Darkness Rising

by James E. Wisher

  Chapter 28

  Lane shut the door, her face burning. Why hadn’t she knocked? If Damien had opened the door on her while she was getting ready she would still be screaming at him.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to slow her racing heart. When she closed her eyes she could still see the scars on his back. If that was the result of his warlord training someone needed to do something about it. It wasn’t human to do that to a boy.

  He wasn’t a boy anymore though. She tried not to smile when she thought of the hard muscle under his scars. Her face burned hotter.

  Stop thinking about him!

  Damien was a sorcerer and she hated sorcerers. He was her bodyguard, a killer assigned to keep her safe. Nothing more. She’d treated him badly and he probably disliked her anyway. He’d certainly been annoyed when she walked in on him.

  Following his example she stripped and poured a basin of water. The water cooled her down and she sighed. What was wrong with her, anyway? They’d traveled together for two and a half months and she’d felt nothing but annoyance at having him tag along. Though he had come in handy at that grubby inn and later with the thugs, Lane could admit that.

  And that story about his father! Lane shuddered to think anyone could treat their child so callously. If nothing else her mother had always loved her and showed her nothing but kindness. Maybe she felt some disappointment that Lane wouldn’t follow in her footsteps, but that never got in the way.

  Lane had always been bitter about what she considered a miserable childhood. Now that she’d met someone that had an actual, horrific upbringing, Lane felt like a spoiled brat. She glanced at the door, half afraid she’d find him standing there watching her bathe and half hoping he would be.

  Lane sighed and dried off. Another day or two more and this business would be settled and they’d part ways. Of course, Damien worked for her mother so she’d probably see more of him.

  She dug a specially wrapped parcel out of her pack and found the seal intact. Good, no dust had slipped inside. Lane unwrapped the blue-and-silver gown and smiled. What would he think of her in this?

  Chapter 29

  Damien paced, waiting for Lane to finish getting ready. The masters hadn’t lied, women really did take a long time. For a moment he was tempted to sneak a peek, it would only be fair, after all she’d seen him in just his small clothes.

  He abandoned the idea at once. She’d kill him, sorcerer or not.

  Lane knocked on the connecting door. Finally. “Come in.”

  The door swung open and his breath caught in his throat. Lane wore a blue-and-silver gown of fine silk that shimmered in the light of the lamp. The skirt fell to just above her knees, showing the curve of her calf. The neckline plunged just low enough to show off the tops of her smooth, freckle-dusted breasts.

  “Wow.”

  “You like it?”

  “Very much. You look stunning. Where did you hide that outfit?”

  She beamed. “Mom sealed it in a package with soul force to keep dust out and prevent wrinkles.”

  Damien shook his head, stunned for the second time in as many minutes. How much skill would it take to weave a barrier that delicate and give it enough power to last ten weeks? He couldn’t even fathom how to begin such a casting.

  Lane held out her hand. “Shall we head down?”

  Damien took her hand and for reasons he didn’t fully understand, brushed a soft kiss across it. He let go and took up a position two steps behind her. “I’m your bodyguard not your companion, remember? Much as I’d enjoy it being otherwise, we both have to play our parts.”

  She looked sad for a moment, but shook it off. “Right, let’s go.”

  They left their fine suite behind. Damien placed an invisible strand of soul force across both thresholds. If anyone entered the rooms while they were gone he’d know. Lane glided along through the cool stone halls. She had to be chilly in that dress.

  Ten men in fancy outfits, many of them with medals pinned to their chests, stood around chatting in the great hall. Servants in black-and-white uniforms mixed with the barons. They carried trays loaded with little sandwiches or full glasses of wine. Along the walls ten armed men stood, seeming at ease, though their eyes never stopped moving, constantly scanning for danger. To a man they had cold, dead eyes. Killers’ eyes.

  Damien took a moment to study the gathered men and found several guards and two barons all had modest internal soul force. No surprise to find a few warlords in such a powerful gathering. Lucky for him all the guards were in their mid to late twenties and the barons older yet. No one would recognize him from The Citadel.

  Conversation fell silent when Lane entered. Damien knew just how they felt. She smiled her fake smile, grabbed a drink from a passing servant, and headed toward the closest group of barons. Damien checked her drink with an invisible thread of soul force and found it free of poison. He sent out more threads, checking the rest of the drinks as well as the food.

  He didn’t expect to find anything. It would be too risky to poison the food in this setting. A baron might grab something he shouldn’t. Satisfied that Lane wasn’t in any danger at the moment, Damien went to stand in an empty space along the wall.

  The older guards eyed him, sizing up the youngest member of their cohort. They didn’t look impressed. That was fine with Damien. He didn’t care what they thought of him and if they believed he was weak they might underestimate him. He crossed his arms and settled in for what he hoped would be a boring evening.

  His gaze wandered from Lane to the barons, to the guards, but always returned to Lane. In that outfit she drew the eye of every man in the room. Damien frowned. At least some of the barons had to be married. Where were the wives?

  “Hey.” A big, broad-chested warlord sidled up beside Damien.

  He wore leather armor despite his soul force, whether to disguise the fact that he was a warlord or just because he liked the look Damien couldn’t guess. A claymore hilt jutted up beside his ear and he looked like he knew how to use it. A thick black beard covered his face and his left eye was missing. He had an imposing look which no doubt served him well in his chosen career.

  “Evening. Which one are you with?”

  “Baron Trasker.”

  That focused Damien’s attention. If their information was correct and Trasker had hired the assassin his bodyguard could be a source of information, or a threat. “Which one is he?”

  “The bald one with all the medals. You’re guarding the woman. She’s the king’s representative, right?”

  Damien nodded, scanning the room for Trasker. There, chatting with Lane. Man, he did have a chest full of gold. How many wars had he fought in? He was a modestly strong warlord as well.

  They seemed to be having a pleasant-enough chat. The baron didn’t look like the sort of person that would hire an assassin, not that you could really tell.

  “Why’d they send someone so young to guard such an important diplomat?” the guard asked.

  “Got me. I don’t pick and choose my missions. The higher-ups tell me where to go and I go. This job’s been a breeze. ten weeks of riding through the wilderness, camping under the stars with a beautiful woman, and no one trying to kill me. If it was summer instead of winter it would have been perfect. They can send me on as many missions like this as they want.”

  “You don’t sound too attached to your charge.”

  Damien shrugged. “I’m attached to getting paid. Anything happens to her and I’m liable to be out of a job.”

  The bearded guard grinned. “You got the right attitude, kid. Name’s Sloan.”

  “Damien.” They shook hands.

  Miles emerged from a door at the rear of the hall. “My lords and lady, dinner is served.”

  Chapter 30

  Morana adjusted her tight, black dress and fluffed her curly copper hair as she walked down the dim tunnel. After she left that idiot Mikhail to return south, she’d flown to her master’s base in the northern mountains
, as bleak and desolate a place as she’d ever visited.

  It suited Connor Blackman perfectly.

  She approached the library Connor had carved out of the mountain and paused outside the entrance to pull the neck of her dress a little lower. Morana didn’t know why she bothered. Connor never noticed her no matter how short her skirt or how low her top. Was it her or did he have no interest in women in general?

  Morana squared her shoulders and stepped across the threshold. As always the darkness of the place struck her like a cold fist, sending a thrill through her whole body. How she wished to join Connor in this wonderful, consuming darkness. Soon, he’d promised her. For now he needed her soul force uncorrupted so she could move about as his agent in the wider world.

  Connor had carved the library out of solid stone; the tables and bookcases were simply stone he’d left behind and shaped to his needs. Ancient tomes and scrolls covered the gray shelves alongside stranger artifacts like a horned demon skull that still retained eyes which followed her every move. If it had lips she suspected it would have licked them. The entire collection radiated demonic corruption.

  She reached out to touch a black gem that pulsed with power, but caught herself before her fingers could brush the cold facets. Last time she touched something in his collection Connor had been very upset with her. She had the scars to prove it.

  Morana strutted down through the rows toward the back of the room, swinging her hips in her best imitation of a cheap whore. She’d tried this trick before and, of course, he’d ignored her like always. Maybe this time she’d have better luck.

  Connor sat in a stone chair turned inky black after years of absorbing his corruption. Long, black hair covered his face as he looked down at the blackened metal amulet in his hands. That artifact never left his possession. Morana had asked him about it once and he just smiled and said it was the key to eternity. Whatever that meant.

  She stopped a safe distance from him and after a moment he looked up, veins black in his pale face, lips blue as a corpse, and eyes as crimson as blood. She shivered, wishing she had the courage to discover for herself if those lips felt as cold as they looked. “Master.”

  “Morana.” The emotionless, precise voice showed her neither warmth nor affection. “How fare things in the city?”

  She grimaced. He wasn’t going to like this. “The Unkindness is finished and the death of the Santen family has been discovered.”

  Blue lips peeled back from clenched teeth. “The others?”

  “Still in place and undiscovered.”

  “That’s something, at least.”

  “Mikhail, that idiot, destroyed the gate.”

  She’d expected Connor to hit the roof at that, but he just waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. It was just a proof of concept. Now that I know it works I can move on to the next phase.”

  “Do you have another mission for me?” Please don’t send me to join Mikhail.

  “Return to Port Valcane. I have agents arriving in the near future and they may require your assistance. In the meantime see about gathering up whatever remains of the gang. I’m sure we can find some use for them.”

  “After Mikhail destroyed their base they may not want to work with us anymore.”

  Connor’s gaze bored into her. “I trust you to persuade them.”

  Chapter 31

  Damien followed Lane into the dining room. A long, cherry table filled the center of the room, the surface covered with elaborate settings for each guest, including five forks, three knives of various shapes, two spoons, and an odd hooked device that looked more appropriate for a torture chamber than a formal dining room.

  On each plate rested a vellum card with a guest’s name written on it. Lane sat at the end of the left-hand row next to Baron Trasker. It may have been meant as an insult to stick her at the end of the table, but it pleased Damien as she at least wasn’t surrounded by potential enemies.

  A crystal chandelier hung over the center of the table, its scores of candles casting a warm glow throughout the room. In each corner a large green potted plant spread wide leaves

  Lane and most of the barons took their assigned seats. The other guards stood against the wall behind their charges and Damien mimicked them, standing behind Lane. At the head of the table, Baron Kannon remained standing. He whispered something to Miles. The majordomo nodded and hurried out through another door. Behind it Damien caught a glimpse of the kitchen. The smell of spices and roasting meat wafted through the momentarily opened door.

  Baron Kannon raised his hands and the mumbled conversations fell silent. Two young, female servants emerged from the kitchen, each bearing a bottle of red wine. Damien quickly scanned the wine as well as Lane’s glass, plate, and utensils. No poison. So far so good.

  When everyone had a full glass Baron Kannon said, “A toast, to another year of cooperation with my fellow barons, and continued good relations with the kingdom.”

  He addressed that last bit to Lane, who offered a polite nod. They all raised their glasses. “Hear, hear!”

  Everyone drank and Baron Kannon took his seat at the head of the table. More servants emerged from the kitchen. They carried platters covered with little disks of bread smeared with some sort of gray mush. Damien didn’t know what it was, but he was glad he didn’t have to eat any.

  He scanned the food and found no poison. The next two courses were salads, also poison free. By the time the soup came out Damien was starting to think they weren’t going to try and kill Lane tonight. One of the pretty, young servants set a bowl of deep-red soup in front of Lane.

  Damien’s nerves jangled when he encountered an especially nasty poison floating in the steaming liquid. Lane lifted the larger of her two spoons as Damien rushed to gather all the poison into a small ball.

  He managed it with half a second to spare before she dipped in for the first bite. He wrapped the poison in a soul force bubble, turned it invisible, and dumped it in the dirt around the farthest plant. It didn’t instantly turn black, so the poison must not have been quite as bad as he feared.

  For her part Lane chatted away with Trasker and the baron across from her, as fat a man as Damien had ever seen. No one gave her any searching looks like they were expecting her to fall face first into her soup. The poison was probably a slow-acting one, something that would sicken her overnight. Part of Damien wanted badly to kill them all on the spot, but he had to be sure all the barons were involved and not just Trasker.

  The next three courses were clean, and smelled delicious. Dessert was some sort of whipped concoction topped with flames. Another poison was mixed with whatever accelerant produced the flames. Damien purified the food again and dumped the second poison in the same pot as the first. The edges of the plant’s leaves turned brown.

  The second poison must have enhanced the effects of the first. That was risky. If Lane hadn’t cared for either the soup or dessert their plan might have failed even without Damien’s interference.

  “I don’t know about you,” Sloan said. “But I’m starving.”

  Spending the evening removing toxins from Lane’s food had soured Damien’s appetite. “I think I might be coming down with something. My stomach is a mess.”

  Sloan nodded. “I hear you. Some of this rich food is poison.”

  Chapter 32

  Lane took her seat at the end of the row. The barons had probably stuck her there as an insult, but Lane refused to let it bother her. She had a job to do and petty tricks wouldn’t stop her. She felt completely at ease knowing Damien stood behind her. Though she wouldn’t deny having the young sorcerer along had annoyed her at first, he’d proven himself a skilled protector and pleasant companion. He might be the first sorcerer whose company she’d allowed herself to enjoy, outside her mother.

  Across from her Baron Marris couldn’t take his eyes off her chest. She smiled at him. “Baron Marris, how’s your lovely wife?”

  He grimaced and his face went white. “Fine.” His voice sounded more s
trained than she’d expected.

  Beside her Barron Trasker chuckled. “Well struck, my dear. I’m afraid we’re all missing our wives. Given the tense situation with the kingdom we thought it best to leave them at home. It’s been a lonely few weeks.”

  He didn’t sound like a traitor. Did the barons really fear the king would target their families? Even if they voted to leave the kingdom, Lane didn’t believe King Andrew would do anything to innocent women and children. She’d met the king several times and found him to be kind and decent.

  “Rest assured, Baron Trasker, that the king would never do anything to bring harm to an innocent.”

  He patted her hand in a fatherly sort of way. “It’s sweet that you believe something so naive, but in war there are no innocents and no one is off limits. The king will do what he must to keep his nobles in line.” Trasker’s voice turned hard. “And we will do what we must to protect our families.”

  Lane reconsidered her initial assumption. Maybe Trasker had betrayed the kingdom. If he truly believed his family was in danger he might not consider it treason, but rather a desperate attempt at self-preservation. If that were true, what else might these desperate men be driven to? Hopefully nothing too drastic. Nevertheless she found herself doubly glad to have Damien watching her back.

  Baron Kannon made a toast and the first course arrived. Lane smiled, she loved pâté. She wasn’t alone and soon everyone had polished off their appetizer.

  “I don’t suppose you’d care to give us a preview of the king’s demands,” Trasker said.

  “You already know what he expects: the border secure and your taxes paid on time. I’m here to listen to your concerns and work out the details of a final agreement. I’m sure tomorrow’s meeting will be productive and this ugly matter will be put behind us.”