To Darkness Fled (7 page)

What magic was this?

Inko struggled to his feet and inched toward his sword on the ground a few paces away. Vrell scrambled after her own weapon and ran to the edge of the clearing in time to see Achan cut through the black knight who had been throwing rocks. He disappeared into a green mist and, with the cry of a gowzal, reappeared at the opposite edge of the forest.

Vrell no longer cared if she was discovered.
Mother!
There is a battle. Black knights. What can I do?

Stay back, dearest. A battle is no place for you. Can you hide?

Is there a way I can help? As soon as one is defeated, he turns to smoke and appears elsewhere. How can that be? Are they men or magic?

It is difficult to say with black knights. There may only be one. Some have the ability to duplicate themselves.

But surely only in illusion?

Yes, unless they have called on dark spirits to aid them. Then they can give their illusions physical form. Black knights use the darkest magic. Can you guess the leader? Does one appear stronger than the others?

Vrell peered around the tree.
I cannot tell good sword fighting from the bad. I--wait. Four of the knights look identical. They all have the same beard. The fifth looks different, and he is on the ground, crawling toward the trees. Achan felled him.

The others are likely apparitions from a mage. Do you see another person, maybe standing a safe distance away?

Vrell scanned the tree line. A pale, raised hand and a set of eyes glinted in the green glow, back where she had made her privy. A sixth man, barely discernable in a long, hooded cape.

An unarmed man stands in the trees.

Does he see you? Move to a safe place, quickly!

Vrell darted back behind the pitchy tree truck.

I am going to step through your mind, Averella. I need you to focus on the unarmed man.

I understand.
Fear prickled up Vrell's arms. Mother wanted to jump through her. Vrell had tried it before and failed. But Mother's strength far exceeded her own. What did Mother hope to accomplish by entering this mage's mind?
Master Hadar taught me of this technique.

Very well. Prepare yourself, my love.

Vrell stepped around the tree and stared at the hooded man. She closed her eyes and pictured him.
I am ready.

Sounds invaded. Swords clashed in the clearing. Men yelled and grunted. Boots skidded over rocks. But just as she had before, on the day Achan had jumped through her, she saw nothing, felt no different. Did this mean it was working? Vrell wanted to pray, but breaking concentration might ruin Mother's plan.

So she sensed a prayer, knowing in the back of her mind Arman was with her, holding her up, protecting her. Peace flooded her body, easing the sting of her bruises, silencing the sounds of battle. A song rose within, not from any instrument or voice she had ever known. A joyful song of hope swept around her, lifted her in its arms like pollen in the wind. She wanted to laugh, safe, free, and floating out of her body and up above the clearing.

* * *

"Vrell?" A hand pressed down on her shoulder, igniting sharp pain from a bruise there.

Her eyes flashed open. She lay under a large charcoal tree lit with faint yellow torchlight. The moist ground cushioned her rear and legs. Gnarly tree roots bit into back and shoulders.

A shadow loomed above, breathing heavily. She could not see his face. "Are you well? We almost lost you to the Veil."

Sir Gavin.

"Yes." A sharp root poked into Vrell's lower back, but she did not feel seriously injured.

"Who are you?" Sir Gavin asked.

"My memory is fine, sir. I am Vrell Sparrow and we are in Darkness."

"Aye, but who are you really?"

Her breath snagged. "I...what?"

"Together you and I stormed the mage. We couldn't find his body. He must have had more men in the woods. Where'd you learn such a trick? I had been trying to battle his mind as I fought his apparition with my sword, but it wasn't until I had help that I could put an end to his mischief. Did Macoun teach you to storm?"

Vrell's heart lurched. Storm?

A torch flamed to life back in the clearing. Sir Caleb held it above Inko, who still lay on the ground.

Sir Gavin reached a hand down to Vrell. She gripped his calloused palm and he pulled her to standing.

"Make no mistake," Sir Gavin said, "we'll talk more of this."

Vrell pushed past Sir Gavin and found her satchel at the edge of the clearing. She carried the bag to Inko's side, dug out her safflower salve, and tried to help him sit.

He shook his head. "Be seeing to the others, boy. I'm being fine."

She approached Sir Caleb, who had a gash over his left eye. He held his torch toward the forest. "See to the prince."

Of course. Vrell turned and found Achan propped against a tree on the edge of the clearing. She scurried to his side and knelt gingerly on the sharp rocks. "Are you hurt?"

His lips parted, baring a wide, toothy grin in his blood and dirt-covered face. "How'd you like yer firs' battle?"

"What makes you think it was my first?"

"Lucky guess?" Achan chuckled, then closed his eyes and moaned. The cut on his left cheek had been torn open.

"If it hurts, stop talking." With shaking hands, she opened her water jug and wetted a fresh cloth. She wanted to know what Mother had done, but forced the worry away for now. She dabbed the dirt and blood from around Achan's wound and grimaced at the sight of the swollen skin. She hoped it would not get infected. "For your information, Jax, Khai, and I met
eben
resistance on the journey from Walden's Watch."

Achan flinched at her touch. "And yeh hid 'hind a tree?"

Why did he always want to play? She acquiesced, only because his cheek looked incredibly painful. "
In
the tree, actually. Now be serious, Your Highness. Where else are you hurt?"

Achan groaned. "
Sp'rrow
. If yeh call me that one more time, I'll see that
yer
hurt."

"Just answer the question, stubborn boy."

Achan met her eyes and coughed out a laugh. "Me? I'm
notta
--"

"Look." Vrell nodded to Sir Caleb. "They are injured but will not hear of being treated until you are, so stop wasting time and let me help you so I may help them."

Achan lifted his right hand in front of his face. His dark, wet knuckles glistened in the distant torchlight. "M' hand
does
'ting a bit."

"Sir Caleb," Vrell called. "The light, please?"

7

They journeyed over rocky terrain for hours listening to Sir Caleb talk on the sword and shield's strengths over the longsword alone. Achan's feet ached. Sharp pebbles poked into the soles of his boots. Sir Gavin wanted to get to Mirrorstone as quickly as possible. Achan didn't like the fact that more black knights might be shadowing them but could think of no better plan.

The terrain flattened. Sir Gavin stopped in a field carpeted in short, twiggy grass and urged they make camp in the open where no one could sneak up on them so easily. Did that even matter? In Achan's opinion, Darkness provided endless cover for anyone wanting to set up an ambush.

They laid out the bedrolls around a small, blue torchlight. Achan settled onto the stiff leather and nibbled a piece of dry meat. "I still don't understand what happened." He pictured
Eagan
's Elk slicing through the black knight and the man vanishing into green smoke. "The first man I fought was flesh and blood. But the one who picked on Sparrow disappeared as I finished him."

"Deception," Sir Caleb said. "Black knights don't fight fair. Illusion is their biggest strength. And those who call on black spirits can give their apparitions physical form."

Black spirits? A chill raked Achan's arms. "I fought a demon?"

"Nay." Sir Gavin groaned as he sat on his bedroll. "The one with the helm was real. The rest of us were fighting the mage's enchantments. Black knights claim to be warrior mages. They believe sorcery combined with swordsmanship makes them stronger. They're under their own illusion. The power they wield isn't theirs."

Sir Gavin pulled his pack onto his lap and opened the flap. "The spirits aren't in control either. Both creatures, demon and man, are bound by each other's limitations. A man who falls victim to their spell is crippled by fear and rendered an easy target. That's why I stressed you understand the illusion. A very real illusion, but not as terrible as the black knights would have you think."

Sir Caleb squeezed Achan's shoulder, bushy eyebrows raised. "What I want to know is how you aren't dead, Your Highness. I thought you trained him, Gavin."

"I did, but...Achan uses what's at his disposal."

Heat spread over Achan at the idea of Sir Caleb's disapproval. "I thought I fought well."

"As did I," Sparrow said.

Sir Caleb winced. "Aye, you're brave, but you need proper training and practice."

"I competed in Prince
Gid
--Esek's tournament."

"Did you?" Sir Caleb's lips curled in a half smile. "What events?"

"The short sword and shield, though I'd never--"

"You were risking him to be playing games?" Inko's accusatory tone rang sharp. "What if he was being killed?"

"He should've been, judging by what I saw today," Sir Caleb said.

"He needed experience if he was to survive without me." Sir Gavin winked his brown eye at Achan. "Arman protected him."

"But you were
risking
him," Inko said. "Our future king."

"He's alive, is he not?"

Inko turned his disapproving glare to Achan. "It often is being said, Your Highness, that some training is being better than no training. But I must be cautioning you, sometimes no training is better than having bad training."

"Bah!" Sir Gavin slapped his palm to his thigh. "I trained him well enough!"

Sir Caleb folded his arms across his chest. "He fights like a drunk in a tavern brawl."

Achan blinked from Sir Gavin to Sir Caleb. A drunk?

"Aye, he's always been a bit of a brawler. I like that about him. Reminds me of his great uncle
Preston
." Sir Gavin sniffed in a long breath and released it slowly. "Forgive me, Achan. I've likely done a shabby job of teaching you to fight proper."

How was this criticism fair? Achan had defeated two of the five black knights. Sparrow had cowered like a girl. If Sir Caleb wanted to point out flaws, he should start with the boy. "What did I do that was so wrong?"

"Not wrong, Your Highness." Sir Caleb's brows furrowed as if he were searching for the right words. "You have courage and stamina, and you're strong and quite intimidating for a man your age. But you're full of risk. You leave too much to chance. Plus you've no respect for your weapon."

Achan shrugged. "What's a weapon but a tool to be used how its wielder deems necessary?"

"Well said, lad." Sir Gavin grinned, his thin, wolfish smile looking more like a grimace.

"Could I learn, as well?" Sparrow asked.

Sir Caleb nodded. "You can, boy. I must say, I thought you a coward until you turned veil warrior with Gavin and defeated the mage."

Achan frowned. Sparrow did what? "What's that mean, veil warrior?"

"It is meaning, Your Highness, that Vrell hasn't been being honest with us," Inko said. "He can do more with his mind than he has been letting on."

"No, I-I do not understand how..." Sparrow let his words die out, looking as though he had forgotten how to speak.

Sir Caleb gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Never mind your modesty, boy. Now, hand me your sword and we'll teach you to use it. Give those black knights something to fear on all accounts."

Despite wanting to string Sparrow up a moment ago, Achan's mind knotted at this line of conversation. The Veil was the world between Er'Rets and eternity in Shamayim or the Lowerworld. Not to be confused with the Evenwall, which separated Light from Darkness. How did bloodvoices work with the Veil?

Sparrow drew his sword from the ring on his belt and handed it, blade first, to Sir Caleb.

Achan rolled his eyes.

Sir Caleb frowned and twirled his finger. "Turn it around. Never hand over a weapon blade first."

"Sorry." Sparrow turned the blade and poked himself in the nose with the tip. He jumped, eyes wide.

Achan chuckled silently, fighting to keep his cheeks from curling, but the image of Sparrow's shocked face as he stuck himself with his own blade amused him to no end. Veil warrior or not, Sparrow was a bungler.

Sir Caleb took the weapon and examined it, then passed it to Achan, hilt first, with a sideways glance at Sparrow. "What do you make of Vrell's purchase, Your Highness?"

Achan gripped the thick, wooden handle, squeezing and releasing. He stood, backed away from the torchlight, and swung. The sword felt lighter than
Eagan
's Elk, which made sense for a short arming sword, but the handle weighed too much. It felt like he was wielding a pitchfork by the prongs.

He knelt before the torch, batted a moth aside, and scrutinized the blade. The cutting edges were crude, dirty with tool marks, gouges, and nicks. He held the sword flat in front of him, horizontal to the ground, and bent the end like he'd seen knights do to check the temper of the blade. It barely flexed.

He shot Sparrow a fleeting look. "How much did you pay for this?"

"Twenty pieces of silver."

Achan choked back a laugh. "Twenty!"

"Where does a stray come by twenty pieces of silver?" Sir Caleb asked.

Sparrow glanced from face to face. "My master in Walden's Watch gave it to me when I left."

Achan snorted. "You must be the luckiest stray I've ever met to have such a master."

"Lord Orthrop was more my warden than master. I apprenticed at the local apothecary."

Sir Caleb frowned. "The lord of the manor housed you
and
allowed you to apprentice? A stray?"

Sparrow's eyes cast down. "Lord Orthrop is a kind man."

"I'll say." Achan held up the sword. "Well, it's not worth five in my opinion. They didn't even bother to sharpen or polish it. It's unfinished, Sparrow. But that's not the worst of it." He peeked at Sir Caleb, confidence waning.

"Go on," the knight said.

"Well...it's got no flexibility. It'll probably break under a real blow. Plus, the balance is off. The hilt is heavy. The blade should be longer for the weight of this hilt, I think."

"But I'm short," Sparrow said.

"That doesn't matter." Achan paused. The knights watched him. Heat smoldered in the pit of his stomach. What did he truly know about swords? "Well, maybe it does."

"No. You're doing fine," Sir Caleb said. "Go on."

"Well, you'll build arm muscle using any sword, so the size of it based on your height isn't the issue. It's the reach, I think. If you're fighting an opponent with a longer sword, they'll be able to strike you, but you won't be able to reach them. Plus if they have a shield, which most do..." He stood and pointed to Sir Caleb's shield propped against his pack. "Sir Caleb?"

The knight handed Achan the shield. Achan tossed it to Sparrow who nearly fell over trying to catch it. The boy examined the shield and looped his arm through the straps.

Achan drew
Eagan
's Elk and handed it to Sparrow grip first. "Take my sword."

Sparrow accepted the weapon. "It is lighter than I expected."

"Aye. And you're much smaller than me. Take a swing."

"Easy." Sir Gavin's lecturing tone rang out.

Like the boy could actually do any damage. "Don't try and kill me, just reach out."

Sparrow did, slowly. Achan gripped the end of the blade between his thumb and fingers and jerked it toward his chest.

"There. See? You can reach me with a decent blade, despite your size. Look here." Achan gripped Sparrow's sword in his right hand. He was naturally left-handed, but Sir Gavin had taught him to fight with both. He reached out with Sparrow's blade. Even with his long arms, the tip remained a hand's breadth from the lad's chest. Sparrow's eyes bulged.

Achan dropped the cheap sword in the grass. "Switch with me."

Sparrow passed over the sword and shield and retrieved his sword from the ground. Achan gripped the shield in front of him, slightly to his left, and held the flat of
Eagan
's Elk against the shield's edge.

Sparrow gaped.

"Well?" Achan asked.

"I see my disadvantage immediately. Not only do you stand over a foot taller and much stronger, but the shield covers most your body. Where am I supposed to strike?"

"My legs and head," Achan said.

To Achan's surprise, Sparrow darted left and lunged for his foot, but his blade struck the dirt.

Achan whacked Sparrow's head with the flat of his blade, the way Sir Gavin had done to him time and again.

Sparrow yelped and stumbled, clutching his head.

The knights laughed.

Achan fought back a smile. "You just lost your head. Keep your chin up. Look with your eyes so you can see as much as possible at all times and not leave yourself wide open. Oh, and you aren't digging a pit. Yours is a cutting blade. A dull one. But your grip is all wrong, as is your swing. Don't swing like you're afraid you'll miss. Put your heart into it. Passion increases a man's strength."

Achan shrugged his arm out of Sir Caleb's shield and let it fall on the ground. "But none of that matters if your blade can't even reach me. And if your opponent slips his grip to the pommel, he can get another four inches on you."

Inko chuckled. "It seems our prince is to be knowing a mite more than you were to be thinking, Caleb."

"Aye, he knows some, but there are strategies for fighting against a longsword with a shorter blade or dagger. You and I will work on that, Vrell, and see if we can outwit our prince." Sir Caleb raised a bushy blond eyebrow at Achan. "And I don't care how much you know, Your Highness. If you keep throwing swords and shields in the dirt, they won't be useful for long. Bring your blade here and I'll teach you to clean it. Vrell, you can learn too."

Achan knelt beside Sparrow at Sir Caleb's bedroll. "Honestly, you wouldn't stand a chance with that sword, even if you knew what you were doing. If we meet further opposition, I suggest you find a tree to hide behind. You'd cause more trouble in battle with us trying to keep you alive."

Sparrow's bottom lip trembled.

Pig snout, the boy was going to cry.