James Clemens - Shadowfall

“You are very brave,” Yaellin said with a nod, dropping his cloak. “Now you’d best return to the others lest you be missed.”

Color blushed Margarite’s cheeks. She offered a quick curtsy, then headed out, but not before Laurelle rushed to her and again hugged her.

“I miss you so,” she whispered in her friend’s ear.

Margarite nodded, but her eyes were on Yaellin’s shadowed form.

They broke their embrace, and Margarite hurried down the stairs, casting many glances back at them.

Once out of sight, they set off again, climbing the stairs.

“Will she keep silent?” Yaellin asked.

“She’s our friend,” Laurelle said sternly.

Dart didn’t bother to mention that such friendship did not extend to herself. She had noted the familiar look of disgust in Margarite’s eyes. Dart trusted more in Margarite’s fear and awe of the Shadowknight than old friendships.

At last they reached the eighth landing. Yaellin led them off the stair and down the main hall to a door carved with oak leaves and acorns on its lintel.

“Stay behind me,” Yaellin said.

Dart needed no prompting to push deeper into the man’s shadows. Laurelle huddled with her.

Yaellin knocked on the door.

Footsteps approached on the far side. A latch snicked. The door pulled open, sucking some of the shadows over the threshold.

“Who calls so-?” The voice rang with irritation, then cut off.

“Healer Paltry,” Yaellin said. “I’ve come from the High Wing. Your presence is requested at the castillion. I’m to escort you on this black day.”

Dart remained hidden, but she heard the satisfaction in the other’s voice. “Of course. I’ve heard word. I’ll gather my bag and be right with you. Step inside. I won’t be more than a quarter bell.”

Yaellin followed the healer into his chamber. Dart and Laurelle stepped after him. Past the entryway, the chamber opened into the healing ward. A hearth glowed with a morning fire, and lamps shone upon the empty cots, lined around the circular chamber’s edges. In the center, a small brazier burned and smoked.

Yaellin closed the door and secured the latch.

Healer Paltry glanced back at the sound. “There’s no need-”

Yaellin let his shadows and cloak drop from him. Dart and Laurelle stood on either side of him.

Healer Paltry’s gaze fell upon Dart. Confusion crinkled his brow, and deep down something darker shone. Still, he kept his voice light. “What is all this?”

Yaellin pulled out his sword with a flash of silver. “I must ask you to keep us company, Healer Paltry. It seems that there is some matter of urgency that must be discussed.”

Healer Paltry ignored the sword. His eyes still fixed upon Dart. “The Hand of Blood,” he said. “And the Hand of Tears. The very ones wanted by the castillion guard. Ravens fly to every corner of Chrismferry. And you come here, I assume for my help.”

Dart stared into the man’s blue eyes, his handsome face. How could such beauty hide such a black heart? She met Paltry’s gaze, sensing his attempt to intimidate her with the weight of his attention, to hold her quiet. Before, Dart had left the healer’s presence trembling and panicked. She was not that girl any longer.

“Do not trust him,” Dart said with a firmness that surprised her, finding strength from the night’s terror to face the horror here. Eyes drew to her. “His vile wickedness runs to the marrow.”

“Dart?” Laurelle said, surprised.

Yaellin glanced to Paltry. “What do you know of him? Do you know why Tashijan seeks him out?”

Paltry’s eyes narrowed to sharp points, threatening.

Dart shook her head, keeping her gaze locked on the healer. “All I know… all I know is he took all from me…” The words came out, dragged up by sheer necessity, but still tearing, too large for her throat. Her vision blurred with tears, but she did not look away. Laurelle appeared at her side, taking her hand. Dart felt the warmth of her friend’s touch.

Walls broke inside her. Reservoirs of bile and bitterness, sorrow and terror, anger and misery burst their holds. She felt lifted and dragged down. She squeezed tightly to Laurelle.

“He sent Master Willet… to the rookery.” Dart began to shake. Tears took her vision, replaced it with flashes of the past, to a place of pain. “I… I couldn’t stop him. He took me by force, broke me, turned brightness to blood. I… I… I…” Her voice turned to a low keening cry of pain and grief.

Laurelle drew her tight. “Oh, Dart…”

She gasped and choked.

“You could’ve told me,” Laurelle consoled.

Dart shook her head, a bit too violently. “Spoiled… I was broken and impure. I had no other home.”

“She lies,” Paltry spat out. “She is corrupted, but not by my hand. She is foul where none can touch. I know!”

Dart felt a fury build in her that had no bounds, not even her own skin.

Laurelle must have felt it. She loosed her hold on Dart.

“Abomination,” Paltry said, pointing a finger at her.

“Quiet!” Yaellin boomed. His sword found the healer’s heart, poking through cloth to skin.

Paltry winced, dropping his arm.

“Do not speak of matters you know nothing about,” Yaellin said harshly. “She is stronger and purer of heart than any who stand in this room. What was done to her…” His voice filled with cold promise. “You shall suffer a thousandfold.”

Paltry glared at him. “That will be seen, ser knight. Not all in Tashijan share your sweet sentiment.”

“Is that so?” Yaellin said. “Then perhaps you’ll share your view with the new castellan. She comes this morning to question you.”

Paltry blanched. “What… how… why…?”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be asking you the very same.”

Dart took comfort from Paltry’s sick look, the fear in his eyes.

“Now all we have to do is wait for our new guests.” Yaellin nodded to one of the cots. “If you’d be so kind. We might as well be comfortable.”

Yaellin backed Paltry upon the point of his sword. “Laurelle, will you also bar the door back there? We don’t want to be disturbed while we wait.”

Laurelle nodded and hurried to obey.

Yaellin dropped Paltry to the cot, then motioned Dart forward. He kept his sword at the healer’s throat, but turned his attention to Dart. He reached a hand out. A dagger rested in his palm. “Take it.”

Dart stared. The black blade could not be mistaken. It was the cursed dagger. She shook her head.

“Take it,” he repeated, more commanding.

She obeyed, fingering its hilt with care.

“Here is its sheath.” He passed her a belt.

She accepted it, confused, feeling as empty as the leather sheath.

“Some call this blade cursed, impure, vile, but it is only a dagger. It is only steel. How it is employed is the true character of a blade.” He stared deep into Dart’s eyes. “Remember that. What was done to your flesh does not soil you or defile you. Your heart is still yours. It is still innocent and pure.”

Dart listened, but his words fell on stony soil. She could not.. did not believe them.

Yaellin seemed to understand. He sighed and nodded to the dagger. “It is yours. Wear it well.”

Dart backed up a few steps. She set the dagger down and tied the belt under her robe, over her nightclothes. She worked without looking down. Her gaze remained hard upon Paltry. He watched her. She retrieved the dagger. Its blade ate the light.

Slowly… very slowly she sheathed it.

If not comforted by Yaellin’s words, she was a tiny bit less empty.

She snugged the dagger tight, fingers on the bone hilt.

Cursed or not, she would wear it well.

She still had promises to keep.