Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three (35 page)

Berk averted his gaze. He looked about to say something, then shook his head, more to himself than Bolin. "I don't know what brought this on, but you're looking for a fight on the wrong front. We've bigger issues at hand. Begging your pardon, sir, but if we do make it out of this alive, and you feel the need to continue this discussion, I'll be more than happy to oblige. At the moment, I'd rather focus on living through the night."

The unreasonable itch to pick a fight fluttered away as quickly as it had come. Bolin blew out a sigh and closed his eyes, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Exhaustion beat against him, and a blackness that had nothing to do with the night crept in around the edges of his vision to join the dull throb drumming softly in his temples.

He needed to feel magic. Any magic. He couldn't keep pretending that wasn't an issue. The tiniest speck of benign hedge magic would be like a feast. He needed it more than the breath that clawed at his throat as he tried to calm its ragged pace in and out of his lungs. And those were tightening. His chest growing heavy, as though trapped beneath a boulder.

A noise rose out of his throat, half growl, half whine, and he headed toward the ruins when the nearby tree bent over beneath a gust of wind. Bolin staggered against Berk as a huge, dark shape descended out of the sky, obsidian eyes whirling with flickers of red and white. It dissipated into nothing more than smoke that twisted around Bolin. He shoved back, pain and despair tearing a cry from him.

His eyes told him Andrakaos had found him. Touch told him the beast wrapped about him. But he couldn't
sense
him. Couldn't hear his thoughts. Couldn't feel the power that should have been enveloping him like the rush of good wine. Bolin backed from the beast, arms flailing to push Andrakaos away. His presence had prompted an immediate and unconscious attempt to draw him in, and the agony that tore through Bolin rivaled nothing he had ever experienced. If he had a knife, he would have driven it through his own heart without a moment's hesitation.

Something hard met his back, stopping his retreat, and he braced against it with one hand, his fingers digging into chipping mortar. He thrust his other hand in front of him to ward off Andrakaos's approach.

"Don't." The word caught on a strangled breath. "Leave. I can't--"

He slid to the ground, his body trembling, silently pleading as Andrakaos shrank back. The beast turned its head momentarily toward Berk before launching skyward, and suddenly Bolin wanted to stop him. Andrakaos would bring Ciara. She couldn't be there. Not for many reasons. Bolin's need to wrap her in his arms, to feel her warmth, and not be able to touch her magic… it would kill him.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Berk knelt beside the general wondering if, this time, the effects of the blinding would actually kill him. The man's eyes were wide and unseeing, and his lips moved in a silent litany. A fine layer of sweat coated his forehead, beading at his temples and trailing down the side of his face, and tremors wracked his body, mild at first, but growing in intensity.

Berk pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Goddess above, he needed sleep, and something to eat. His stomach complained to the point of threatening to divest itself of whatever bile it still contained, waves of dizziness accompanying the nausea. To add to it, his calf throbbed with each step, despite Grumnlin's poultice.

An owl let out a screech and Berk swung around, reaching for his sword. When he turned back he found himself facing five figures, ranged in a line on the far bank of the creek. One of them had Grumnlin by the shoulder.

Berk gusted out a resigned breath. He didn't have the strength for this. Fighting down the spike of panic that wanted to bring back the partially buried memories of his time in marauder hands, he straightened to face them, drawing his sword, and keeping the general, and the wall, at his back.

Their leader took a step forward, head cocked, her expression hidden in the dark. "Lover?" She took another step then paused, and the night echoed her harsh laugh. "It is you. This is going to be far more enjoyable than I expected."

Berk's throat tightened. Had he been a harder man, the woman facing him would be dead. Berk would have killed her while she lay helpless in the grip of Ciara's sleeping spell. Ciara, and his own sense of honor, stayed his hand. He had prayed never to see Lenai again. The time spent in the marauder chieftain's hands, being drugged and tortured, fed more than one nightmare.

None of the marauder's had their weapons drawn. Lenai stood with feet planted, one hand resting on the grip of the Imperial sword at her belt, the other fisted on her hip. She tipped her head to see past Berk to where Bolin remained slumped against the wall.

"He's not looking good," she said. "I don't think he's going to be much help to you. Maybe you should just toss your weapons over here and give up."

"We both know that's not going to happen." Berk allowed himself one quick moment to toss up a prayer to the Goddess. A plea for victory above all, or death before capture.

"You know you can't win this. In case you haven't had the chance to count, you're outnumbered."

Berk shrugged with more bravado than he felt. "And you're outmatched."

Lenai threw her head back and laughed. "By all the gods, I always said you had a lot of cock. Too bad you've got all that self-righteous morality to go with it."

One of the men beside her shifted, and Berk swiveled to keep him in view.

"Give me a weapon," the general said, his voice grating.

Berk couldn't spare him any attention. From the sounds of it, the general was struggling to get to his feet. Even if he managed it, Berk saw him now as more of a liability. Still, he couldn't leave the man defenseless. He shrugged the general's sword from his back and passed it to him without taking his eyes from the marauders.

Lenai let out a snort. "Are you mad?"

"That's a distinct possibility," Berk said.

He moved before the words were out of his mouth. The marauder to the left had glanced over to his companion, who had all he could do trying to keep hold of a struggling Grumnlin. Berk crossed the space between them, switched his sword to his left hand and thrust low and quick as he spun away. His arm jarred as he made contact, and the marauder let out a surprised grunt. Berk jerked his blade free with a twist, and shoved the man toward one of his companions who'd made a dash forward as soon as Berk attacked.

"Hold!" Lenai's bellow stopped everyone. "This one's mine. Keep the other two out of the way, but don't kill them."

She sauntered forward, splashing through the creek. She slid the Imperial sword free of its scabbard, as she came, angling it so the faint starlight caught the blade.

"Fine piece of steel," she said. "I'll give you dogs that much. You do know your weapons. It was rather wasted on that boy, though. I don't think he even knew how to hold it. I'm sure I'm the first to have blooded it. Shame it will have to taste yours now. It doesn't have to be this way, you know. I'm being very generous and offering you a way out."

"I've experienced your generosity. I'd prefer to be dead."

"Normally, I'd be more than happy to oblige you in that. Especially since I'd wager you're the one who killed my man back there. But I've taken a real shine to you. Besides, now you've insulted me, so I'm going to be even more inclined to let you live, just so I can teach you a bit of respect."

She circled around Berk, angling toward the wall, making the obvious countermove one that would put her men at his back. The ruins didn't leave him a lot of room to maneuver, but Berk hoped to use that to his advantage. He trusted Lenai's men to follow her orders only so far. He had no doubt they would rush him if he managed to get the upper hand. In the open, in the dark, outnumbered, and at the edge of his reserves, his chances of besting them were slim. Even one on one would prove a sketchy venture. So he lunged forward, forcing Lenai to spin in the opposite direction she intended.

A flash of teeth followed the harsh cry of metal greeting metal. "I'm glad you're not going to make this easy."

She drew a second, shorter sword, and darted forward before Berk could free his dagger. He used a sapling jutting up from between the rubble to block her, skipping behind it as Lenai pressed the attack. As she shifted to catch him on the other side, Berk pivoted back the way he had come and angled his sword toward her thigh. A sharp hiss rewarded him, but the fact Lenai kept her feet told him the blow was a glancing one.

He kept moving between the bits of foundation and rotting timbers, using them as shields, pulling her farther from her men. The inherent risk to darting blindly through rubble came when Berk jumped back to avoid a snake-like strike and caught his heel. He went down hard, rolled to get clear of the inevitable attack, and came up short against a boulder. In desperation, he reversed direction, whipping his sword up. He caught one of Lenai's blades against his and shoved upwards to throw her off balance. A sudden burn down the outside of his left shoulder drew a curse from Berk and a chuckle from Lenai. He swiped his leg across his body and kicked. His foot caught Lenai in the calf and she staggered to the side, giving Berk the opening he needed to regain his feet. He immediately launched into a flurry of quick strikes and thrusts to force her back.

His legs threatened to give out with every misstep. He needed to end this fight quickly. Something moved in his periphery as they broke from the rubble and re-entered the open space beside the creek. Berk jumped back just in time to avoid being skewered by one of Lenai's men. He threw a kick that caught the marauder in the shin and sent him sprawling in the dirt. A quick downward thrust ensured the man wouldn't get back up.

Berk scanned the area as he circled for position. Lenai gave him only enough time to register that the general no longer stood by the wall, before she rushed him, both blades swinging high to the right. Berk ducked under the whistling blades and lurched forward, slicing sharply down with his sword to catch one of Lenai's as she dropped it toward his ribs. Her eyes widened in surprise as he twisted inside her guard, telling him she'd had more luck with that maneuver in the past. The surprise turned to shock as Berk brought his left hand up, his dagger piercing through her leather armor beneath her arm.

A growl rose from the marauder chieftain's throat and she jerked to the side. She slammed her elbow into Berk's ribs and he let go of the dagger, dancing back as she pivoted, and twisting to avoid her follow-up thrust. Lenai kept her right arm tight against her side and attacked with the left, faltering before she charged him with a maddened bout of wild swings. Berk countered them as he retreated, watching for an opening. He tripped on a body, and as he stumbled he felt the drag of Lenai's blade gouge through his jerkin then snag against his mail. She overextended, lost her balance, and Berk shot forward. His fingers locked around her wrist and he jerked her back around, slamming her forearm down across his knee. Her scream as the bone broke ripped through the night. Berk shoved her out to arm's length and, holding her by the shoulder, drove his blade up through her chest.

Lenai's lips parted, blood flecking them as she tried to form words. She stood for a long moment after Berk pulled the sword free, gaping at him, her eyes bright. She took one faltering step forward, still trying to raise her weapon, before she collapsed in the dirt.

Berk sucked in a pained breath, hard pressed not to do the same. There were other marauders to worry about, though. As he swiveled to find them, readying himself for the next attack, something hit his side. He looked down and blinked. The pain reached him about the same time he recognized the fletching of a crossbow bolt jutting out of his mail just below his ribs. Berk put a hand to it and huffed out a breath, tried to lift his sword, and then everything tilted sideways.

He expected to wake in the Halls, if at all. Instead, when he managed to convince his eyes to open, he found himself on his back, looking at the sky. He surged upwards, but strong hands held him down.

"Lie still," the general said.

"There others?"

"Dead, or gone."

Berk's reply came out as a gasp at the pressure of Bolin's hand against his side. He tried to push the general away and failed. "It's just a scratch."

"I don't think our definitions of that word are the same."

"We have to… go."

"And exactly how do you intend to do that?" Bolin sat back on his heels, head cocked, his brows raised expectantly.

Berk rolled his head, belatedly realizing what it meant that he could clearly see the general's expression. A small fire lit the immediate area. A rolled cloak had been wedged beneath his head for a pillow, another lay over the top of him, and he'd been stripped from the waist up.

"How long have I been out?"

"Long enough for me to see to your wounds and get somewhat of a camp set up," Bolin said. "The marauders were kind enough to leave their packs. The last one thought it wiser to abandon his companions once things went against him. He's gone, and so is Grumnlin."

Berk shoved up onto his elbows. He hung there for a long, stubborn moment, breathing past the pain in his side and the lightness in his head, before he gave in and let himself drop back with a groan.

"You need rest more than anything right now. The wound's not deep. The head snagged in your mail, barely making it through. It was a desperate shot at a bad angle, but it's a sight more than a scratch."

The general stood and moved around to the other side of the fire where Berk could see him without straining. Sparks danced skyward as Bolin tossed another piece of wood into the flames and settled down with his back against the wall. Berk fought to keep his eyes open, his head bobbing each time they threatened to close.

"The sword she had…" He jerked his head up and looked around, the campsite a hazy blur. "She had an Imperial sword…"

"It's next to yours."

"She took it off a boy… a messenger… just out from… from Broadhead. He was only a boy. They'd put him in a cage, tortured him for seven days--" Berk swallowed a sob as the images flooded his mind. He didn't have the energy to stop them. "I promised myself, if I ever got the chance, I'd see it returned to his family."

"You need to rest, Berk," the general said again, his voice weary.

Berk nodded dumbly. "I'm sorry," he said, not even sure he spoke loud enough to be heard. "I never meant any of it. Not the wall. The Lady. Not Ciara."

"You're making about as much sense now as I've been. Stop fighting it. I'll keep watch in case our friend comes back."

Given his failed attempt at sitting up, and the fact his thoughts had scattered to the four corners, Berk doubted he'd be able to launch even so much as a verbal objection. His body seemed quite content to be prone, relatively comfortable, and warm. He gave in and closed his eyes. For a while, an imagined sound or lurking presence would yank him back into wakefulness. Each time, he found the fire banked, and the general seated near the wall. The only change came in the dimming of the stars as they edged ever closer to dawn.