From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [20]
He popped back to his haunches and pulled off his gloves. He touched the wall again, scratched the ground beneath him with a fingernail. Packed dirt. Had he left the castle?
He took a deep breath, mind sifting through his options. The idea of following this tunnel blindly left him hesitant, yet so did backtracking when he obviously had the layout wrong in his head.
He could use his bloodvoicing power to leave his body and try to see what was above him, though that would be risky. Not only would there be no one around to wake him if he couldn’t get back to his body, who would know to come looking for him here?
He should go back to Shung.
Failure vexed him. Sir Caleb would be cross no matter when he returned. Best have some manner of success to show for it. Prove he was right? That he could fight alongside his own men?
Stubborn man.
He smiled at the small voice in the back of his mind. Something Sparrow had said to him once. In fact, she had called him stubborn in one way or another almost daily. He had always thought it odd, coming from a boy. Though her odd words and ways were not so strange for a woman.
A crick in his ankles brought him back to the present. He would try the Veil. Since one should always sit or recline to enter the Veil, he twisted his sword out of the way and sat down. He shifted to lean against the dirt wall of the tunnel and stretched out his legs. A long breath filled his nostrils with the scent of soil. Straight up, then straight back down. No distractions. He focused and drifted up.
Through a black void. Memories from his time in Darkness chipped at his thoughts. He ignored the temptation to despair and held fast to his concentration.
Up. Straight up.
Light blinded him. He recoiled and found himself outdoors, floating a foot above a grassy lawn. A wide shadow darkened the grass a few feet away. He floated into the shadow, and the brightness of the sun dimmed, allowing him to take stock of his surroundings.
His mind’s eye abided in the shadow of Ryson Tower, to the left of the stronghold and inside the inner bailey. Indeed, the tunnel had taken him out of Granton Castle. If he followed it, he would likely exit the stronghold altogether at some point.
He floated up to look over the curtain wall. Smoke billowed in the western fields and beyond. The invaders had set fire to the vineyards and several cottages. Both baileys were deserted but for some injured men and those caring for them. A couple dozen bowmen patrolled the curtain walls. Beyond, a fierce battle raged. Achan floated toward it.
Duchess Amal.
Achan let himself drift, momentarily shocked by circumstance. He had been expecting to hear from Shung or Sir Caleb, not Duchess Amal.
He opened his mind to her at once. My lady?
Your Highness. You have us all affright. Are you safe?
I am. I… got turned around in the passageway. A heaviness grew in Achan’s mind. Never before had any lie—let alone such a small one—come with such instant remorse.
Going off alone is unwise, Your Highness.
Achan closed his mind, ashamed to treat the duchess so rudely, but unwilling to give up his attempt to help his men. If he could drift closer to the battle, perhaps he could see their leader. Why had he not tried this before?
But when he looked for the distant battle, he only saw sky. He whirled around. Nothing but sky in every direction. He looked down. All of Carmine stretched out like a map below, Granton Castle a speck under his transparent boots.
How had he gotten so far up?
The shadows of clouds dotted the land below in puffy shadows. How small the battle seemed from such a height. How small everything seemed.
Arman, you are great indeed to have created all this. To love each of us so completely when there are so many of us and we are so very small.
Achan stared at the awesome sight for a long time before jolting back to reality. He tried to float down but found he had no control of himself. He concentrated hard. Willed himself back to his body.
Nothing happened.