Jill Williamson: To Darkness Fled

Sir Caleb yelled, drawing Achan's gaze to the shadow whose hair sprung atop his head like a tuft of grass. The giant met Sir Caleb's blows with his spear.

The knights attacked ruthlessly. Achan couldn't help but admire the giant's speed. For being so tall, Achan imagined he'd move slower.

The giant's spear suddenly cracked under Sir Caleb's blow. Seconds later the giant howled. He crumpled to reveal the shadow of Inko, cylindrical hair shaped like a wooden drum.

"Who sent you?" Sir Gavin yelled.

The raspy breathing of a dying eben was the only answer. Achan inched over the lichen until the men came into view. Sir Gavin crouched on the giant's right, blade held to the pale throat. Sir Caleb and Inko stood panting on the giant's left side.

Sir Gavin pressed a knee on the giant's chest. "Who?"

The giant's ragged breath seemed to consume all his effort, but he blinked slowly and turned his dark eyes to Achan, his voice a raspy growl. "Tee saplaway sen katla sar."

The intensity in that gaze shook Achan's knees. The man had a black insignia inked onto his forehead, three lines, each thicker than the first.

"I know why you've come," Sir Gavin said. "I want to know who sent you."

"Faluk san."

Suddenly, all was still.

"Achan?" Sir Gavin stood. "Answer me, lad."

"I'm here." Sir Gavin turned around and Achan asked, "Lord Falkson? Is that who he means?"

"Falkson is Lord of Barth. You've seen him at Council."

Achan remembered the stoic, grey-skinned man. "He is working for Esek?"

"So it would seem."

Achan motioned to the other giants, trying not to look at their severed legs, though his eyes kept focusing there. "Was that your idea?"

Sir Gavin's white hair and beard still blended in with the smoky haze. "Strategy worked well, if you ask me."

"Too well." Sir Caleb's voice came from the smoke cloud on Achan's other side. "It was a slaughter and ignoble."

Sir Gavin puffed a short breath out his nose. "And attempting to burn us alive is good form?"

Sir Caleb didn't answer. His body came into view as he stepped closer. "Boy, where is your sword?"

Achan wheeled around to meet Sparrow's pale face.

"Uh…" Sparrow turned to look back through the smoke. Sir Caleb gripped the boy's arm and walked where Sparrow had glanced, their steps squishing into the soil as they vanished in the haze. Achan could hear Sir Caleb's lecture.

"Never drop your weapon. I don't care how scared you are. Never leave yourself unguarded or treat your blade with such disrespect."

Inko cleaned his sword in the turf and sheathed it. "I am not understanding how they are finding us. Perhaps it is not only our wolf who is using his nose?"

Achan thought of the bird whose eyes he'd seen through. It had been bringing a message to its master. Had the bird been a spy for the giants? He scanned the smoldering canopy overhead but could see nothing else. He decided to keep the thought to himself for now.

The knights piled the three Eben bodies atop one another and set their clothes aflame.

"We need to move. Get your things." Sir Gavin lifted the torch the giant had left burning in the ground and held it high. Orange light spilled over the smoky clearing. Caleb and Inko grabbed the other torches. The orange flames lit their faces in a more normal light than the green sulfur one from before.

With nothing to carry, Achan stayed put, awed and slightly horrified at the Great Whitewolf. Sparrow sidled over, small knapsack slung across his pudgy chest so it settled over his left hip. Face ashen, bleary eyes wide, he stared at the slain giants.

"You all right?" Achan asked.

Sparrow nodded and said in a watery voice, "Your speech has improved. How do your cheeks feel?"

"Better."

"You should not have taken off your bandages yet."

Achan stiffened, not wanting a lecture from a baby who still cried to his mother. A mother he wasn't supposed to have.

Sir Caleb handed the rope to Achan. "Hold on to this in case we need to put out the torches."

Achan looped the end through his belt and handed it to Sparrow. Sir Gavin led them down the game trail into clear air.

"Sparrow? Who were you talking to when the giants attacked?" Achan kept his voice low but didn't care who heard. If Sparrow was a traitor, the sooner they discovered it, the better. He glanced over his shoulder. "You said your parents were dead."

The boy's eyes bulged. "You read my thoughts?"

"Didn't mean to. They floated into my head."

"Well, stop it. You do not belong in my head."

"But you were talking to your mother. Your dead mother?"

Sparrow scratched his ear. "S-Sometimes I still t-talk to her, even though she passed on. Especially when, um…when I am scared."

"Touching, Sparrow. My heart weeps for your tragic loss. Yet I can't help but wonder how a dead woman can answer. For I heard her myself, and I know I've heard her before. She's very much alive. And a woman so gifted in bloodvoicing must be known to someone. Save me the trouble of asking around and tell me the truth."

Sparrow said nothing.

Achan pushed back a stiff branch until it snapped. He wanted to turn and pounce on Sparrow, wrestle the truth from him. He'd been deceived for so long, he wasn't about to allow anyone to deceive him again. Besides, the boy avoided conflict like Achan avoided a bath. It wouldn't take much to scare the truth from him.

No. Achan would wait and consult Sir Gavin. If Sparrow was up to trouble, Sir Gavin would know what to do.

They hiked a brisk pace for hours. The torches helped. But it was maddening to travel so far without seeing the sun or moon. Achan's feet screamed as much as his mind. What time of day might it be in Sitna? What might Gren be doing?

His chest tightened. Gren, his childhood friend back in Sitna, had suffered an arranged married to Riga Hoff, the lazy son of a merchant. A month had not yet passed since their wedding. Not much could have changed, unless… Achan squeezed his hands into fists. If Riga harmed Gren in any way, he'd forever regret it.

Another pretty face drifted into his mind: Lady Tara Livna of Tsaftown. Unless something went wrong, he'd see Lady Tara soon enough. How much Tara looked like the goddess Cetheria. A crown of ivory braids. Eyes bluer than forget-me-nots. Achan smiled, recalling her beauty and spunk.

He looked into her eyes as if she stood before him. The gemlike sparkle of her gaze drenched him in awe. Her skin was gold leaf. She held a spear, which she drew back and lobbed at his chest. It pierced his flesh, jolting his heart. He stared at it, gasping, dumfounded to find himself still standing. He grabbed the shaft with two hands and pulled. It wouldn't budge.

Lady Tara giggled, her voice like a musical brook. She sauntered toward him and ran her fingertips along the spear. "Shall I free you?"

Pain shot through Achan's shoulder. He blinked. Darkness surrounded him, lit by the faint orange glow of firelight. Where was he? Had that been a dream?

The rope at Achan's waist tugged, pulling him tighter against a hard surface. He reached out and found a fat, sticky tree. He was in Darkness with the knights, running from Esek.

Sir Gavin called out from the circle of torchlight, "All right back there?"

"Are you hurt, Achan?" Sparrow's voice. Behind him.

"Uh…" Achan stepped around the protruding tree. "There's a tree here, Sparrow. Watch yourself."

"Just a tree, Sir Gavin," Sparrow yelled and the rope tugged Achan along again.

Sir Gavin Whitewolf.

Achan perked up. Sir Gavin was knocking, wanting to bloodvoice. Achan concentrated on opening the door like he'd done last night, allowing only Sir Gavin inside.

Would he know if he succeeded? He wanted to tell Sir Gavin about Cetheria-no, that had been Lady Tara, hadn't it?