From Darkness Won (3 page)

Sidal thrust his hand at the Hadad’s spirit. “I think not.”
Macoun’s words came out in Sidal’s voice.

The Hadad flew up. His scream cut off quickly as he passed through the dome and vanished. Sidal lowered his hand. The green light went out.

Sidal blinked a moment in the dull light of the lone candle, then staggered back as heat engulfed his body. He was himself again. By the time Sidal could see clearly, Macoun was sitting up on the floor.

“Don’t just stand there gaping, boy, help me up.”

Sidal lunged forward. His foot dragged through something thick and warm on the floor. He looked down to a pile of smoldering ash where the Hadad’s body had lain.

Sidal leapt out of the ash and pulled Macoun to his feet.
“What happened, Master?”

“The keliy has passed to me.
I
am the Hadad now. Unfortunately for you, boy. You’ve seen far too much.”

A tremor of fear gripped Sidal’s heart. He glanced at the door, but Macoun walked there and opened it to the black knights.

“Khai,” Macoun said, “send the armies to attack Allowntown and Carmine, as planned. Bring me the prince. Dead or living, I care not. If you fail, bring me the girl, her mother, or one of her sisters.”

“Sisters? What good are they to anyone, Master?”

“Bait for the girl and heirs should she die. Now, go!”

The black knight bowed. “Yes, Master.” He descended the stairs, his companion at his heels.

Macoun closed the door and faced Sidal. “I no longer have use for your pathetic powers, nor need I stomach another incessant question from that mouth of yours.”

Sidal stumbled back. “Master, please. You said I could train to be a black knight. You promised—”

A fist of green light gripped Sidal’s throat. It lifted him and carried him away from his master. Sidal grunted, kicked his legs.

Promises are nothing but words, boy. Words that make people comply.

Sidal could not speak aloud.
I can be of service to you, master. I can help you.

The keliy does not need your help. Only mine.

The
fist
pushed Sidal’s body out the window. He struggled to cling to the side jambs with his hands, hook the sill with his legs. But the fist thrust him out. Gowzal wings swiped his back and head as they flew past the tower window.

Macoun stepped up to the window, a small smile on his lips.
Say hello to my master.

The
fist
let go. And Sidal son of Lekim fell screaming, through the squawking birds, down the length of the watchtower, until he passed into Darkness.

P
A R T 1

ACHAN

1

Get the little pilfering prince!

The soldier’s wooden blade whipped toward Achan’s face.
He lunged back a step in his heavy armor and threw up his guard. The wasters scraped overhead. His body ached, left thigh still sore from where Esek had stabbed him with Ôwr, right shoulder tender from the cham bear’s teeth.

Achan tensed his muscles anyway, pushing against his opponent’s blade. His elbow exploded with pain as a different waster slipped past his armor and struck true. Grinding his teeth at the fiery throbs shooting up his arm, Achan cut down from high guard at the man on his right and thrust his shield against the soldier before him.

Yet his attackers kept a steady pace. Dozens of boots pattered over the soft dirt around him. One waster clubbed his backplate. Another nicked his shoulder. He needed more space. They were crowding him. Even their thoughts and the cheers of the crowd seemed against him.

This was supposed to be a practice fight, not a real one. Good thing they were using wooden swords.

Achan stabbed one man’s chest, thrusting against chain armor. He stomped on another’s foot. Block to the left. Kick a man’s thigh. Parry with his shield. Left-guard to cut at open shins. Elbow to an exposed neck.

And just when he managed to push back the last man, four fresh soldiers advanced.

They bore down hard, slashing for Achan’s legs and head. He crouched, blocking his legs with his shield and parrying to high guard. Wood clubbed against wood.

Shung’s warrior cry bellowed from behind, but there was no time to see whether Shung needed aid.

There were too many.

But Shung’s yell reminded Achan that volume was strength. He released a hearty scream of his own and threw out his shield arm, knocking a soldier back. He cut across two men with his waster. One stumbled into the dusty soil. The other danced back and retreated to the benches. This won Achan a moment to breathe. He returned his blade and shield to middle guard and glanced at Shung.

His faithful Shield was surrounded by five foes. Shung blocked two strikes and caught a soldier square in the chest with his buckler shield.

The onlooking soldiers rooted for their comrades.

“Get ’em, men!”

Go low, Zin!

“Three cheers for Carmine!”

“Take him down, Grigio!”

Make him pay. For Rennan!

For Rennan?
Shung? Did you hear that?
Achan asked telepathically.

Shung glanced Achan’s way.
Behind you!

Achan spun around just as a waster pounded the top of his head, slamming his teeth together. His knees buckled. His head rang against his helm like the clapper of a bell. He sank to his knees—head throbbing, elbow and thigh screaming—and raised his shield to protect his head.

Little Cham!
Shung yelled.
On guard!

But Achan couldn’t think. He needed a moment to—

A waster stabbed his left side. Another cracked against his shield. Achan cowered behind the slab of worn wood. He took several short breaths and jumped up. His shield struck his opponent’s again, but this time Achan rammed it outward. The soldier fell and skidded in the dirt.

That won’t do, Zin! We’ve got to show him a Carmine soldier is more man than he’ll ever be.

Shut up, Grigio. You’re distracting me.

Achan wanted to identify who Zin and Grigio might be, but he barely had time to crouch into position to deflect a blow from his latest opponent. This one came at his feet. He met it with his sword and lifted his shield high, then brought the edge of his shield down toward his opponent’s head.

Missed. The shields locked together. Achan’s opponent tugged him close, their faces inches apart. The man’s eyes were fierce, hateful. This was no training regimen for him. Why?

A shadow flitted across Achan’s vision. Too late he saw his opponent’s sword in high guard coming down. He jerked his head aside. The waster whipped the air beside his head, nicking his helm.

The helm twisted, blocking sight to his left eye. He ducked behind his shield as the weight of a man knocked against it. Leather scraped against wood. Achan fell. He kept his shield tight over his head and body. Kicked out a leg.

Useless.

Someone stomped on his wrist and jerked his sword away. A tug on his shield wrenched his right arm out straight. His cham wounds burned. He held tight until a waster cleaved against his arm. His shield flew away.

Three dark outlines hovered overhead, the sky clear and blue above them. A kick to his ribs felt like a playful nudge through his armor. A mailed fist to his jaw, however…

The air stung the raw flesh where he’d been struck.

That’ll teach the lily-livered geck.

What in all Er’Rets?

Achan tried to roll away, but the same mail glove gripped his throat. Squeezed. “You yield?” the soldier asked, his voice a faint breath.

Achan pushed against the man’s chest with his hands and managed to croak, “No.”

Stubborn little pip, he is.

You’ve got him, Grigio. Make him regret it.

So this was Grigio, at least. The one choking him. The pressure increased, crushing Achan’s throat until his cheeks tingled. The cheers of the Carmine soldiers warbled.

Shh-
ung
…
a little help?

Coming.

Achan’s vision spotted, but Shung’s battle cry bolstered his courage. In one motion, the hand released his throat and his attacker fell away.

He gasped and lifted his head to see Shung dragging the soldier away by the cape. Five fresh men approached from the benches.

Pig snout. Would this never end? Achan pushed up onto one elbow and searched the dirt for his sword.

“Halt!”

Captain Tristan Loam stepped between the approaching Carmine soldiers and where Achan lay on the ground. The captain was tall and broad with reddish hair, a short beard, and a cushion of a belly, though Achan didn’t doubt he was a formidable swordsman.

Captain Loam peered down on Achan. “Are you well, Your Highness?”

Achan licked his bloody lip and panted. “Aye.”

“Take a moment before we go again.”

Go again?

Achan let his head fall back on the ground. He swallowed a bit of blood and stared at the azure sky. It took several deep breaths to cleanse his strangled lungs. On his right, golden standards perched along the sentry wall, flapping in the wind, each marked with a bunch of plump red grapes. Achan watched their movement as his breathing returned to normal.

Captain Loam’s voice muted as he addressed his men. “We’ll give the prince a moment to rest, then get back to it.”

Aww. The knotty-pated baby needs a rest
, a soldier said.

Can’t believe he’s fighting us at all
, another said.

Half-trained lout don’t deserve Lady Averella.

Achan stiffened at the jeers, but then he finally understood.
The soldiers were angry about his betrothal to Lady Averella.
Bran Rennan, who had been engaged to her, was one of their number. In their eyes, Achan had taken Bran’s woman.

Aw, pig snout. Achan had hoped to bond with these men by coming here this morning. But he’d been naive, as always. There had been too many factors to anticipate. Half-trained, indeed. Achan wanted to go back to the peace of his chambers. Hide there. Or leave Carmine altogether.

But that was not what a sovereign should do.

A shadow stepped before him. Achan squinted until Shung’s hairy outline came into focus.

Shung extended an arm.
They are merciless warriors. Very brave. Glad they’re on our side.

Achan reached up and grasped Shung’s forearm.
They wanted to beat me.

Shung jerked Achan up.
That’s the object of the lesson.