The Darkness of Glengowyn (2 page)

Nuala swallowed and raised her knives.

“Stop.” A deep voice rose up behind the three attackers.

A familiar voice. But not the one she’d hoped to hear.

One of the traitors passed between the minions, his smirk both smug and confident. “I’ll handle the weapons master. Help the others with her guard.”

She didn’t dare take her eyes off the traitor as he neared, even to check on Einar. The fact that the others were being sent to the fight against him meant he was alive. She could hear the sounds of swords clashing, the screams of pain that weren’t Einar’s. Even three more minions wouldn’t be enough.

“He’ll kill them all, Byral,” she said as the traitor approached. “You know he will.”

“Elves can’t kill other elves.” Byral stalked her, his gait smooth and graceful. Blood splattered his dark gray tunic, but he didn’t look injured.

To kill another elf was a taboo among her kind, so ingrained in their society most elves believed it was physically impossible for one elf to kill another.

Only recently had she been made aware of the truth. But this traitor didn’t need to know that. “The minions will be slaughtered. Einar will disable the other two traitors.”

Byral’s eyes shifted slightly, their deep, intense blue clouding just a little. “Surprising,” he said with a slight tilt of his head. “I didn’t think the Darkness ever left the king’s and queen’s sides. But…” He shrugged. “I suppose for you, they would take the risk.”

“Why?”

She didn’t have to elaborate. Byral knew what she was asking. Rather than answer, he angled around her, circling, looking for an opening in her weak defenses.

“They won’t harm you,” he said. “The Sorcerers. They can offer you a lot.”

“I’m no traitor.” He was close enough that the stench of death magic corrupting him filled her nostrils. “They’ve been teaching you?” She was surprised by that. The Sorcerers were jealous of their powers, despite what they’d told the traitors. She’d been led to believe they hadn’t shared any of their magic with the elves.

“Only me.” His smirk returned. “I promised them you in return.”

Nuala’s stomach clenched and her heartbeat jumped. She didn’t show the reaction outwardly but fear clogged her throat. Only an act of will kept her from panting as panic crept in around her control. “I won’t go quietly. And you can’t kill me.”

“I can wound you enough to make you cooperate.”

Rather than respond, she focused on her grip on the two knives, making sure she was prepared. When Byral lunged suddenly and with a speed she hadn’t anticipated, she reacted without thought. One wide step shifted her out of his reach and gave her an opening to slide her knife across his biceps. He snarled and whipped back to face her, diving into another attack before she had time to feel satisfied with her strike.

This time, she stumbled and fumbled, swinging her knives awkwardly as she tried to put space between them. He didn’t raise his sword except to bat away her flailing weapons. He wanted her alive, even if he knew he could kill her—knowledge she wasn’t sure he possessed.

She tripped over the grass tangling around her boots and dropped to one knee, losing a knife in the barely controlled fall. Byral chuckled. Behind him, Einar roared her name again. The fact that he was alive dampened her fear. She held Byral’s gaze as he loomed over her. With a sniff of disgust, he grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.

“They shouldn’t have allowed you out of Glengowyn. But I profit from their mistake.”

“No.”

She saw the slight flicker in his eyes, the beginnings of suspicion, the instant before she plunged her knife into his heart, burying the weapon to the hilt. His blue eyes widened, his mouth dropped open and his grasp on her arm fell away. He looked at the knife in his chest then met her gaze, his mouth moving in a silent denial.

“You should have known better,” she murmured. “The
Or’roan
takes you now. Forever death.”

The
Or’roan
, a curse only the king and queen could inflict on the elves, ended their existence forever—no afterlife, no rebirth into future lives, no hope for any future existence. The end of all they’d ever been and all they would be was greatly feared by every elf. And all but one of the traitors was currently under the
Or’roan
.

Terror transformed Byral’s once starkly handsome face into a distorted mask. “No,” he forced out with his last breath. He never lost the grip on his sword, even when he collapsed.

She swallowed down the bile in her throat, retrieved the knife she’d lost in the grass when she’d tripped, and forced herself to focus on Einar and his fight. She would deal with the fact that she’d just done the unthinkable, the impossible, later.

The minions hadn’t stood a chance against the Darkness. They lay in silent heaps around the swirling rage that was Einar in battle. The two remaining elves were both bloodied and retreating under the hail of Einar’s attack. The flow of the fight moved them closer to the city, and Nuala realized suddenly that the elves’ retreat was strategic. She didn’t dare call out to warn Einar for fear of distracting him, but she knew with certainty the traitors were drawing him into a trap.

The Sorcerer.

She scanned the area, noting with an ache that would hurt more when she had time that Einar’s horse was among the wounded, its dark sides no longer rising and falling. Her mare was nowhere in sight, and she could only assume the animal had been smart enough to flee. Most of the Glengowyn steeds would fight to the death. Nuala couldn’t face the thought of another life lost, though, so was glad the animal’s training had failed.

She worked her way toward Einar, watching carefully to make sure the traitors didn’t notice her. But the Darkness was no ordinary elf and the traitors didn’t dare look away. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of battle from the caravan. She and Einar had gone too far east for her to find help from that direction, though. The edge of the city was near enough for them to reach at a sprint, but she had no idea what dangers lurked in those streets. The forest was too far away for them to make a run for it on foot.

Somewhere out there, the Sorcerer who’d stopped their escape was waiting. She couldn’t see or sense him. But she knew he was there. Somewhere.

She got close enough to Einar to guard his back even as the traitors continued to lure them closer to the city’s outer buildings. The two elves spread out, forcing Einar to face one or the other, an attempt to outflank him.

Refusing to think about her actions, Nuala flipped the knife so she held the tip in her fingers. With a flick of her wrist, she sent her last weapon flying. It struck the traitor on Einar’s left, burying deep into the space between his shoulder and chest. Not a deadly hit. Her aim wasn’t that good, but the injury was enough to make him drop his sword.

He looked at the knife with the same dumbfounded shock as Byral had, facing her with wide eyes an instant before Einar drove a sword through his throat.

The final elf shouted something she didn’t catch and fled toward the city. She reached out to take Einar’s arm, afraid he’d try to follow the retreating man, but Einar stood solid and immovable, the blood on his sword dripping into the soil. The stench of death and blood clogged her throat, bringing back memories long buried.

“We need cover,” Einar said as he glanced toward the caravan fight, then back at the city. “Forest is too far.”

Prickles of tension raced along her arms. “The Sorcerer is there.” She nodded at the city even as she continued to scan their surroundings. They stood out in the open, horribly exposed and vulnerable. With each breath, she anticipated another attack.

“He’s not,” Einar stated.

Not bothering to explain, he grabbed her hand and raced toward the dubious cover of the outlier buildings.

Chapter Three

The transition from rough grass to cobbled streets jolted through Nuala’s calves as they barreled between two scarred brick structures and into the city proper. When they weren’t followed, when no magical attack came, she actually felt relief wash through her.

When she would have slowed to a trot, though, Einar tightened his hold on her hand and continued to pull her along at a fast run. He turned corners, raced down alleys and small streets, hurried along the edge of open courtyards, keeping her close to the looming shadows of the surrounding buildings as they went.

After so long, she barely recognized the city. Empty, quiet, the stench of things she remembered from another war permeating the air. The bright sun seemed somehow diminished, cooled and weakened by the pervasive gloom that hung over the streets.

Einar finally slowed to a trot and then a fast walk.

“Where are we?” she asked, her heart thumping from both the run and her own fear.

“Noman’s Land.”

“What happened to the Sorcerer? Why didn’t he attack?”

“He was never real.”

She frowned, wanting to ask more questions, but Einar didn’t give her a chance.

“We need to get inside.”

“Why don’t we just head toward Sinnale-held territory?”

“We need time. And a plan.” He pushed her back against a brick façade and held her in place for several long moments.

She listened intently, waiting for…something. The area was eerily silent, only the faint creak of wood and the barest brush of moving air. No rustling leaves. No bird song. No quiet hum of the forest. Nuala had never felt so disconnected and displaced.

Einar remained motionless for what seemed like a very long time. Then he ushered her across the empty street and straight into a relatively intact building. The small, three-story structure had most of its windows and shutters in place, and the front door was solid, if unlocked.

“Is this safe?” she said, so quietly human ears would never detect the sound.

“Abandoned.”

When he pushed her into the cool darkness, Nuala took a moment to let her eyes adjust and her heart rate slow.

“Are you hurt?” Einar asked from his position near the door. He was studying the street, not looking at her.

That lack of attention was as much of a relief as the relative safety of being inside. “No,” she said to keep him from facing her for a few more moments. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer. She swept his big body with a searching gaze, frowning as she looked for wounds. There was a superficial cut on his left biceps, visible through his ripped shirt sleeve, and a tear in his leather trousers, just across the thick muscle of his thigh. She couldn’t see anything that looked serious.

Satisfied, she turned in a small circle to survey their hiding spot.

They stood in what had been the foyer to a smart, elegant townhouse. Not that the elegance remained. But at one time, she was sure someone of wealth and significance had called this place home. The walls were hung with faded, dirty silk that might have been a pale color sometime in its past. No furniture remained, but stairs to the left led to the upper floors and several closed doors flanked the open entryway. Spaces that had probably contained pictures or mirrors or some other decoration left lighter rectangles in the grime covering the silk wall drapings. The floor was bare wood but inlaid in a beautiful pattern, which would look stunning after a clean and polish.

An ache of loss settled around her chest. Had the owners of this once-beautiful home been killed? Sacrificed to the Sorcerers’ spells? Turned minion? Did a human live who might one day reclaim this place?

Caught up in her sense of sorrow, she jumped when she felt Einar’s hand on her shoulder. Without turning to face him, she said, “I hate war. I always have.”

“I know.”

His understanding only made her throat tighten further.

“We can rest here.” Einar’s deep voice was quiet in the stillness. “But not for long. This is too close to the Sorcerers’ territory.”

“We’re that far east?”

“We entered the city in their territory.”

She blinked. She hadn’t realized. “How did you know where to go? Are you sure we’re outside their borders?”

The Sorcerers’ borders were guarded with deadly, nasty spells. They’d been lucky not to trigger any. Or else Einar had talents he’d never revealed to her.

“We’re safe for now. I’m certain we’re in Noman’s Land.”

She released a pent-up breath. “After we’ve rested?” She finally found the courage to face him. They didn’t have time for her to fall apart. Not yet.

“Then we make our way to the Sinnale. And hope they don’t kill us on sight.”

“Why would they?”

He dropped his chin to meet her gaze. “Unknown elves crossing over from Noman’s Land? Only traitor elves should be coming from this direction.”

“Someone in the caravan must have made the city limits. They’ll tell the humans what’s happened.”

Einar didn’t look convinced. “If they realize we survived the attack. But there are very, very few in this city who will recognize me, and no human will know you on sight, even those who survived the caravan attack.”

The king had put a small glamour spell on her, just enough to keep humans from remembering her too well once she was no longer in their company—a precaution that now seemed more of a hindrance.