From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [1]
Donita K. Paul, author of the Dragon Keeper Chronicles
“Jill Williamson is a major arrival. She presents characters full of mystery and leaves room for plenty of further exploration. By Darkness Hid is a fast-paced addition to the world of swords and sorcery, using a backdrop of political and spiritual intrigue to heighten the tension. When readers begin lining up for the sequel, you’ll find me at the front of the line.”
Eric Wilson, author of Field of Blood and Haunt of Jackals
To Adele, Chris, Jacob, Leighton, and Ness
for your enthusiasm, help, friendship,
and random texts of the day.
PROLOGUE
Torch in hand, Sidal climbed behind his master up the spiral staircase of the Mahanaim watchtower. “But, sir, why is the teacher called ‘Hadad’?”
Macoun sent his reply to Sidal’s mind. The title was chosen for its meaning and similarity to the royal name Hadar. And it is the Hadad, not simply Hadad. It isn’t a name but a role, a human host for the keliy.
“What does ‘the Hadad’ mean, then?”
God of rain, storms, and thunder. Division.
Sidal considered this as they reached a short landing then started up another flight of stairs. “Does the Hadad believe that claiming such a title makes him a god?”
No one claims the title “the Hadad,” boy. For hundreds of years past, the keliy has chosen its host. Not the other way around.
“What is a keliy?”
The keliy. There is only one. It is a powerful deity.
That a god would take a human form intrigued Sidal. The chosen one must be a great man. “Will your master approve of me?”
Perhaps. If you hold your tongue and mind your place.
Sidal glanced over his shoulder. The torch cast light and shadow over the armored men walking behind him.
Sakin Magos. Black knights. Two of them.
Sidal had never accompanied his master on such an outing before. The presence of the black knights shot a thrill through his stomach. He picked up his pace. “How does your master decide who to train? Will it help if I tell him I’ve always wanted to be a Black Knight?”
It will help if you speak to me with your bloodvoice and not your audible one.
“Sorry, sir.” I mean, sorry, sir. Do you think it will help, though?
The Hadad trains who he wants to train. Your prattling on will not make you more endearing.
Right. Curse his babbling tongue, anyway. Sidal had never seen a talkative black knight. If he wanted to join their ranks— to impress the Hadad—he would have to practice being serene and silent.
At the top of the stairs, Macoun stopped at a board and batten door. “Wait outside,” he told the black knights. “Sidal, come with me.”
Sidal slipped the torch into a ring on the wall outside the door and followed his master into a warm chamber.
The circular room was mostly empty, lit by a candle on the floor beside a narrow cot. There was nothing inside but the cot, the candle, and a birdcage on a fluted pedestal before a small window. A gowzal sat on the perch inside, watching them with its bead-like eyes. Sidal did not see the Hadad anywhere. The heat of the room warmed his face, though he did not know where the heat came from.
“How is it so warm, Master?”
Macoun shot Sidal an irritated glare.
Forgive me, Master. But there is no fireplace. I don’t—
A voice sizzled out of the darkness. “We have nearly accomplished our goal, Macoun. Everything is in place.”
Sidal jumped, for he had not seen the man standing before the window. His hooded black cape masked his body against the shadowed walls.
The Hadad.
Sidal stood beside his master, trembling in the presence of the great teacher.
The Hadad gazed out over the city. “So many years and it’s nearly within my grasp.”
“What is, sir?” Sidal asked.
Silence, boy! Macoun sent Sidal another glare.
The Hadad turned, his dark gaze falling on Sidal, who straightened under the