From Darkness Won Part 40

"We'll return soon," Sir Rigil called. "Stay put."

Averella propped her elbows on her knees and set her cheeks against her fists. Insufferable men!

An idea came over her suddenly. She could watch them. She closed her eyes and peeked into Sir Rigil's mind. He was at the top of the stairs. He turned and followed Jax into the courtyard. A battle raged before them.

"This will take a while to get through," Bran said.

Averella's head spun, and she returned to her own eyes. Watching made her weak. She had forgotten. She took a moment to catch her breath. Then she hung her satchel over her head and shoulder and climbed out of the boat.

"My lady, what are you doing?" Noam asked.

"We must follow the knights. Come."

"But Sir Rigil asked us to wait," Noam said.

"There is no time. Sir Rigil, Jax, and Bran are caught in a battle. We must kill the man in the tower ourselves."

Gren's face tinged green. "I don't want to kill anyone."

"You may wait here then." Averella stared down along the pier platform.

"Wait!" Noam stepped out of the boat and turned to Gren. "I'm going with her."

"Fine! I'll come too." Gren climbed out, and she and Noam caught up.

Averella took them the opposite direction the men had gone, to a flight of stairs that led to the gatehouse, which was now abandoned. She gazed at the oversized red front doors to the Mahanaim stronghold. Between the entrance and the gatehouse burning wagons and vendor stalls lit the courtyard. What had been deserted a short time ago was now filled with fighting men. Prince Gidon's army had infiltrated. Red-cloaked men dotted the darkness like flower petals spinning in a pool of oil.

She caught sight of Jax's thick braids two heads above everyone else. He fought near the Temple Dathos, which was nowhere near the castle's entrance.

"Come," Averella linked arms with Gren. "You and I will run for those red doors. These men are so caught up in their battles they will not bother two women. Master Fox, stay close behind. Hopefully no one will see you. Once we are inside, we must climb to the roof before we can enter the watchtower."

But Averella had barely made five steps before a soft cry stole her attention. A set of watery blue eyes watched her from under a wagon. She crouched beside it, and when her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw a small girl looking back. Rivers of tears streaked the girl's dirty cheeks.

"Are you hurt, small one?" Averella asked.

"Paw." The girl glanced behind her.

A man lay on the cobblestone, clutching his arm, eyelids fluttering. He was wounded! Averella waved the girl aside and crawled under.

"My lady, what are you doing?" Gren's voice followed Averella into the darkness of the wagon's underbelly.

What was she doing? She blinked at the blood oozing between the man's fingers. She could not explain how, but she could help this man. More of Vrell Sparrow working her way back? She had just opened her satchel when Gren crawled under the wagon and knelt beside her. "I have to help him. He is cut." Averella motioned to the blood that had seeped into the mortar cracks in the cobblestones. "To the bone, I suspect."

She bandaged the man's arm as quickly as she could, in awe of her own ability and speed. When she finished, she cupped the child's cheek. "Stay here until the fighting ends. Then be sure he drinks plenty of water. Change the bandage once a day with clean linen."

"I will." The girl closed her eyes and bowed. "Thank you, Iamos."

Gren giggled. Averella rolled her eyes, wanting to correct the child. Iamos was the pagan G.o.ddess of healing. Averella did not believe in such things, but it did seem as though Arman had risen up inside her and performed a miracle, restoring this part of her memory.

An explosion of rock distracted her thoughts. Averella peeked out from under the wagon to see part of the northeastern parapet crumble. Huge chunks of rock crashed on the cobblestone.

"Come, my lady." Noam extended a hand and helped Averella to her feet. He darted around two fallen men who lay head to toe and ran toward the keep. But Averella stopped at the men. The first man lay at her feet, his black cape draped over his face. Beside him, a red cape twisted around the torso of the second man.

Averella knelt at the side of the man in black.

"Please, my lady." Noam ran back. "We do not have time to help the wounded. And that man is clearly dead."

"You didn't bother to help the enemy before," Gren said.

Still Averella unlatched his black breastplate and lifted the top half off. Despite Noam's p.r.o.nouncement, the man's chest moved. She found the wound in his chest, far too deep for her to be of any use.

The man beside him in the red cape groaned. Averella looked him over and found him without a thumb. Blood glubbed from the laceration onto the cobblestone like a bottle of wine tipped on its side.

Averella ran around to his side and pressed her palm over the other man's wound, holding his hand in both of hers. "Some linen, quickly, and some water."

Noam and Gren scrambled to obey.

"Noam, when I release him, pour water over the wound. Gren, be ready with the linen."

Averella removed her hand. Noam poured the water. Averella wiped her palm off on the man's cloak, then took the end of the strip of linen Gren held out. "Stop, Noam."

Noam pulled the jug away. Averella quickly wrapped the man's hand until it resembled a s...o...b..ll. She set it atop his chest, thumb side up, and used another piece of linen to tie it there and keep it higher than the rest of his body.

An arrow struck the cobblestone a breath from Gren's knees and skittered over the man's body.

"Gren, here, put this on." Noam held out the front of the black knight's breastplate."

"I don't know how to wear that."

"You need the backplate," Averella said. "Help her, Noam. It will protect her baby."

Averella darted toward another man with an arrow in his thigh. She worked on him until Noam and Gren approached. Noam was carrying a sword and a shield bearing the Mahanaim crest. Gren wore the black knight's breastplate and helm, and she held a sword of her own. Averella grinned. "But take off the helm for now, Gren, so you do not look like a target."

Gren obeyed.

Just as Averella finished the man's leg, someone yelled, "Iamos! Help me next!"

Averella met Gren's amused gaze and smiled.

"Not until you put this on," Noam said.

Averella turned to see Noam holding up a bronze breastplate and helm. "Where did you find that, Master Fox? It is lovely."

"On a dead man."

Averella winced. "Then I suppose he will not mind."

She allowed Noam to fasten the breastplate over her shoulders and under her arms. As the battle raged around them, no one seemed concerned about the women and the man who moved from body to body, helping those who stood a chance at life and leaving those who did not.

A squawk pulled her gaze upward. Gowzals circled the Mahanaim watchtower. Averella pulled on her helm and ran inside the double doors, stopping to pick up a discarded sword on her way.

Averella crossed the vast foyer of the Mahanaim stronghold, darting around drum pillars on her way to the grand staircase, Gren and Noam at her heels.

They had climbed to the sixth level when Gren collapsed on the landing, gasping and clutching her side. She let her sword clatter to the marble landing and pulled off her helm.

"I'm sorry," she said, panting. "I need to stop. Just a moment, please?"

"Of course." This was far too strenuous activity for a woman in Gren's condition. "You should wait here, Gren. Your baby..."

"I will be fine... in a moment."

Noam stepped up to Averella. "Might you take this opportunity to inquire as to Sir Rigil's whereabouts?"

"An excellent suggestion, Master Fox. Thank you." Averella removed her helm and sat on the top step beside Gren. She closed her eyes. Sir Rigil? Where are you?

We are outside the front doors, my lady. A battle has waylaid us. Please have patience.

Averella opened her eyes. "They are still in the battle."

Gren had already put her helm back on. "I am ready."

Noam helped Gren stand. Averella put her own helm back on, and they continued up the stairs, at a slower pace this time, for Gren's sake. Averella urged herself to be patient, but she felt like a horse before the jousting flag lifted.

The experience brought a memory to mind. Climbing these very stairs behind an old man named Carlani as he led her to Macoun Hadar's chambers on the eighth floor.

She paused on the eighth floor landing and peered down a dark corridor. Macoun Hadar lived down there. The second door on the right. How could she know such a thing?

Memories flooded her suddenly. A wrinkled old man touching her face. Great pain. Being tied up. Jax. A lecherous man named Khai. A basket full of trinkets, fabric, and hair. His coa.r.s.e fingers on her neck, his words, a humming threat.

...tell me what you know of the prince's plans...

"My lady?"

She glanced up, for Noam's voice had come from above. He and Gren stood on the landing between the eighth and ninth floors.

A chill gripped her as the understanding set in. The man in the tower was Macoun Hadar. Had to be. The man she must kill. Her old master. She released a shaky breath and continued climbing. "Coming."

They made their way to the tenth floor, then down the corridors to the tower stairs. Two guards lay slain at the foot of the stairwell.

Noam stretched out his arms to stop the ladies. "Perhaps someone has already come to deal with this man, my lady."

"Perhaps." Averella stepped around him. "But I will not rest until I know for certain." She lifted a torch from a sconce on the wall, pinched her skirt in the same hand, lifted her sword in the other, and started up the stairs. Her thighs ached from the ten levels she had climbed. This flight of stairs would likely take them up another three or four levels.

Dizzy from circling, she paused at an arrow loop to give her legs a chance to rest. She could see nothing but swirling darkness from the window. Noam and Gren's footsteps clattered behind her. They would not be sneaking up on anyone, that much was certain.

Averella continued on. Her temples tickled. Could Prince Gidon be trying to see her thoughts? Someone must be, for the pressure increased. Oddly, however, her fear diminished. In fact, she felt quite calm, as if she were merely going to tea with Gypsum and not off to kill a man. Perhaps Arman had given her this peace. She would need it to be able to do this deed, for she had never killed a man before.

She set her sword hand on the wall to catch her breath, somehow knowing she was mistaken. She had killed before.

Whom had she killed?

Movement above drew her attention. A shadow fell over her. A hooded man knocked the torch from her grip and clamped his hand around her neck. He pushed her against the tower wall and held a knife through the crack in the plates of her breastplate. The steel p.r.i.c.ked her waist.

"All of you!" he said. "Drop your swords, or she dies."

21.

Achan hovered, staring at the place where Prince Oren had disappeared. A gust of air tore his gaze to the black knight, who had conjured a new ball of green fire.

Hatred and anger coiled inside Achan until he folded in on himself and exerted his mind. He didn't understand how, but he suddenly looked out from the black knight's mind. Achan saw the battle from the ground. He stood inside the black knight's body, before the raised drawbridge, holding a ball of green fire in his hand. Achan forced the knight to lob the fireball at another black knight. The man screamed and disintegrated into dust.

A thick tendril of power sizzled in this man's mind. Achan seized it and shuddered as it coursed through his body. Green sparks danced along the knight's gloved palms. Achan could feel the man pushing against him with no more force than when Matthias tried to tackle him.

Your Highness? d.u.c.h.ess Amal's voice spoke to his mind. Where are you?

Inside the last black knight.

Achan stormed the man's mind away and sensed it soar into the sky above.

Come out at once, Your Highness. You must not do that.

In a moment. The power dancing through this body was exhilarating. Achan focused on the man's hands, on those green sparks, mesmerized by the brightness, the light. An orb grew between the man's palms, small at first, then to the size of a human head.

Your Highness, d.u.c.h.ess Amal called, please leave that man's body. It is not- A humming voice cut her off. Arman is light. In him is no darkness. Seize the light, Your Highness. Use it.

Achan frowned, for that thought sounded logical. Here Achan stood, holding light itself. He could use it. The power.

But this light was not Arman's.

Oh, but it is! Arman is in you, fool boy. Use your power to serve him. Use your power to do his will.

Achan took in the activity on the battlefield. The bridge had been lowered. Achan's army had started to cross over. The line of soldiers and carts ran all the way to the horizon.

They had won.

Achan, d.u.c.h.ess Amal said in a firm voice. Please.

She had never called him "Achan." He relaxed, intending to obey her, but a screech pulled his gaze to the water. The tanniyn raised its head up out of the water, over the drawbridge.

Those on the bridge ran, some forward, some back. The tanniyn rammed into the crowd, knocking a knight from his mount. The tanniyn's jaw snapped onto the horse's hindquarters and rose higher, its neck slithering, rolling to a height almost as tall as the pillars, the horse dangling upside down, whinnying, flailing its head and front legs.

The tanniyn tossed the horse and took the entire thing into its mouth.