From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [199]
Lord Nathak hummed his approval. “Now that’s much better.”
Achan fought the grip on his mind. Arman had spoken to Achan, not Lord Nathak, as king. And Sir Gavin had said that Achan was stronger than any other bloodvoicer. With Arman’s help he could defeat Lord Nathak and rebuke Darkness. He knew he could. He focused on Lord Nathak’s mind.
Suddenly he saw himself through Lord Nathak’s eyes. He looked small and weak, kneeling on the tower roof. Behind him, Bran sat clutching his shoulder beside Esek’s body, looking half dead himself. Across the roof, Shung fought the new host of Lord Nathak’s apparitions.
Achan concentrated on Lord Nathak, trying to leave part of himself in his own body. Step backward.
Lord Nathak grunted as if surprised. His feet shuffled. Inched back.
Achan planned to send another command, to trick Lord Nathak to jump off the roof, but he remembered his promise to Duchess Amal. He was not to control anyone, even Lord Nathak.
Achan pulled back his control a bit, unsure what to do now.
In his moment of indecision, Lord Nathak lunged forward and punched Achan’s body.
Achan fell back on the roof, in his own head again, jaw stinging.
“Nice try, boy. I didn’t know Sir Gavin had taught you such dark magic. Clearly you have not yet mastered it.”
And he never would. Achan reached for Ôwr.
But a bolt of green lightning shot it across the roof. “I am not through with you,” Lord Nathak said. “Renounce Arman, and all will be well.”
A pressure rose at the back of Achan’s head and grew. Achan concentrated on shielding himself, but the pressure stabbed. “I won’t. Arman spoke to me. I will not refuse Him.”
Lord Nathak’s face contorted, angry. He stepped over Achan and gripped the side of his face with his bare hand.
The pain spiked. Nausea gripped Achan. His limbs shook.
“Renounce him, and I shall stop,” Lord Nathak said.
Achan clenched his teeth and fists, and changed focus. He tried to get inside Lord Nathak’s mind again. But doing so somehow lowered his own defenses, causing the pain to seize every pore. He fell onto the ground and writhed, trying to get away from the anguish. If only he could shake it off.
Sir Gavin’s voice came first. Achan, what’s happening?
Your Highness, Duchess Amal said, you must shield yourself. Do not allow him inside your head.
Fire and ash! Inko said. Be closing your mind, boy!
Achan! Sparrow’s voice, panicked. What is wrong? Achan, be careful!
Achan panted and met Lord Nathak’s dark gaze. He tried to relax, but the torment made it impossible.
Closing his eyes, Achan recited the words, Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echâd, Arman hu shlosha be-echâd. Hatzileni, beshem Câan, ben Arman.
The pressure began to fade from his head.
Lord Nathak stared down, his eyes wild. “If you will not serve me, you will die.”
A dull thud turned Achan’s head. Shung had again defeated Lord Nathak’s apparitions. His gaze flickered to Achan. He started toward them. “The little cham will not die this day.”
Lord Nathak lifted his hands to Shung, green fire trailing around the edges of his fingers.
Shung reached back his sword arm. “He will live as long as Arman determines.” He swung his sword, but Lord Nathak’s green fire caught the blade mid-swing.
Shung trembled, shook his head like a wet dog, and screamed, then cut the blade down toward Achan.
Achan rolled to the side and grabbed Ôwr. Don’t let him control you, Shung. Call on Arman.
Achan stood on shaky legs and raised the old sword.
“Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echâd, Arman hu shlosha beechâd. Hatzileni, beshem Câan, ben Arman.”
Lord Nathak extended a smoking green hand toward each of them. “Machmâd pâr—”
“Arman!” Shung screamed, cleaved his blade down from high guard, and cut off Lord Nathak’s left hand.
“Câan!” Achan swung Ôwr at Lord Nathak and severed Lord Nathak’s right hand.
Blood oozed from Lord Nathak’s veins. The man’s eyes bulged. Shung kicked him in the chest. White-faced, Lord Nathak stumbled backward. Shung stepped up to him, swung his blade in a wide arc, and cut off his head. The