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To Darkness Fled: Blood of Kings, #2
To Darkness Fled: Blood of Kings, #2
To Darkness Fled: Blood of Kings, #2
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To Darkness Fled: Blood of Kings, #2

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

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Enter darkness...

They have no choice. Chased by an evil prince, Achan, Vrell, and the Kingsguard knights flee into Darkness. They head north, for Tsaftown and Ice Island, where they must free an army that can help them fight for Er'Rets.
 
Darkness sickens Vrell. How long can she keep her secret without being caught? Achan already suspects her of lying. If she is not careful, he will suspect her of treason as well. She hopes he will let his suspicions go until they reach her home. 
 
Achan wanted freedom, but this new journey has bound him more than ever. Sir Gavin's claims are so far fetched. First, that there might only be one God, and second, that this God chose Achan to push back Darkness, the magnificent curse of Er'Rets. Him. Achan. Barely a man himself.
 
Each setback Darkness brings seems minor compared to the one choice only Achan can make. What will he choose?

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 1, 2010
ISBN9781935929093
To Darkness Fled: Blood of Kings, #2

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Rating: 4.263157736842105 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Such a great story teller! Also, I really liked the quotes from the Bible. I felt like it was a little devotional about my relationship with God.

    1 person found this helpful

  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    After reading By Darkness Hid, Jill Williamson became one of my favorite authors instantaneously. I was so excited to see her first novel win a Christy – it was entirely deserviced. I have read a great deal of fantasy over the course of my reading career, but I can say without a doubt that the Blood of Kings series is everything that an epic fantasy novel should be. Better yet – the author’s Christian approach to fantasy imbue the work and character with great integrity, honor, and struggles that lead them closer to their one-god (called Arman in this world).To Darkness Fled, the sequel and middle book of the trilogy, is everything I hoped for, and more. Classified as a young adult novel, it is still an incredible read for fantasy-loving adults as well! Williamson’s characters continue to become fuller and richer, growing in likeability.Picking up where By Darkness Hid left off, the story follows Vrell, Achan, and their renegade party into Darkness, where no sun shines. Fleeing from the false prince Esek Nathak they are relentlessly pursued by bounty hunters and the allies of the impostor who has formally seized Achan’s rightful place as King of Er’Rets. Battles ensue, rescues take place, armies are raised, and Vrell continues to masquerade as a humble lad while growing fonder, and fonder of the rightful (yet still displaced) King.One of the most delightful aspects of To Darkness Fled is that Williamson rarely needs to concoct conflict for Achan and Vrell – they make it for themselves; it springs intrinsically from them as they stumble over their own faults and innate character flaws as their struggle towards maturity. Many times other authors seem to be flinging unnecessary obstacles in the path of two characters finding one another, but Achan and Vrell do a great job of this themselves….no matter how frustrating it is to me as a reader! Still, I can see how any pat resolutions at this point would be so contrived, and not true to the characters.Williamson has also crafted one of the most realistic transitions from displaced hero-boy to a fledgling King that I have ever read. The growth of Achan from a heroic stray into coming to understand his place in the world as Arman’s chosen sovereign is skillfully wrought, and therefore entirely believable. We are also treated to a deeper understanding of how Arman and His Son Caan parallel YWH and His Son Yeshua as we see Achan growing in his knowledge of Er’Rets’ one-God.The only frustration is that the story ends with a cliffhanger – of course! But still, now that the third, and final installment in the trilogy is completed, readers won’t have to wait to get their next dose of Vrell and Achan in. I know I certainly can’t! Fans of Christian fantasy owe it to themselves to check out this series – they won’t be disappointed!Reviewed at quiverfullfamily.com

    1 person found this helpful

  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Good, but not as good as the first in the series. While the first book had some surprises and added depth to traditional fantasy situations, this book was very predictable in most places. The world is fleshed out further, but the character development drags quite a bit. The Christian references go a little over the top - instead of stealing past watchful dragons, in places they are pounded on the head. The book picked up at the end And I look forward to the third book being better.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    In this second installment of The Blood of Kings trilogy, our heroes Achan and Vrell gather an army with the help of the Old Kingsguard Knights. The romantic tension between Achan and Vrell intensifies. I didn’t feel that this book was as good as the first. The religious message got a bit heavy-handed, and the plot barely moved forward at all. Sure, progress was made, but it was progress that was outlined by Sir Gavin as their “future plans” in the end of the first book. There were only two small plot-thickening events. On the other hand, there was much character development, and the reader becomes very familiar with the setting (i.e. which cities are where, who’s in charge of them, who’s on our side). I was also a little irked by the cliffhanger ending. I’m not a big fan of cliffhangers—I lose my patience with them quickly, especially if the entire series hasn’t been published. Luckily, this series has been published so I was able to start the third (and last) book with only a few grumblings about people-who-don’t-know-how-to-end-a-book. Despite these shortcomings, I think the story is very good, and the characters are well developed for a young adult novel. I think it may have worked out better had Williamson shortened the trilogy into ONE book, and edited out a lot of stuff. I realize editing is hard, but there’s really only enough plot for one book!

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To Darkness Fled - Jill Williamson

PART 1

A Dark Journey

1

What do you mean she's gone?

    Vrell Sparrow smiled at Esek Nathak's sharp tone. She'd been hoping to intrude upon this moment. She twisted the false prince's silk sleeve in her hands and held her breath, thankful she'd kept the scrap of fabric. Personal items made it easier to look in on someone's mind like this, as did her tar-black surroundings.

    Though she floated with four men in a small wooden boat gliding west across Arok Lake—and Darkness—she nevertheless looked through Esek's eyes. The former heir to Er'Rets reclined on a cushioned chaise lounge in his solar in the Mahanaim stronghold. The blazing fire from Esek's hearth warmed Vrell's . . . Esek's right side. Her hands trembled with the fury coursing through his body. She forced herself to ignore it, knowing it was Esek's anger and not her own.

    It galled Vrell that she had to share this man's mind. The man she had once thought to be Prince Gidon Hadar. The man who had demanded to marry her, putting so much pressure on her mother that Vrell had gone into hiding disguised as a stray boy. A disguise she still wore six months later.

    Esek rose from the chaise lounge and circled his steward like a prowling dog. How can this be, Chora? Did you not tell me yourself Sir Kenton posted three guards at her door?

    Chora, a short, dark-haired man in brown robes, seemed to shrink whenever Esek addressed him. His b-best men, Your Highness. He swears no man left his post. But the chamber is empty. She must have escaped another way.

Yet Lord Levy assures me that is impossible.

F-forgive me, my king, Chora croaked out. The lady must be a mage. First taking on the appearance of a boy, now v-vanishing altogether.

    Esek threw back his head and groaned. I am surrounded by fools. She's no mage, you nitwit. Both my prisoners have gone missing in the same hour, and only I can see the truth: the stray helped her. He means to steal my life—my crown and my bride. Find them!

Of course, Your Majesty. Right away. Chora scurried to the door but paused.

    Esek fell back on his chaise lounge and crossed his ankles. He snatched a handful of grapes from a tray. Why are you still here?

    The steward turned, trembling. F-Forgive me, Your Highness. It's only . . . the guards have s-searched the stronghold already. Th-There's no sign of them. I d-don't—

    The door burst open. Sir Kenton, the Shield, personal bodyguard to Esek, strode into the chamber. A chill draft swept in behind him, followed by a group of New Kingsguard soldiers dragging two of their own—bound and gagged—between them.

What's this? Esek sat up, swinging his feet to the floor.

    Sir Kenton shook his curtain of black hair at the guards, who yanked the prisoners to their feet. These are two of the men who escorted the stray to the dungeons. They were found in the privy on the north wing, bound to one another.

    Esek stood and strode to the prisoners. He waved a finger at the gag on the taller man. Sir Kenton withdrew a dagger from his belt and cut through the cloth.

Well? Esek said. What have you to say? Report.

It was Trizo Akbar, Your Highness. The prisoner took a deep breath, as if winded. He's turned traitor. Maybe always has been. Sir Rigil and his squire too. Trizo led the prisoner away while Sir Rigil and his squire bound us and stuffed us into the privy.

    Esek's temperature rose. How is it a mere stray has garnered every competent servant in Er'Rets? Has not the Council voted me king? Take these fools to the dungeons, Sir Kenton. The rest of you, find the stray, find the boy called Vrell Sparrow, find Sir Rigil and his rosy squire, and bring them to me. Now!

    The chamber fell out of focus. Vrell's head tingled, her body tipped forward. She gasped, and musty, rotten-smelling air filled her lungs. She gritted her teeth and concentrated, putting a hand on the bow of the boat for support. Using her bloodvoicing gift for long periods of time always weakened her. If she could only stay connected long enough to learn Esek's plan. She concentrated on his face and pressed the wrinkled silk sleeve to her cheek.

    The chamber came back into view. A door slammed. Esek and Chora were alone.

Issue a decree. Any traitor will stand before me to be judged. Then a bounty. Five golds for information on the Mârad, Sir Rigil, or his squire's whereabouts. Twenty golds for the man who brings me Achan Cham alive. Ten if it's only his head. Fifty golds for Vrell Sparrow, unharmed.

F-fifty, Your Majesty?

Have you written it down?

Yes, Your Majesty. Chora lowered his voice. But why not disclose that the boy is really Lady Averella Amal?

Because it would work to the stray's advantage. Should the people discover Averella travels with him, they might think the duchess supports his claim to my throne. No. Let them keep their secrets. The money will be enough to bring them both to me. The sooner the better. I am loath to marry Lady Mandzee Hamartano. Now that woman is a mage. Do you recall how she—

    A sharp pain shot through Vrell's ear. She moaned and forced her eyes open. Blackness surrounded her, like the deepest, darkest cave. She no longer sat on the wooden bench of the boat but found herself scrunched in the bow, head bent awkwardly to one side, sleeve still clutched in her hand. Mosquitoes buzzed nearby. The boat rocked softly on the lake's surface.

    A voice came from the darkness above. Sparrow?

    Vrell jumped at the volume of Achan's voice. Noises always seemed louder after bloodvoicing, like her head had been wrapped in bandages that fell away all at once.

    A hand patted Vrell's knee, then waist.

    She jerked upright, not wanting anyone to feel her undergarment. The fake belly acted like a corset, padded with shorn wool rather than lined with whalebone. It gave her slender feminine shape that of a pudgy boy. Do not touch me!

    Whoa. It's just me, Achan.

    She groped for the wooden bench and pulled herself back onto it. This was the longest she'd gone yet before blacking out. Perhaps she only needed practice to strengthen her ability.

    You fall asleep or something? Achan mumbled, as if trying not to open his mouth when he spoke. The cuts on his cheeks must've been hurting him.

    She strained to see him, but her eyes could not penetrate the surrounding blackness. She was blind here, dependent on movement, sound, and smell. The boat rocked gently beneath her. She could hear the Old Kingsguard knights—Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, and Inko—murmuring in the back of the boat, Sir Gavin's paddle dipping in and out of the water. And the smell . . . as if they were sitting on a dung hill.

    It is difficult not to in this light, Vrell said.

    Achan chuckled. Well, if you're that tired, stay there. He paused, and his next words came out in a mumbled rush. "I'd hate to have to dive in and rescue you twice in the same day. 'Sides, I doubt I'd find you in this . . . light."

    A sudden chill seized Vrell at the memory of nearly drowning that morning. She shoved Esek's sleeve into her satchel. I am fine now.

    If you say so. You're the healer. Achan's boots thunked on the bottom of the boat, lurching it as he moved away. When he spoke again his voice was quiet. Sparrow's just tired. So, Inko, finish your story about Barthos' temple.

    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 the 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. 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 Peripaso, 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.

2

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's 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?

    Both, likely. Sir Gavin's paddle dipped into the water and the boat lurched against more twiggy branches. He's a Kingsguard soldier, so he'll go where he's sent. But he's also Macoun's man. If Macoun can't have you, he'll still want Vrell back. Bah! The paddle clattered to the floor of the boat. This won't do.

    He's a horrible man, Sparrow said.

    Achan tried to talk without moving his jaw. Macoun?

    Oh, him as well, but I meant Khai. He tried to kill me.

    Achan wanted to hear this tale, but Sir Gavin spoke. We need to make camp. Caleb and I will tow the boat in as far as we can, then we'll leave the boat and wade the rest of the way.

    But still we are being on the wrong side of the lake, Inko said.

    And we'll all get leeches. Sparrow squawked, as if his voice was finally changing.

    Achan smirked. Maybe the boy would finally grow into his boots. What? The herbalist has no use for leeches?

    Sparrow's voice fell. "Bloodletting is not one of my skills."

    We must be crossing the lake first. Inko's worry never ceased. Tsaftown is being north.

    Is it really? North, you say? Sir Caleb's tone brought a hush over the boat. You think Gavin has forgotten where he grew up?

    Of course that's not what I'm—

    Then have a little faith, Inko, Sir Caleb said. King Axel didn't make Gavin commander for his handsome face.

    The silence lingered. Achan propped his elbows on his knees and set his forehead in his palms. He'd known Inko and Sir Caleb for two days. They never agreed. Inko risked nothing, trusted no one, and questioned everything. Sir Caleb, on the other hand, was game for pretty much anything. How in all Er'Rets had these men served together year after year?

    His left cheek twinged. He fought the urge to scratch under the bandage Sparrow had wrapped around his head and chin. He must look like a man with a toothache. The memory of Esek drawing Ôwr's sharp edge across his cheeks filled his mind's eye, and he gritted his teeth.

    Did you really grow up in Tsaftown? Sparrow asked.

    Aye.

    Perhaps Sir Gavin knew Lady Tara? Achan pushed the useless thought away. Sir Gavin had never been one to open up, as Sparrow would soon discover. Achan shivered. The Evenwall had left his clothing damp. What would they do come night? How would they even know when night arrived?

    At least he had one change of clothes. The shirt and doublet Gren had made him were in Sir Caleb's pack. No point changing now if they were going to wade. He clenched his teeth through another shiver and hugged himself.

    I feel as though my blood is freezing. Sparrow echoed Achan's thoughts. Had the boy read his mind? Achan still couldn't tell when someone was in his head. He really wanted to learn that trick.

    Wait until we reach Ice Island, Sir Caleb said. It's so cold your beard will frost.

    Achan laughed, and the wounds on his cheeks throbbed. Hear that, Sparrow? You best get started on that beard or you'll have nothing to warm that chubby face.

    And your beard is so much better?

    Achan tried to sound wise despite the awkward lull his wounds gave his voice. I've never tried for a beard, but I'm sure I could grow one if these men would stop shaving me. You, however, haven't even the fuzz of a peach on your chin.

    We'll stop shaving you now, Sir Caleb said. We'll all need beards for Tsaftown, for warmth and disguise.

    Inko exhaled a deep breath. Gavin, be assuring me you're having more of a plan than to be traipsing across Darkness.

    We head for Mirrorstone. We need supplies.

    Mirrorstone? Achan spun toward Sir Gavin's voice, his movement rocking the boat. Is not Lord Eli loyal to Prince Gidon? He cleared his throat. I mean, Prince Esek? He'd never get used to it. The man he'd always known to be Prince Gidon Hadar was actually Esek Nathak. And he—Achan— was the prince: Prince Gidon. So strange.

    Don't call him 'prince,' Sir Caleb said. He's a fake and usurper who doesn't deserve the respect.

    Regardless, Inko said, Mirrorstone is lying on the south side of the lake. We need to be crossing Arok Lake, to be going north. The longer we're lingering, the more time we're allowing those Kingsguard soldiers to be—

    Can we discuss this later? Sir Caleb said. I'd really like to get these leeches off me.

    Sir Gavin sighed. Back into the water then, Caleb. The rest of you might as well ride 'til we get a bit closer.

    The boat rocked, leather scraped over wood, branches cracked, water splashed. Then the boat jerked forward. Sparrow fell backward off his bench into Achan's lap and squeaked like a mouse. Achan laughed and groped for the boy's arm to help pull him up, but Sparrow swatted him and scrambled away.

    Achan ignored the boy's antics. How do they even know where they're going? He paused at the throb in his cheeks. I can see as well as any of them, and I see nothing.

    But Sir Gavin is not using only his eyes. He can be smelling the trail like a wolf, Inko said. Though I'm fearing he should be crossing the lake now.

    Achan had never trusted his life to a man's sense of smell. He'd always assumed Sir Gavin's Great Whitewolf title came from his mismatched eyes and long white hair. But maybe the man had a wolf 's sense of smell too. Regardless, Achan would rather be with Sir Gavin than anyone else. Except maybe Prince Oren, his uncle. All his life Achan had been a stray: a slave without any family to claim him. Lower even than a slave. Now that he found he had an uncle and cousins, Achan wanted to know them. He fingered his uncle's signet ring on his left middle finger.

    A crown, however, Achan did not want.

    The knights towed the boat inland. Branches scraped the sides and scratched Achan's arms if he wasn't careful to stay seated in the center. After hundreds of broken branches and dozens of mosquito bites, the boat grated to a stop.

    You all climb out now. Sir Gavin's voice came from Achan's left. 'Tis quite swampy, so keep your feet moving.

    This is insanity, Sparrow said, seized with a bout of his bossy nature. How can you even know where you are going? You could be wading in a circle.

    Gavin is the best guide in Er'Rets, Sir Caleb said. Plus, I've tied a rope to Gavin, and each of us will hold on. That should keep us together. If you don't like it, you and Inko may take your chances in the boat. But, Your Majesty, you don't get a choice. Come down next. Put your sword over your shoulder to keep it dry. And take care, the lake bed is quite mucky.

    Achan unbuckled his belt, wrapped the leather band over his head and one arm, and fastened it so his sword—Eagan's Elk—hung down from his front right shoulder. He swung one leg over the side, the boat tipped, and he fell sideways into frigid water. In his panic, he took in a mouthful of putrid, slimy water before his boots sank into the sludge.

    You all right, Your Majesty? Sir Caleb asked.

    Achan spat, clearing the bitter taste from his mouth. Aye. He patted Eagan's Elk to make sure it hadn't fallen off his shoulder. So much for keeping it dry. The water rose to his chest. An icy chill clapped onto his body. His muscles ached from endless shivering. Were leeches already biting his flesh?

    A cold hand gripped Achan's shoulder and something stiff pressed against his chest. Take the rope, Sir Caleb said into Achan's right ear. There should be a knot.

    Achan felt the coarse rope until his fingers found the knot. He clutched it in his right hand and tried to remain calm, though the blackness made it difficult. This must be what a blind man experienced daily.

    Inko? Vrell? Made up your mind? Sir Caleb asked.

    Of course we'll be going with you. Though Inko's tone proclaimed displeasure.

    How deep is it? Sparrow asked.

    Too deep, Achan said. Even if Sparrow managed to tiptoe in this muck, only the top of his head would break the surface. I'll carry him on my back.

    Your Majesty, everyone is knowing that's no job for you, Inko said.

    Achan reached out until his hand hit the side of the boat, then turned his back to it and almost lost a boot in the sludge. Get on, Sparrow, before I change my mind. And if I'm holding you up, you get the rope.

    After a long, ungraceful moment in which Achan nearly dropped Sparrow in the lake, the boy sat on Achan's back, clinging to his throat. He took the rope from Achan's hand.

    Achan hiked Sparrow up his back again and held him under his knees. Don't choke me.

    Inko climbed out, and the companions left the boat behind. They waded along, tethered by Sir Caleb's rope, trusting nothing but Sir Gavin's nose to lead them. Achan hoped Sir Gavin's nose wouldn't start running from the cold. At least Achan had Sparrow's hot breath to warm his neck.

    He trudged on, each step a battle between the muck gripping his boots and the branches snagging his clothes, as if walking in a lightless void weren't awkward enough. Sparrow had better hold on, because he made no guarantees that he could keep this up for long. Slowly, the water level dropped away. When it lapped around Achan's thighs, he set Sparrow on his feet.

    Achan waded, rope tugging him along, body lurching through the sludge under his boots. Sound, smell, the cold . . . it all seemed to magnify without light. The water gurgled and splashed from the party's movement. But there were other sounds—a hiss, a rattle, a pecking—from overhead. The land smelled sour, like turned pudding.

    There's a cluster of trees here, Sir Gavin called from the front of the line. Careful not to hurt yourselves.

    The water sloshed around Achan's boots now. He held a hand out in front to feel for the trees. Pulled along by Sir Gavin's tether, Achan's hand smacked against slimy bark, and his body slid between several tree trunks, feet stumbling over the gnarled roots. He didn't want to know what made the trees slimy, especially considering the putrid smell.

    Finally they stepped onto dry ground. Achan took his belt and sword off his neck and hooked it around his waist where it belonged. A chill snaked over him. His wet clothes clung to his body; his toes squished in his boots.

    I'm going to light a small torch, Sir Gavin sniffed in a strong breath, just 'til we find a place to camp. I won't burn it long. Any light is a beacon to every living thing.

    Achan bumped into Sir Caleb's back. Sparrow ran into his. Apparently they were stopping. Achan focused on the sounds of Sir Gavin digging through his pack, but pecking distracted him. Could it be a woodpecker? Some kind of cricket?

    A torch hissed into a green flame. Achan's eyes widened at the brightness. Spots flooded his vision until he blinked them away. In the green glow, Sir Gavin's wrinkled face resembled a dried pear. His hair and frizzy braided beard looked like freshly shorn wool that needed washing. And his eyes—one blue, one brown—shone like emerald and bronze. Achan scanned the charcoal surroundings. Spindly trees rose around them, a forest of gnarled branches that appeared burned, like the dead side of the memorial tree in Allowntown.

    How is it your torch is dry? Sparrow asked.

    It's not, Sir Gavin said. I've a few torchlights made from sulfur and lime. Bought them from a Jaelportian vendor at the market in Mahanaim. They burn even when doused in water. Different colors too. He pointed left. In the forest will be best.

    The knight moved away, and the rope pulled the group along single file. Achan followed Sir Caleb, eyes fixed on the allown tree painted on the shield draped over Sir Caleb's back.

    Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb were the only two who carried shields. Achan's sword, Eagan's Elk, was long enough to be wielded two-handed, like the longsword Inko carried. Inko also had a bow. Sparrow had a dinky little arming sword. More like a long dagger.

    An occasional black shadow scurried up the twisted trunks. What kind of creatures lived in such a place? Achan used to believe nothing could live here until, at the recent tournament, he'd met people who'd come from cities in Darkness.

    A prickle on his torso reminded him of Sir Caleb's leeches. Heat flashed over him. He pressed his fingers to his side and felt a hard lump beneath his clothing. His limbs twitched. Heart stampeding, he released the rope and pulled up his jerkin and shirt. The rope slid past his thigh. Sparrow knocked into his back and yelped.

    Achan scratched off the slug-like attachment and flung it away. Squirming, he drew his fingers across his stomach and found another hard lump.

Pig snout.

    What are you doing? Sparrow asked.

    Leeches. There are leeches all over me. Achan plucked the second one off and found another on his chest. Ahh!

    Sparrow cried out. Achan turned to find the boy patting his legs through his trousers. His eyes widened in the green light as they met Achan's chest.

    You see another? Achan asked.

    Sparrow pointed a shaking finger at Achan's armpit. Achan lifted his arm, but a hand on his back stopped him.

    Leave them for now, Achan, Sir Caleb said, his voice commanding. Don't pull them off like a madman, lest they leave their teeth in you.

    Achan froze, hands above his head, and took a deep breath. His clothing shifted, then dropped back into place. He swallowed and faced Sir Caleb. Leave them?

    They'll do no harm. We'll get them off when we stop, if any are still there.

    Sir Gavin's moustache arched into a frown. Just a few more moments, I promise you.

    Achan nodded, still panicked at the idea of the creatures sucking his blood, even more alarmed that those he'd removed might have left their teeth in his skin.

    They do not leave teeth in you. Sparrow's shaky voice came soft behind him. But if you pull them too fast, they tend to retch. The excess saliva under your skin leaves a rash or swells— Sparrow squealed and plowed into Achan's back again.

    A creature fluttered past Achan's ear, brushing his hair with its wing. Achan ducked, pulse racing. A moth the size of a pigeon flapped wildly in the green glow.

    That is disgusting. Sparrow's voice cracked. I hate this place. I hate it!

    Achan had to agree. He gripped the rope and straightened, keeping his eyes on the overgrown insect. The rope inched forward. So did Achan. They approached a grove of trees. The crooked branches above twisted together, forming a tunnel and forcing the moth to fly above the briary canopy.

    Good riddance.

    The trees grew thick and tangled, like a gnarled cage. Achan squinted at the smooth clay beneath his feet. They seemed to be on a game trail. As long as no one was hunting them now . . .

    Sir Gavin ducked under low branches and crept on, tugging the rope along. Achan squeezed between slippery branches. His hair snagged on stiff twigs, ripping out wisps and leaving drips of slime running down his forehead. He wiped the gunk away with his free hand and found it sticky, like pitch.

    Sir Gavin stopped suddenly and drove the torchlight into the ground. They were in a clearing the size of two small cottages. The ground was carpeted in soppy, grey moss. The tree branches were tight overhead, almost like a thatched roof.

    Sir Gavin shrugged off his pack and shield, catching them before they hit the ground. I sense humans to the west, which is in the direction of Mirrorstone. We must get there as soon as possible, but it's still a two-day journey on foot.

    He propped his pack and shield in the branches of a tree on the perimeter. We've only four bedrolls, so we'll take turns on watch using our ears, noses, and minds. He pointed behind Sparrow. Privy is on that end, dinner and sleep is down here by me. Put your packs in the trees to let them dry. Be quick about it. The sooner this torch is out, the better.

    Achan had no pack, only Eagan's Elk. His change of clothes was in Sir Caleb's pack. Do you think the water damaged my sword?

    Not in that short time, Sir Caleb said. When did you last oil the blade?

    Achan's mouth hung open a moment, his vision flicking to Sir Gavin. I've never done so.

    Sir Caleb stared at Sir Gavin's back. Were you not taught?

    Achan swallowed. I—

    Sir Gavin sighed and answered while rummaging through his pack. There was no time, Caleb. Nathak banished me the day I gave Achan the blade. Besides, you know I'm no teacher. I've done the best I could. But now that he has you, I freely relinquish the honor of his weapons training.

    Achan was thankful for Sir Gavin's instruction. But could Sir Caleb teach him more? Teach him better?

    Sir Caleb glared long and hard at Sir Gavin, as if the crime of not oiling a blade deserved years in Ice Island. Finally he turned to Achan. I have oil in my pack, Your Highness. For now, remove the blade from the scabbard to give both time to dry. A wet scabbard can rust steel.

    Achan lifted the hem of his shirt to dry Eagan's Elk. A black mark on his side caught his eye and it all came rushing back. Can we get these leeches off now?

    Yes. Sir Caleb unfastened his jerkin and shrugged it off. Best take off all your clothes to make sure we don't miss any.

    Achan set Eagan's Elk in a nearby tree and stripped down to his undershorts. He stacked his clothing carefully on the branch to avoid having it touch too much slime.

    At least a dozen leeches spotted Sir Caleb's pale and wiry torso. And that's why you don't rip them off. See how much you're bleeding?

    Achan looked down. Tiny streams of blood ran down his chest like water after a bath.

    Slide your fingernails under to wedge them off.

    Achan mirrored Sir Caleb, plucking the parasites away.

    Be tossing them aside after. Inko draped his cape in a tree, his grey skin and pockmarked face like a potato full of eyes. I'm not wanting them crawling on me in my sleep.

    The men paired up to check each other's backs, Achan with Sir Caleb and Inko with Sir Gavin. Then they checked their own undershorts.

    I'm clean. Achan pitched the last leech into the trees.

    A voice in the woods cried out.

    Achan froze. What was that?

    Sir Caleb wrenched his sword from the branches and advanced on the trees, weapon raised. In the name of Câan, come out. We mean you no harm.

3

Vrell clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle another sob and wiped tears from her cheeks.

    Come out, now, or I'll come in after you, Sir Caleb said.

    Vrell yanked up her trousers and tied her belt with shaking fingers. It is only me. Her voice betrayed her, coming out soft, like a kitten's mew, expressing her true emotions. She inched toward the flickering light, thankful her entire body hadn't been underwater.

    All four men stood in their undershorts staring at her, eyes wide. Trickles of blood were smeared across Achan's chest. The white bandage she had tied around his head had been knocked askew. She cast her gaze to the ground and casually drew her fingers along her thigh where a tickle spasmed. Could she have missed a leech? She had checked herself thoroughly but had hardly been able to see what she was doing.

    Sir Caleb still held his sword ready. What in flames were you doing in there, boy?

    Vrell stared at the sleek blade. I . . . I had to . . .

    Achan's lips curved into a lopsided grin that faltered as quickly as it came. Didn't realize you were gone. He winced, evidence that his cheeks still pained him. Did my leech hit you?

    Nearly. Vrell meandered to the edge of the clearing where Sir Gavin had promised food. She turned her back to the tree holding Sir Gavin's pack and folded her arms, still trembling at the memory of leeches attached to her legs. Achan spoke to Sir Caleb, his scarred back facing her. Pity doused her bad attitude. At least no one had ever whipped her.

    Achan walked to Vrell's tree. He peeled his shirt off a branch as if thick cobwebs held it there.

    Wait. Vrell dug out a scrap of linen from her satchel and handed it to Achan. Use this to stop the bleeding. You should let me rinse those wounds out as well.

    I'm fine. He wadded the linen in one hand and wiped the trails of blood away. He pushed the hair from his eyes as he worked. A thick strand stuck to his forehead, held there by a trail of slime. Get your leeches off?

    Vrell stared at the moss beneath her feet. I-I think so.

    Strip down and I'll check.

    Vrell's eyes swelled. I-I am fine. I am not . . . feeling well. She backed into the thicket of prickly trees, keeping an eye on Achan. A sharp branch dug into her shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The trees were so close together it was difficult to get through.

    Achan's gaze followed her. What are you doing?

    She slid behind a thick trunk and held her breath, praying someone would distract Achan from his quest to be helpful.

But Achan called again, Sparrow?

    Leave him. Sir Caleb's low and commanding voice soothed Vrell's nerves. He'll ask for help if he needs it.

    But how can he stand it? Achan asked. I didn't want the little beasts on my skin any longer than they had been.

    Worry about yourself. Get your sword and sit. Then I'll show you how to oil your blade and rub down your scabbard.

    Vrell sank against the tree, stopping herself before she sat on the moist ground. She squatted, wrapping her arms around her knees. Now seemed a good time to try and contact Mother again, but she hated the idea of blacking out on this sodden ground. That would not matter if Mother did not answer.

    Vrell concentrated on her mother's face and sent a knock.

    She waited, listening, but heard only the men shuffling in the clearing, the crackling of the torch, the occasional click and hiss from above. She took a deep breath—gagged at the bitter smell of the forest—and knocked again.

    Vrell? Sir Gavin called out. Come back, lad. I've got to put out the torch.

    Vrell forced tears away and stood. She paused to let a bout of dizziness fade from standing too fast and crept back to the clearing. Four bedrolls had been laid out around the torch. A moth the size of Vrell's hand fluttered around the flame. Achan, Inko, and Sir Caleb had each claimed a bed. Sir Gavin's pack sat on the last bedroll. The knight crouched beside the torch. Where would Vrell sleep? Surely they would not expect her to share one of those skinny little flaps of leather?

    Get yourself some meat, Vrell, and sit. Sir Gavin motioned to the bedroll with his pack.

    An open burlap sack protruded from the top of Sir Gavin's pack. Vrell knelt on Sir Gavin's bedroll and took the top chunk of dried meat from the sack.

    Couldn't you be waiting until we're offering our thanks? Inko's gaze locked on Achan, who had eaten half his meat.

    Achan shot a questioning glance at Vrell. She pressed her hands together in a position of prayer. His head tipped back and he pursed his lips.

    Vrell knew little of what Achan believed about Arman, but she knew he didn't follow the Way like she and the knights did. Likely, Achan held beliefs similar to the rest of Er'Rets' general populace, who believed in a host of gods for any and every superstition. The remnant who knew the truth—who followed the Way, believing in Arman, the Father God, as the one and only god—was a small group indeed.

    But why thank Arman for food? Achan asked.

    Vrell coughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. How rude to question Arman—or one's elders—in such a way.

    But Achan charged on, clearly unfazed by his impropriety, chewing while he spoke. I mean, if you thank him for food, why not thank him for everything? Clothes, companions, being alive, leeches . . . I don't see what good it does, why it matters.

    A long silence passed, then the knights all spoke at once, as if eager to provide their future king with answers.

    Sir Gavin tugged his beard braid. It matters to Arman.

    Because it's showing thankfulness, respect, Inko said. Without Arman's provisions, we wouldn't be having life.

    I thank him for all those things, Sir Caleb said.

    Achan blew out a winded laugh. Even leeches?

    Leeches have their place in the world.

    Well, someone had better thank him for the meat, then, 'cause I'm starving.

    Vrell hid a smile. How could Achan go from rudeness to acquiescence in a heartbeat and make it all harmless fun? She would never dare such boldness. And Achan had behaved that way as a stray. His nature had shocked her at first, but if she had been forced to serve Esek, she might have lost her patience quickly too.

    Inko claimed the prayer. Arman, we're thanking you for our lives, for safely delivering us from Esek's men, and for having given us this meat. Be helping us to be finding a way across the lake. In the name of your son, Câan, may it be so.

    So be it. Vrell lifted the greasy meat to her teeth and tore off an oily chunk. Her mouth watered at the smoky flavor. She stole a glance at Achan, and found his brow furrowed again. What was he thinking now? She dared not peek into his head. He would not be happy to find her there.

    She studied the men around the torchlight. The dull green flame cast a pea soup fog over everyone, bringing out the worst in the Old Kingsguard knights. The flame glittered in Inko's pale eyes. With his grey, pockmarked skin and white hedge of hair, he looked dead. The green glow deepened Sir Gavin's wrinkles and greyed his white hair and braided beard. Even Sir Caleb, the youngest of the knights, in his mid-fifties, looked to have aged without the sun.

    Only Achan's appearance benefited. Darkness shadowed his boyish features, straightened his posture, and broadened his shoulders. The torch cast a bronze glow over his brown skin and made his greasy black hair look silky. How could she have spent weeks healing his wounds and missed how much he resembled the Hadar family? But who would have thought a stray anything other than what he appeared to be? Vrell hoped the men would assume the same about her.

    Sir Gavin jerked the torch from the ground and carried it to his bedroll. Time to douse the lights. Everyone settled?

    No one complained, so Sir Gavin smothered the flame under the corner of the leather. Vrell edged back. The sudden darkness sent a prickle up her spine. She blinked, trying to see the men where she knew they were.

    Sounds magnified in the dark. Fluttering. Clicking overhead. Steps across spongy ground. Sir Gavin, likely. Vrell hugged her knees to her chest. Would he sit with her?

    Achan's voice rose above the subtle noises. How long will we stay at Mirrorstone?

    As little as possible without being rude. Sir Gavin's voice came from Vrell's left, where Sir Caleb's bedroll had been.

    Good. She pressed her hands on the grimy leather and stretched out her legs. And from there?

    We look for a way to cross to the north shore. We'll fare best at Melas, rather than trying another boat.

    How far is that? Achan asked.

    Another three days on foot. Two, if we can get horses.

    Joyful heart! Horses would be merciful. Vrell still felt slimy from that water. She abhorred the stench of this place. She lifted her satchel off her neck and shoulder and opened it, looking for something pleasant to smell. Did herbs grow fresh in Darkness? Where would she find supplies for her healing kit if they didn't?

    You think Lord Eli will give us aid? Achan asked.

    He has nothing to gain by refusing us, Sir Gavin said. Either he'll arrest us and turn us over to Esek, or he'll help us. He won't send us away.

Vrell sniffed a small bundle from her bag. Mentha. Mmm.

    The mossy ground squished on her right. Then we're risking everything to be going to him.

    We have no choice, Inko, Sir Caleb nearly yelled. Surely you can see that much?

    We should've been doubling back to Allowntown.

    Sir Gavin sniffed in a long breath, as if to calm himself. Esek will have men posted all along the Evenwall. We stand our best chance in Darkness.

    Vrell inhaled another fresh breath of mentha. How will we know we're not walking into a trap at Mirrorstone? She still had not told anyone about the bounties Esek had offered for her and Achan's capture. She hated keeping secrets and not having a plan. If only she could speak with her mother.

    We won't, Sir Gavin said. But I'll know his intentions as soon as I lay eyes on him.

    Can you teach me that? Achan's mumble brought his injured cheeks to Vrell's mind. I've always sensed emotions. Lord Nathak's tonic never doused my intuition. But I want to learn more. Sparrow showed me a few tricks, and—

    I know little. Vrell's heart lifted at the idea of learning bloodvoicing from good men, not her maniacal old master, Macoun Hadar. I should like to learn more, as well. Like how she could watch longer without blacking out and how to peek into gifted minds without being seen. Achan's mind.

    Think of your body as a fortress and yourself as its guard. Sir Caleb's voice drifted from Vrell's left. Your duty is twofold. You must guard the fortress, allowing entry only to those you permit. Then, when you invite someone in, you must also guard the treasure, which is your mind. If you do this correctly, your guest may see only what you offer.

    Vrell could do this already. She had a different way of accomplishing the same feat. She thought of her mind as a house and created a foyer in her mind where she let people in but kept them separated from her different rooms of thought.

    How do you do everything at once? Achan asked. When my mind is open, so many come at me. I can't keep them out, and I'm tired of shielding all the time.

    You can and you must, Your Highness. Sir Caleb sounded nobler when giving orders. No one can guard your mind for you. Either you learn to do this, or you'll have to stay guarded always, never experiencing the fullness of your gift.

    Vrell wished she could help Achan practice, but the knights had ordered him to keep his mind closed, for Achan's untrained bloodvoice rang like a beacon to anyone with the ability. Surely Esek had bloodvoicers monitoring for Achan's presence. Plus, unguarded, Achan's mind released a pressure that brought Vrell to her knees. She didn't miss the pain, but she did miss his sarcastic companionship.

    A screech split the night. Vrell hugged her arms close. A mosquito buzzed nearby. She disliked the dark. Sir Gavin? She lifted her head. We have been in Darkness for many hours, and I entered the Evenwall the day Achan fought the Poroo. I feel fine, except for these accursed mosquitoes. So why do people say Darkness drives one insane?

    That's the subtlety of it, Vrell. If your mind is focused or distracted, 'tis easy to ignore the seduction of Darkness. When you were alone in the Evenwall, you had a task to perform. Now we're conversing steadily. This keeps our minds from wandering. But as we journey through this place, we must stay together and we must have conversation. No one will keep watch alone. See that no one is silent too long. Darkness has a way of sneaking up and blinding you to your own conscience.

    What about when we sleep? Achan asked.

    Bad dreams may come, but you won't lose your mind. Caleb and I will take first watch. Fear not and rest.

    Vrell lay down on the greasy leather and curled into a ball, bringing her knees to her chest. Her body sank slowly into the wet lichen. She concentrated on Mother's face and knocked.

    Still no answer.

4

Achan untied the bandage from his face. He lay on his back, ankles crossed, feet sticking off the end of the bedroll that was too short for his six-foot frame. He stared into the blackness above and traced his fingertips over the scabs forming on his cheeks where Esek had cut him. Would he bear these marks forever? If so, he would grow a beard, a thick one.

    Had his father worn a beard?

    Achan broke the stillness with a question, careful to move his cheeks as little as possible. What happened to my father?

    A prolonged silence followed. He was thankful for these knights who'd made it their life goal to find him, yet so many questions plagued his mind. Did these men see taking care of him as penance for failing to protect their former king?

    He tried again. Were any of you there when he died?

    Aye, Sir Gavin finally said. But not when he died.

    Achan propped himself up on one elbow. What happened?

    One of our own betrayed us. A young knight named Kenton Garesh.

    The Shield? Sir Kenton, also known as The Shield, served as Esek's personal bodyguard. The human fortress had crushed Achan on more than one occasion. Most recently, just prior to Esek slicing open Achan's cheeks.

    Aye, he drugged our stew and we slept through the dawn. The king had a schedule to keep. He was headed to Carmine to consult with Duke Amal—this was before the duke passed on. Kenton urged King Axel to go on without us, to take the secondary guards, half of which were loyal to Kenton.

    The pecking noise

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