhouse upriver. Over time, moisture and minerals had created gnarly textures along the walls like the roots of a tree.

  Khai walked past Vrell for another pack.

  “What about the horses?” Vrell asked him.

  “They’ll stay here. We can always get more horses. But gods forbid we lose your precious face to an eben spear. Master would rage. Therefore we go under the ebens, by boat. It’s safer for e
veryone.”

  Lord Dromos stood with Jax, both giants ankle-deep in the hot springs. The giant lord pointed down the dark tunnel. “It’s a two-day journey to the Lebab Inlet. You’ll have to take shifts piloting the boat as there is nowhere to stop for the night.”

  Jax swatted a mosquito away from his face. “We appreciate your hospitality, my lord.”

  Lord Dromos walked backward and raised one hand. “Gods be with you all.”

  Jax, Khai, and Vrell climbed inside the boat. Ez untied it and pushed off. The humid air rushed past Vrell’s face as the current sucked the boat into the dark tunnel. Jax had placed her in the bow, but moving at such speed into unknown blackness sent a tremor through her limbs. She turned her back and burrowed down into the boat’s narrow front.

  The current was so swift here that rowing wasn’t necessary. Jax and Khai did not speak. Both held oars out to the side, stoic faces focused ahead. Every so often the boat jolted when one of them pressed an oar against the tunnel wall to steer the boat back to the center of the river.

  Vrell did not like how the men’s dark faces seemed to be looking at her. She twiddled her fingers, scratched a fresh mosquito bite on her wrist, then traced the tight stitches in the seam of the boat with her right forefinger.

  She looked up. Craggy dripstones of various girths—some long and smooth, some tiny and jagged—covered the tunnel ceiling. A drop of water landed on her cheek, then her nose, then her forehead. With the intense humidity, she had not noticed the gentle shower.

  A thick pressure filled Vrell’s ears. It was the man newly gifted in bloodvoices. He was thinking of poison.

  The low-voiced old man begged, Tell me where you live.

  Another man said, Are you there? Speak to me!

  Then the connection vanished.

  Vrell’s eyes flicked to Jax’s. The giant’s gaze was focused straight ahead. She glanced to Khai and met his black-eyed stare. She looked away, wondering if they had heard the voices as well. How could this man make everyone hear him? At least he appeared to have learned to close his mind. Perhaps he was someone’s apprentice, as she would soon be.

  Khai’s oily voice echoed off the rock walls. “Clearly you know you have the gift or you wouldn’t be so skilled at blocking others.”

  Vrell stiffened. “What gift?”

  Khai cackled. “I’m no fool, boy. We were sent to bring you to Master Hadar. He wouldn’t send Kingsguardsmen on a mission for nobody.”

  Vrell looked back to Khai. “But I am no one of consequence.”

  “Not now.” Khai’s eyes darted away as his oar clunked against the tunnel wall. “It’s a long journey ahead. We could practice bloodvoicing, communicate with that new boy, help him.”

  Boy? His voice had not sounded like a boy’s to Vrell.

  “Khai!” Jax’s booming voice made Vrell twitch.

  “Well, why not?” Khai slapped a mosquito on his cheek. “We could ready this boy for his apprenticeship and find out about the other one for Master.”

  “What Vrell hides is his own business. We were sent to fetch him, not to poke around in his head.”

  “His secret could be valuable to someone. Perhaps we could both profit from it.” Khai looked from Jax to Vrell. “There are ways to force it from him.”

  “I won’t sink to witchcraft, nor will you in my presence,” Jax said. “We’ll deliver Vrell unharmed, nothing more.”

  Khai mumbled to himself.

  Vrell’s heart quaked beneath her layers of padding. Both of these warriors obviously knew she was hiding something, and at least one of them wanted to sell it to the highest bidder.

  She did not know how or why her defense against their ability was so strong, but thank Arman it was. Should Khai discover her secret, his reward would be great and Vrell’s life would be over. She could not allow the weasel to intimidate her into letting her guard down. Jax was a good man. If she stayed close to him, she knew he would protect her from Khai’s greed.

  But that alone was not a good enough plan. Vrell needed to learn to protect herself, and she needed a weapon. Her persona’s age was fourteen—almost a man. She could not rely on others to save her for long. It would brand her a coward. She wanted to grow a fine reputation as a young man. Who knew how long she would have to live as Vrell Sparrow.

  Hopefully not long enough to rouse suspicion about her lack of height—or whiskers.

  Thankfully, Khai did not speak to her again until he passed on figs and bread for lunch. Vrell thanked Arman for her meal and munched on the bread slowly, glad to have something to pass the time.

  Mid-bite, a great force thumped under the boat, knocking it against the tunnel wall. The frame scraped along the rock face. Vrell dropped her lunch and pressed her hands against the sides of the bow. Had they hit the roots of a tree?

  Jax was crouched on his feet, axes drawn, when another impact struck the hull, lifting the boat off the water for a brief moment. Jax fell and the boat slapped back to the surface.

  The combination sent a wave of hot water splashing up over the bow, soaking Vrell. She gasped and held back a scream as the boat spun around to the side. “What is happening?”

  Jax’s face tensed. He sheathed his axes, grabbed the oar, and paddled fiercely to straighten the craft. Khai’s right hand clutched one side of the boat, his oar nowhere to be seen.

  A third strike lifted the boat again, bringing another wave of hot water over Vrell when it splashed back into the current. The boat spun out of control, Jax’s paddling useless to right it.

  Vrell peered over the boat’s edge. She could not be certain, but she thought she saw a large, dark body vanish into the waves like a giant fish.

  She rolled back and sunk into the bow in time to see Jax duck. Vrell cringed, wondering what could possibly cause a giant to cower. Seconds later, the staff holding the lantern struck a low, fat stalactite. Glass shattered overhead and everything went black.

  Vrell plastered herself against the side of the boat, choking in gasps of steamy air.

  A piercing howl echoed in the darkness, the volume so terribly extreme it seemed to come from the walls themselves.

  Vrell froze. “Wh-What was that?”

  Jax’s voice was soft in comparison. “A reekat.”

  Vrell thought back to Po’s fur boots. “What is a reekat?”

  “A problem,” Khai said as if this were a routine chore he would rather assign to someone else.

  Something rustled near Vrell’s feet, then grazed her foot. She screamed and scrambled up into a squatting position, pressing back into the bow as far possible.

  “Keep it down, you coward!” Khai hissed. “I’m only looking for my pack.”

  The reekat bumped the boat again. Then the ear-splitting howl came, beside her head this time, vibrating her cheek against the thick sheet of animal skin that formed the hull of the boat. Vrell held her breath, trembling in perilous silence. Were the Kingsguards going to do anything? Both had weapons, but could they use them in the dark?

  Her dizzy head confirmed the boat was still spinning. It had been several seconds since the reekat’s last scream. “Wh-What are you going to do?”

  “Shhh!” Khai hissed. “Jax is seeking its mind.”

  Vrell frowned. What did that mean? Could Jax hear the thoughts of the creature? Could bloodvoicing be used on animals? Even if it could, what good would it do?

  “There are two,” Jax said.

  Vrell prayed Arman would protect them and keep them safe. If she could live, she would be more obliging to her mother when she returned home—less stubborn, even giving up Bran if her mother wished it. She could learn to love another, could she not? She vowed to try if Arman would only deliver her from this ordeal. She breathed the words under her breath. “If it is your will, Arman, I give him up.” Tears ran down her face at the sacrifice she had made.

  Or maybe that was only the dripstones.

  Two wailing howls shattered the silence, a lower-pitched one starting first, followed by
a higher one, like a song sung in a round. Jax’s words haunted her to the point of nausea.

  There are two.

  A force knocked the bow, slapping the boat against the stone wall with a loud crack. Vrell’s head smacked the bone frame, shooting pain through her ear. Another force hit the stern, lifting the boat from the water. Before it could reconnect to the surface, something butted the hull, tipping the boat onto its side. Vrell tumbled into the steaming hot springs.

  She gasped, hands gripping at the slimy textured wall, but found no hold. The current pulled her along, banging her body against the wall again and again. She was going to die!

  Her life would end here, alone in pitch-blackness, drowned or perhaps eaten by a reekat, whatever that was. She would never see her mother or her sisters or her home again. Never grow her hair back out long enough to braid, ride Kopay, or snuggle with her cats. Never marry Bran or anyone at all. Her body would likely float out to sea and be netted by fishermen or drift into the canals of Mahanaim and be picked at by fish and birds.

  The beasts’ screeches came from behind, followed by the clash of steel on rock, a series of grunts from Jax, and a horrific ripping.

  Vrell focused on her own situation and struggled to stay near the wall, but it suddenly vanished from beneath her fingertips. She surged forward and groped for the deformed stone, wanting to call out to Jax, afraid the reekat had eaten him and would eat her if she made a sound. There was only water where she felt the wall should have been.

  Had she turned a sharp corner? Perhaps the tunnel had only grown wider? Her body whipped around in a small whirlpool. As she spun, she thought she saw light. Her stomach roiled from the tiny circles, and in a huge burst of effort, she swam free.

  She bobbed in place, no longer caught in the current. She blinked as the darkness around her slowly took shape. She had drifted into some pond-like appendage of the underground river. A golden light glowed in the distance. She swam toward it as silently as possible, not wanting to alert any water beasts.