From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [129]
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 pricked 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? Duchess 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, Duchess 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, Duchess 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.
Use the light, boy, the man’s voice said. Destroy the beast!
Of course. Achan glanced at the black knight’s hands. The green light flickered over the black leather, invigorating Achan like a gulp of Carmine red wine.
The tanniyn swallowed the horse. Then, like a coil