From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [4]
The misty form of the Hadad drifted low, staring at the dome of green light as if it were a sword to his throat. Please reconsider, Master! I beg of you.
Sidal thrust his hand at the Hadad’s spirit. “I think not.” Macoun’s words came out in Sidal’s voice.
The Hadad flew up. His scream cut off quickly as he passed through the dome and vanished. Sidal lowered his hand. The green light went out.
Sidal blinked a moment in the dull light of the lone candle, then staggered back as heat engulfed his body. He was himself again. By the time Sidal could see clearly, Macoun was sitting up on the floor.
“Don’t just stand there gaping, boy, help me up.”
Sidal lunged forward. His foot dragged through something thick and warm on the floor. He looked down to a pile of smoldering ash where the Hadad’s body had lain.
Sidal leapt out of the ash and pulled Macoun to his feet. “What happened, Master?”
“The keliy has passed to me. I am the Hadad now. Unfortunately for you, boy. You’ve seen far too much.”
A tremor of fear gripped Sidal’s heart. He glanced at the door, but Macoun walked there and opened it to the black knights.
“Khai,” Macoun said, “send the armies to attack Allowntown and Carmine, as planned. Bring me the prince. Dead or living, I care not. If you fail, bring me the girl, her mother, or one of her sisters.”
“Sisters? What good are they to anyone, Master?”
“Bait for the girl and heirs should she die. Now, go!”
The black knight bowed. “Yes, Master.” He descended the stairs, his companion at his heels.
Macoun closed the door and faced Sidal. “I no longer have use for your pathetic powers, nor need I stomach another incessant question from that mouth of yours.”
Sidal stumbled back. “Master, please. You said I could train to be a black knight. You promised—”
A fist of green light gripped Sidal’s throat. It lifted him and carried him away from his master. Sidal grunted, kicked his legs.
Promises are nothing but words, boy. Words that make people comply.
Sidal could not speak aloud. I can be of service to you, master. I can help you.
The keliy does not need your help. Only mine.
The fist pushed Sidal’s body out the window. He struggled to cling to the side jambs with his hands, hook the sill with his legs. But the fist thrust him out. Gowzal wings swiped his back and head as they flew past the tower window.
Macoun stepped up to the window, a small smile on his lips. Say hello to my master.
The fist let go. And Sidal son of Lekim fell screaming, through the squawking birds, down the length of the watchtower, until he passed into Darkness.
P A R T 1
ACHAN
1
Get the little pilfering prince!
The soldier’s wooden blade whipped toward Achan’s face. He lunged back a step in his heavy armor and threw up his guard. The wasters scraped overhead. His body ached, left thigh still sore from where Esek had stabbed him with Ôwr, right shoulder tender from the cham bear’s teeth.
Achan tensed his muscles anyway, pushing against his opponent’s blade. His elbow exploded with pain as a different waster slipped past his armor and struck true. Grinding his teeth at the fiery throbs shooting up his arm, Achan cut down from high guard at the man on his right and thrust his shield against the soldier before him.
Yet his attackers kept a steady pace. Dozens of boots pattered over the soft dirt around him. One waster clubbed his backplate. Another nicked his shoulder. He needed more space. They were crowding him. Even their thoughts and the cheers of the crowd seemed against him.
This was supposed to be a practice fight, not a real one. Good thing they were using wooden swords.
Achan stabbed one man’s chest, thrusting against chain armor. He stomped on another’s foot. Block to the left. Kick a man’s thigh. Parry with his shield. Left-guard to cut at open shins. Elbow to an exposed neck.
And just when he managed to push back the last man, four fresh soldiers advanced.
They bore down hard, slashing for Achan