Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three (13 page)

"It was a beautiful description," Ciara said, and then a thought occurred to her. "What do you see when you look at me?"

"Beauty. Strength. Gentleness."

Ciara was thankful he couldn't see the blush creep across her cheeks. "No. I mean, do you see my magic?"

"Of course. It's impossible for me not to."

"What does it look like?"

"Ah." Ferris rubbed the tip his chin with his thumb. "It's a waver of air surrounding you. Like silvery blue moonlight dancing on the water, swirled with obsidian."

"Does Bolin see it the same way?"

"I can't say for certain. Something similar, I'd guess. But his gifts far surpass mine, so I can only imagine his vision is somewhat different."

"So, you can divert magic, but you can't use it like he can?"

"Aye."

"How do you do it? I mean, I can't even seem to figure out how to use my own magic most days, let alone deal with anyone else's."

"How do you walk, or breathe, or see?" he asked. "It's as natural for me as that. I've always been good at it, too. Quicker than most full-blooded Sciath, or so I'm told. Most Sciath, even a few of the na Duinne, can't feel magic until its drawn from the ethereal. I can sense when someone first reaches for it, whether they actually draw it forth or not."

"And then you just--" she thrust out with her hands. "Push it away?"

"Not exactly. I need to draw it in first, channel it through my own, and then…" He backhanded a wave, and smiled.

"And you can do that with any magic?"

"For the most part. I have to be careful not to take in too much, too quickly, though. If I can't expel it fast enough, it becomes trapped. Think of it as drawing in a deep breath and then blowing it out again. All well and good unless you inhale, say, a lungful of smoke. You can't breathe then. It chokes you. The same can happen if I take in more than I can handle. More than one Sciath died that way in the wars, when up against enemies more powerful than they."

"Have you ever taken in too much?"

"A few times. Only once seriously enough to threaten my life. It's not pleasant."

Ciara settled more comfortably against the stone, drawing her legs up and wrapping her cloak around them. The ring of stones proved to be a better shelter than it appeared, blocking most of the wind, and holding in the warmth of their small fire.

"Can I ask you another question, Ferris?"

He chuckled. "Just one, then? I've a feeling you're fairly bursting with them."

"Oh, I am. I'm just too tired for more than that. You said you were Ariadne's man, but the crest on your breastplate is Bolin's, isn't it?"

"Aye."

Ciara waited for him to go on, frowning across the fire when he did nothing more than prod it and feed another log into the flames.

"Let me rephrase my question," she said. "Why is it you wear Bolin's crest, when you're Ariadne's man?"

"Ah. Because he is Lord of Cearne, and that's my home." He touched his chest. "This is the Knot of Cearne. Ultimately, I owe my allegiance to the lord of that land."

"Oh." A jaw-popping yawn forced its way out, and Ciara snuggled deeper into the warmth of her cloak. "So, are you and Bolin related?"

"You've used more than your one question, m'lady," Ferris said, but not unkindly. "It's probably best you get some rest now. We'll be moving with the dawn. If all goes well, we'll reach High House by tomorrow night."

Ciara's apology came out mumbled as a sudden irresistible desire to close her eyes overwhelmed her. She blinked at the fire, wondering when she had lain down. She thought for a moment something lingered just outside the ring of stones, someone watching her through the darkness. Then Ferris's boots obscured her view and a thick fur settled over her. Moments later sleep pulled her under.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Imperial messenger horses were bred for speed and endurance, conditioned to cover a lot of ground for days on end without any ill effects. Even leaving Nisair late morning, Berk and Sully came to within only a handful of leagues from Broadhead by nightfall. A trip that normally took the better part of two days at a normal pace. Unfortunately, late afternoon brought with it a bitter wind out of the north, which would have been bad enough without driving a freezing rain ahead of it.

Halfway between the Twisted Oak Inn and Broadhead, they were forced to bring their horses to a walk or risk injury on the increasingly slick road. Shortly after, with the wind picking up in ferocity, Sully led the way off the road until they found a dense copse of pine trees. The outside branches grew thick and lush, but between the trunks the sparse growth created a sheltered clearing large enough for both the men and their horses. And though the wind and rain managed to creep through, it did so with far less vehemence.

They still had to settle for cold rations and no fire. Huddled in his cloak and extra blanket, under his full uniform of tunic, padded gambeson, mail shirt, and tabard, Berk still couldn't work the chill out of his bones.

"As soon as this lets up, we'll make for Broadhead," Sully said, flicking his hood to shake the sleet from it.

Berk nodded, though part of him dreaded the thought of spending more time in the garrison city than he had to. If there were ghosts haunting him in Nisair, there'd be even more in Broadhead.

"Unless you'd rather spend all night shivering out here," Sully said, accurately reading Berk's silence.

"No."

Berk glanced in his friend's direction. He could feel the weight of Sully's stare even if he couldn't see his expression beneath the shadow of his hood. Sully never pressed him. He'd just wait until Berk felt like getting it off his chest. Listen. Give his sage advice. Then put it to rest. It seemed so easy for him. It seemed easy for everyone besides Berk. Even Salek appeared to have made his peace with the events of the past month or so, and if he occasionally had to bolster that peace with a few extra mugs at Mol's, no one thought any worse of him.

Sully shifted, reaching beneath his cloak to draw out a flask. He took a long swallow then held it out for Berk. Berk took a drink, shuddering as the harsh brandy hit the back of his throat, warming him from the inside out. He passed it back, and Sully took another drink before tucking it away.

A sudden gust of wind battered the pines, shaking down a cascade of water.

"You ever see ghosts, Sul?" Berk asked, resting his arms across his drawn up knees.

"Any man who lives by the sword and claims he doesn't is a liar."

"When you're awake, I mean. Not in a dreams."

Nothing but the branches moaning answered him for so long, Berk thought Sully was trying to come up with a nice way to tell him he'd finally cracked.

"You remember that uprising along the Hedgeron about ten years past?" Sully finally asked. "There was an old beggar that got caught up in the fray and took an arrow to the leg. Remember that? We got forced from the road and he came stumbling out, got himself under the horses and trampled?"

Berk nodded. "That was the first time I saw action."

"Right. Well, there wasn't anything to be done for that beggar afterwards save hasten his passing. He reminded me of an old uncle, so I did it for him." The flask reappeared. "To this day, I can't go past that spot without seeing him sitting there, wrapped in his grimy robes, dirty hands clutching that broken bowl. There's times I think I see him in Nisair, or Guldarech, other places as well." The flask tipped again. Longer this time. "He wasn't as old as he looked."

"How come I didn't know about that?" Berk asked.

"It's hard to notice anything but yourself the first time you find yourself looking down the wrong end of a blade." Sully took another pull from the flask and passed it to Berk. "There's a few others, but that beggar's the worst for some reason."

Berk picked at a fraying piece of leather on the flask until Sully nudged his elbow. "That doesn't need nursing."

"It's empty," Berk said, waggling it for emphasis.

"Good thing I have another." Sully shrugged his shoulders to resettle his cloak, wrapping it closer. "There's a reason you asked."

Berk nodded, trying to work up the courage to put it into words. It should have made it easier, knowing Sully wouldn't think him crazy.

"I saw Kort." The words finally tumbled from him, and once they were out, the rest chased after in a disjointed confession. "I couldn't sleep so I took a walk. It was on the wall. The thing from Broadhead that killed Duff. Still had my bolts in its chest. It looked like Kort, and sounded like him. I told myself it wasn't real, but I kept waiting for it to reach out and kill me. I couldn't do anything to stop it. He wanted to know… it asked why I killed it. Said we were brothers. But it wasn't Kort. I know that. I want to know that." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "I want to believe it."

"They're memories, Berk. Nothing more. Sharp reminders of our past that, for some reason or another, we can't let go like all the rest. The Goddess alone knows why, and, if we're lucky, she'll tell us when we sit in the Halls. Or, like as not, it won't matter anymore."

"I feel like I'm losing my mind, Sul. Like there's something lurking. Something ready to pounce and swallow me whole. I try to remember how it felt before all this happened, but I can't work my way back there, and I'm terrified I'm going to wind up like Sergeant Drea. Remember him? Muttering and half-mad, until I throw myself off the wall."

"I wouldn't let that happen," Sully said. "It's a fresh wound, Berk. You need to give it time to heal."

"And until then?"

"Stop picking at it."

They lapsed into silence after that. Berk shifted onto his hip, pulled his cloak tight, and tried to get some sleep, but his mind kept wandering, and his eyes refused to stay closed. Judging by the snores emanating from Sully's direction, the lieutenant had no such difficulty. Berk scowled in his friend's direction and rolled over. By the time he finally started to doze off, the sleet stopped. It seemed like not long after that, Sully nudged him awake with a toe to the ribs.

"Rain stopped," he said.

Berk made a non-committal noise and tried to ignore him.

"I'd rather sleep on a lumpy mattress in the barracks than the cold, wet ground. We can be in Broadhead well before dawn."

When Berk still made no move to rise Sully's toe landed with more force.

"On your feet, soldier. That's an order."

Berk grumbled some more, then pushed himself off the ground with a groan to avoid another assault. "You start pulling rank, and this is going to turn into a long trip."

Sully chuckled and shoved Berk toward the horses. "Rank's no good if you don't get to use it. Move out."

The wind still buffeted the trees as they led their horses back to the road. Once in the open, it gusted around them with renewed force. They kept their horses to a steady trot so as not to risk injury on the slick road, so it took longer than Berk anticipated for the first lights of Broadhead to come into view. They lost sight of it around a bend, and then it reappeared, looming large. Berk filled his head with thoughts of dry blankets, a relatively soft mattress, and a warm meal.

"It's just a city,"
he told himself.
"And ghosts are just memories. Kort's not here. Duff either. They're in the Halls."

Then they were being hailed by the gate guards, and Berk forced his attention on them to avoid looking up. Duff had met his end up there, unwilling to believe the monster they faced wasn't really Kort. He'd stepped in front of Berk, blocking his shot, extending his hand to the thing--

"Sounds like we're a good three or four days behind the Emperor," Sully said, yanking Berk from the edge of panic.

The gates swung open and they were waved through.

"Let's find some bunks and get some sleep. I'll pay our respects to Captain Rothel in the morning. We can grab a hot meal, and be back on the road before mid-morn."

"Aye," Berk said, trying to keep his thoughts from charging in the direction they seemed intent on going.

"Then again, there's a fairly decent brothel a few blocks from the river gate. They have a soft spot for soldiers, generally charge less, and definitely know how to take the chill out of a man."

"Aye. Whatever you say, Sul."

"Did you even hear me?"

"The barracks, find a bunk, something about the river." He glanced Sully's way, and his friend's mouth twisted into a grin. "What?"

"I suggested Lady Lace's."

"Lady… oh. You weren't serious?"

Sully raised a brow. "I wasn't, but it might not be a bad idea. At least they'd keep your mind off where it seems to be taking you, maybe exhaust you to the point of sleeping. I'll even pay."

"No thanks," Berk said. "I'm plenty tired. I'm going to have much trouble sleeping."

Sully snorted, but let the argument drop. They saw to their own horses, not wanting to rouse the stable boys, then went to find someplace to bed down. There were a lot fewer empty bunks this time, but Berk found one near the door, stripped off his uniform as quietly as he could, and collapsed onto the lumpy mattress. Even warm, and with no roots digging into his spine, it took a bit for him to get comfortable. He couldn't keep the images of Kort and Duff from moving around behind his eyes, and he sent a fervent prayer to the Goddess for a night of peace, letting exhaustion pull him under.

And it worked. Right up until
she
stepped out of the shadows and sauntered toward him. It took Berk a moment to place her, but then she moved closer and the light danced in eyes the color of saffron flowers. He flashed back to that day in Nisair when she came to him in the practice yard and put some kind of spell on him. She'd forced Berk to go to Ciara's father, and she was there on the wall, helping him.

"Hello, handsome," she said. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Berk swallowed, unable to do anything else. His body refused to obey any command, no matter how desperately given. Even his heart, which should have been pounding in fear, thumped contentedly in his chest.

"You caused a bit of trouble the last time I saw you." She crouched down beside his bunk and reached up to turn Berk's head so he could see her. "I warned him, though. Didn't I? I knew there was more to you than meets the eye. He believes too strongly in the omnipotence of magic to understand there are other kinds of strength."

She wet her lips and trailed a finger down the side of Berk's face to trace his jaw as she studied him.

Berk forced his mouth to open, and pushed the words stuck in his throat past his clenched teeth. "What… do you… want?"

Her eyes widened, and a surprised smile lifted her mouth. "You see? You shouldn't be able to do that, and yet you do, through sheer force of will and nothing more. I'll need to watch you closely."

"Leave… me… alone."

"Too late for that. Much too late. I'll need men like you at my side, and other places. Sleep now." She brushed the sweat-damp hair from his forehead, and leaned over to place a kiss there, then trailed her tongue down to his jaw, and back up, nipping at his earlobe. "You will need to be well rested when I call on you. And be assured, that day is fast approaching."