Jill Williamson: To Darkness Fled

They approached the grounds from the northwest. A simple, six-foot brownstone wall enclosed the vineyards of Granton Castle. There were no guards at the first gate. The procession raised a cloud of dust as it trampled the dirt road. Vines stretched on and on, heavy with bunches of plump red grapes. Achan mouth watered. He hoped he'd get to try some.

At the end of the vineyard, Sir Gavin stopped before a single tower gate at another brownstone wall. A wide moat separated another dirt road-which appeared to circle the inner edges of the vineyard-and the three-level curtain wall. The narrow drawbridge was down, but the guard had to raise the portcullis to let them enter.

A group of soldiers clustered on the sentry wall near the tower, looking down on their group. They pointed and chattered. Some cheered. A few guardsmen further down the wall ran toward the tower as if hoping to get a glimpse of the visitors.

Achan considered reaching out to hear what they were saying, but he had a guess. Which one is he?

He kept his head down and spurred Dove along. He, Shung, and Cole rode five pairs back from Sir Gavin. They crossed the drawbridge and entered an outer bailey ten times larger than the one at Sitna manor. Soldiers on horseback wore red Old Kingsguard capes like Sir Gavin's. Women bustled about with loads of fabric or laundry, boys carried wood or led animals, dogs and chickens ambled underfoot, children played games and laughed. The cool tones of a lute drifted on the air. As Achan's men neared, all went silent and stopped to stare.

The procession paused at yet another wall, this gate a double tower five levels high, like two rolls of stone parchment standing on end. More guards stared down from the wall.

Shung's voice pulled Achan away from the guards. "You are downcast, Little Cham?"

Achan glanced at his hairy friend. "I'm tired of traveling, and I know it won't stop until a war has killed many. I don't look forward to the coming months."

"But we do not fight tonight. Tonight we eat grapes and drink wine." Shung smiled. "Perhaps dance as well?"

"I don't want to dance."

"You are missing Little Vixen. Shung does not think she will be gone forever."

Achan hoped that were true.

The horses moved again, under the tall, double tower gate of the inner curtain wall. Inside, Granton Castle loomed, massive, like Mahanaim, only clean. It even smelled sweet. The building sat like two interlocking manors. The front, southwestern section was much smaller. Two narrow towers flanked a set of massive maroon doors, the front entrance to the castle. The western tower stood eight levels high. The other stretched as high as the Pillar. Each had cupola roofs as if topped with gazebos.

The back, northeastern section of the castle stood like a gigantic brick, six levels high, with dozens of arrow loops on each level. Smaller towers supported the center and corners.

Hundreds of soldiers in red capes cheered and waved Armonguard's flag. Achan pushed the overwhelming sensation aside and searched every black-haired head for Sparrow's round face. He tried again to look through her eyes and failed.

Achan and the knights dismounted at the entrance. Cole scurried over and took Dove's reins.

"Thank you, Cole."

The boy beamed and led Dove and Scout away. Achan's body still ached. He limped after Sir Gavin and followed the knight inside one of the tall maroon doors.

A small foyer opened into a great hall. Bronze candelabras hung from a vaulted ceiling. Servants lined both sides of the aisle leading to the dais, which stretched the width of the hall. To Achan's right, a brownstone staircase fanned out into the foyer. Dozens of people stood along the railing, peering down. Achan kept his eyes on the back of Sir Gavin's head and trailed the knight to the foot of the stairs.

A woman descended, petite yet regally imposing. Her auburn hair was tucked under a gold circlet and gauze veil. She wore a maroon gown-the same color as the front doors-trimmed in ivory lace. The long skirt spilled over the steps behind her. Her bell sleeves trailed within inches of the floor.

A slender, white-haired man shadowed her like a bobcat, agile and aware. He wore a plain white tunic with a maroon vest and black trousers. A scar across his neck suggested he could cheat death. "I am Anillo, advisor to the duchess." His voice carried a slow authority, as if crossing him would be a poor, perhaps fatal, choice. "May I present her ladyship, Nitsa Amal, the Duchess of Carm?"

The woman flowed off the bottom step like a petal on a stream. She wove around the others and stopped before Achan. How did she know what he looked like? She probably owned the painting of his father.

So short, she looked up into his eyes. Achan felt like a giant. Her skin was like a porcelain vase. Not a blemish or wrinkle. She couldn't have lived more than thirty-five years. Hers eyes were green and bright, calculating yet kind.

No wonder Sir Eagan loved this woman still.

The duchess' silky and kind voice pulled Achan's attention to her lips. He knew this voice.

"Your Highness, I am honored to finally meet you. You are most welcome at Granton Castle. My home is yours." She curtsied then held out her hand.

A wave of heat rushed over him as he scrambled to remember what Sir Caleb had advised him to do and say. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Then a deep bow, keeping eye contact, while he released her hand. "It's I who am honored, my lady. I hear you have many concerns. I pray we're not a burden to you at this time."

"You are anything but. I have been praying to meet you ever since I first heard your bloodvoice."

Achan bowed his head again, comprehension dawning. He'd heard her so many times in his mind and hadn't known who she was. "I thank you for your kind words that day, my lady, for I feared I had lost my mind."

"My heart aches for what you have suffered at the hands of Esek." She glanced at his arm. "Are you badly wounded?"

"I am mending." He wanted to say something of Esek. "I hear Esek has plagued you as well. I'm troubled over the safety of your daughter, Lady Averella. Prince Oren informed me of her plight. Is there any way we might come to her aid?"

"Thank you, no. She is well and safe, though unable to greet you this visit."

Achan nodded, though his thoughts strayed. If the lady Averella ever made it home, how would she react when she discovered she'd lost her suitor to a peasant widow expecting a child? And if she were one of the candidates the knights thought might make for a good queen, he'd want to see if she looked like a horse or not. But he forced his mind back to business. "Has Lord Nathak caused any mischief for you recently?"

"We have not seen him in weeks. It is my hope he has moved on to Armonguard."

"There's much I have to share with you on that matter." Achan glanced at Sir Caleb. "Perhaps there will be a time later where we can talk privately with you and my men?"

The duchess smiled and curtsied again. "Of course, Your Highness. Are you hungry?"

"I'm sure my men could empty your kitchens in a day, my lady. We've brought provisions and don't wish to impose."

"Nonsense."

Offer your arm, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said.

Achan spun to her side and held out his left arm so that his sword and sling would be away from her.

She gripped his bicep with both hands and led him into the great hall. "How long do you plan to stay with us?"

"A week, to recruit men to our cause."

"You shall stay as long as you like. I offer Granton Castle as a base for you and your generals to plan your strategies."

Generals? "Thank you, my lady. You're most generous."

The duchess steered Achan up the center aisle toward the high table. They passed a host of servants and staff, including Sir Rigil, Bran, and Sir Eagan. Achan sensed each man's guilt and guessed the reasons. Sir Rigil for failing to keep an eye on Bran and Gren. Bran for his growing affection for Gren. Sir Eagan for taking Sparrow away.