Jill Williamson: To Darkness Fled

Inko's raspy, jilted accent lifted out of the abyssal surroundings. "It wasn't being until King Trevyn was first visiting the village that any Kinsman was ever stepping inside the shrine."

"It's really a pyramid?"

"Yes. It's being made of stone, being hollow inside all the way to the top."

"How's it stand without the support of floors?" Achan asked.

"A structure like that would be quite stable," Sir Caleb answered, his voice low and polished. "With the large base and the way all four walls push against one another, not even the wind would sway it. It'd be much stronger than any keep."

"It was being designed to look like it was rising out of the ground to be honoring Barthos," Inko said.

As the Old Kingsguard soldier continued his tale of Barthos, the false god of the soil, Vrell pondered what she had witnessed through Esek's eyes. Her worst fears were confirmed. Esek now knew the truth: Vrell was really Lady Averella Amal, heir to Carm Duchy. What now? Should she continue to play the role of Vrell Sparrow when the man she hid from knew of her disguise? It seemed pointless.

What would her companions do if they discovered the truth? They would likely come to her aid-Achan especially. He would see it as a betrayal, though, and that would hurt him. He had been through so much already. So many lies…

Mother would know what to do. But Mother had not answered Vrell's bloodvoicing calls. Lord Nathak's men had done something to her. Vrell fought the tears stinging her eyes and prayed Sir Rigil and Bran were riding to her mother's rescue this moment.

Dear Bran. His service to Sir Rigil had made him a hunted traitor. Please, Arman, do not let him be captured.

Vrell shook her thoughts back to the present. For now she should at least inform Sir Gavin about the bounties Esek had ordered. As the head of Achan's personal guard, the knight should know what they were facing.

She scratched a mosquito bite on her cheek and stared into starless void above. She must not despair. Arman, the one God, could see their path even if she could not.

"Bet Jaira hated that."

Achan sounded so amused that Vrell tried to focus on the men's conversation.

"Yes," Inko's low, raspy voice drew Vrell in, "but to be refusing her father publicly would have been bigger a disgrace. So she was allowing the Barthians to cover in mud her skin."

Achan's deep laugh made Vrell smile, and he said, "Oh, I wish I could've seen-"

Something scraped the left side of the boat. Vrell jerked her fists up to her chin, shaking at the horror of this dark place. It reminded her of the underground river from Xulon after their lamp had shattered. Did reekats live in Arok Lake? How would Peripasio, her pruny old friend who lived underground, fare in such a place?

"What's that?" Achan asked.

"Branches." Sir Gavin's paddle glubbed beneath the surface, thrusting the boat onward. "Dead, by the feel of them."

"Already we're being close to shore? Not the south shore, I am hoping?"

A long sniff answered Inko's worrisome question. Sir Gavin's odd habit of using his nose to calm himself. "Aye, Inko. The south shore."

"Is everything dead here?" Achan asked.

"Oh, no," Sir Caleb said. "You'd think so, without the sun, but life is…stubborn."

"Please be explaining, Gavin." Inko's voice sounded more stressed than usual. "Did you mean to be bringing us to the south side on purpose? Esek's men will already be following. We must be-"

The boat scratched to a halt in the twiggy branches. Vrell gripped the bow to keep from falling off her bench.

A heavy sigh. "And now we're being stuck."

Sir Gavin's paddle clunked on the side of the boat. "We must get off the water. Only I can't be certain how close the shore is with all this dead shrubbery. I need to seek out a bird but…"

"What do you sense?" Sir Caleb asked.

"Our pursuers are close. Come over the side with me, Caleb. We must tow the boat out of sight. Now."

Out of sight? Vrell almost laughed. Who but Arman could see in this cursed place? She whipped around, scanning her surroundings for any trace of light and saw none. She reached out for an open mind, but everyone in their boat-even Achan-was guarding himself well.

Leather scraped against the left side of the boat and someone grunted. Water glubbed and the boat rocked. Vrell swallowed, gripped the boat's edge, and prayed for Arman's protection. The boat tugged forward, ripping past the twiggy branches. The knights were pulling them along. Was the water shallow enough to wade or were they swimming?

"Keep quiet, now," Sir Gavin whispered as the boat slid to a stop. "We're being hunted."

As if this day hadn't been intense enough already.

Achan crouched lower in the boat, staring over the wooden edge into the endless black. Inko, who sat behind him, made no sound. Vrell Sparrow's ragged breath puffed and hitched, but Achan couldn't see the boy. Water gurgled around the craft, slapping the sides in a slow cadence. The darkness made it impossible for Achan to know whether the waves were natural, caused by Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb's movement, or something else.

Mosquitoes buzzed in his ear. A sharp itch hinted at an attack on his temple, but he didn't flinch. He sucked in a deep breath of stale air and blinked. Had that been a light? He squinted at what he thought was an alcove of trees and blinked again.

The flames of four torches swept into view, casting a golden glow on a small barge. Over a dozen men stood in the feeble light. Achan sucked in a breath, recognizing one short, weasely New Kingsguard knight. Khai Mageia served Esek but also worked for Macoun Hadar, a twisted old man who sought to exploit Achan and Sparrow's bloodvoicing talents.

Achan wanted to bloodvoice Sir Gavin, tell him about Khai, but his ability lacked control. If he tried to communicate, he'd likely give their presence away to those on the barge. For now-and for everyone's safety-he would only receive messages, not send any.

Sir Gavin must have sensed his apprehension because he bloodvoiced Achan. Stay still, Your Highness, and keep silent.

Your Highness. Achan bristled at the formality. This very day his life had changed forever. Sir Gavin, the famous Great Whitewolf himself, had taken Achan before the Council of Seven and proved he was the real Prince Gidon Hadar, rightful heir to the throne of Er'Rets.

The realization still nauseated him.

He closed his eyes and breathed a prayer to Arman, asking for protection. He didn't know why he bothered. Arman, the moody Father God, did as he pleased when he pleased.

The barge passed a jousting field away. The dull torchlight made his eyes water and tinted the black cloaks of the New Kingsguardsmen sickly green.

Esek's men. Sent to bring him back.

No one in Achan's boat moved until long after the torches had faded from sight and the darkness had settled over them again like a heavy blanket.

Sir Gavin's voice came from below. "A hand, Achan?"

Achan braced himself and reached over the side until Sir Gavin's calloused hand slid into his. He pulled the old knight up, rocking the boat and sloshing the water beneath it.

Sir Gavin sat, water dripping onto wood from his clothes. "Where are you, Caleb?"

"Here." Sir Caleb's voice came from the stern.

Achan moved that way and helped Sir Caleb aboard.

"I'm getting too old for this, Gavin," Sir Caleb said. "I've got leeches on me. I feel them sucking."

Achan wrinkled his nose. "Can you get them off?" Ah. It hurt to speak. His cheeks throbbed despite Sparrow's salve and awkward bandage. How he hated Esek Nathak.

"The ones I feel, yes," Sir Caleb said. "The ones I can't, however…well, they'll let go when they're done."

Achan shivered at the idea of leeches, which reminded him of something. "I saw Khai on the barge," Achan said over the pain. "Do you think he's here working for Esek or Macoun?"