By Darkness Hid (18 page)

Vrell focused on her own situation and struggled to stay near the wall, but it suddenly vanished from beneath her fingertips. She surged forward and groped for the deformed stone, wanting to call out to Jax, afraid the reekat had eaten him and would eat her if she made a sound. There was only water where she felt the wall should have been.

Had she turned a sharp corner? Perhaps the tunnel had only grown wider? Her body whipped around in a small whirlpool. As she spun, she thought she saw light. Her stomach roiled from the tiny circles, and in a huge burst of effort, she swam free.

She bobbed in place, no longer caught in the current. She blinked as the darkness around her slowly took shape. She had drifted into some pond-like appendage of the underground river. A golden light glowed in the distance. She swam toward it as silently as possible, not wanting to alert any water beasts.

As she drew closer, the cavern around her came into focus. Stalactites covered the ceiling and dripped over the water’s surface in a tribal rhythm. The dull, yellow glow illuminated the entrance to a cave, the opening as wide as two doors from Walden’s Watch. On the bank, in front of the cave’s entrance, several large stalactites had twisted together until they reached the ground, forming a tree of sorts. A massive cluster of thin, craggy dripstones on the ceiling above looked like icicle leaves.

As Vrell swam near the “tree,” the cave behind it glowed fiery orange. Her feet found loose soil. She stood on shaky legs, waded toward the riverbank, and stepped onto a sandy shore.

A swarm of mosquitoes attacked, and she swung her arms around to ward them off. The steam carried a putrid stench that choked her. As she neared the cave’s entrance, the light grew enough to see the ground. It wasn’t sand she walked on, but some sort of pellet-like excrement…and a few shiny black beetles. She shuddered, quickened her pace, and stepped through the doorway into a long narrow cavern.

The light turned out to be from a flickering torch stuck in a crevice in the wall on one end. The space was no bigger than two servant’s quarters end to end. Too small for a giant. And a reekat, whatever that was, could not light a torch. There had to be a human around somewhere.

“Hello?” she called.

A well-walked trail through the droppings stretched to the opposite end of the cavern, away from the torch. Vrell crept along it with soggy steps, dodging beetles. She found a gaping hole in the wall, waist high. It led to a narrow tunnel that burrowed up through the rock.

She stood staring into the shaft, unsure what to do. The tunnel could lead to a human who could help her…or hurt her. It could also be a cave for the water beast.

Perhaps it would be best to stay with the torch. She walked back toward the light, but the sound of splashing and grunting stopped her feet. Something was out there. Vrell darted out of the cave and behind the dripstone tree. She peeked through a gap where two stalactites narrowed.

It was Khai, staggering to the shore.

A shudder shook her limbs. Where was Jax? If something had happened to the giant…

Khai trudged up to the light, just as Vrell had. She stepped carefully around the dripstone tree to avoid being seen. She watched Khai lift the torch from the crack in the wall, examine it, and return it to its place. Then he looked down.

Vrell cringed. Her wet footprints would give her away.

Sure enough, Khai followed them to the other end of the cavern where the tunnel was. He lingered out of sight, but Vrell knew he would follow her footsteps back to the dripstone tree. She froze. Could he sense her presence? Vrell concentrated to close her mind, to be invisible, having no idea if it would work. Her ears suddenly tickled.

“Boy?”

Her breath caught in her throat. He could sense her. Could he sense her fear? Her location?

She could no longer see him from her position on the riverbank. She watched the edge of the dripstone tree trunk, listening for his footsteps over the patter of raining stalactites. His shadow loomed on the cavern wall, placing him near the cave’s entrance, coming closer. She stepped back carefully over the gnarly base of the dripstone tree.

“I won’t let the reekat get you, boy.” Khai’s voice was smooth and low and very close. He meant her harm. She could sense it. He wanted her secret. He could force it from her.

His shadowed face poked around the side of the tree. Vrell darted backward and leaned against a tall, thin stalagmite. The formation snapped against her weight. She crashed onto the hard ground, turned to her hands and knees, and scurried over the droppings in a crawl to her feet.

Khai jumped out in front of her, having gone the other way instead of following her over the craggy stalagmites. He grabbed her shoulder and lifted a dagger to her throat.

Vrell cringed. She had never in her life been treated so, not even as a stray. Her body quivered, her knees buckled, and although Khai tried to hold her up, his grip was not firm enough. She dropped to her knees.

He crouched beside her and gripped her shoulder tighter.

She scrunched her eyes shut. “Wh-What do you wa-wa-want?”

He reapplied his blade to her neck. “Your secret.”

A shiver gripped every pore. She was cold despite the steamy heat. Vrell kept her voice low, doing all she could to keep him from guessing her gender. “I c-cannot tell you. I would d-die.” In a sense that was true. Her spirit would die if she was forced to marry such an arrogant buffoon.

Khai pushed the blade against her skin. It pinched, but she did not think it had cut her. He released her shoulder and fumbled with a pouch on his belt. He drew out a small vial. “I made this over the past few days in hopes I’d get a chance to use it.”

Vrell’s eyes widened as Khai took the cork stopper in his teeth and worked it free. He spat it to the ground. The moist air tingled her eyes, and she blinked.

“Don’t look at me like that, boy. It’s not the witchcraft Jax spoke of. I haven’t the time or materials for such ceremony. This”—he tapped the mouth of the vial to the tip of Vrell’s nose—“is simple nature. A special blend to weaken that fortress around your mind.” He straightened and kicked Vrell’s arm. “Get up!”

Vrell slowly rose to her feet.

“Back,” Khai said. “Into the spikes!”

Vrell obeyed, unsure what else to do. She backed up until she was wedged against the trunk of the dripstone tree and the slimy formations were rubbing against her wrists.

Khai pressed the blade to her throat and held the vial to her lips. “Drink.”

Vrell shook her head, lips pursed. Without knowing the ingredients of this tonic, she would not ingest it. Master Masen and Mitt had both told horror tales of those who swallowed something wicked and suffered until death.

Khai pressed the dagger firmly against her throat. “Drink, I say!”

Something fluttered overhead. A bat! There were bats on the ceiling!

Vrell hated this place. She hated Khai. She hated having to play Vrell Sparrow to avoid a horrible marriage. Her arms and legs were free. She could fight, but she was uncertain about the blade. Dull as it may be, she did not doubt it would do damage with a powerful thrust. Khai might not be able to maintain control if he lost his temper.

He lowered the blade to where Vrell’s neck met the top of her shoulder and drew the steel along the side of her throat.

At first she thought he had done nothing. Then a terrible sting throbbed where the knife had passed.

Khai leaned in, baring every flaw of his porous, sweaty skin. He remained there, pressing in on her mind, breathing his hot, stale breath in her face. He wiped the flat of the blade over her wound and leaned back, holding the weapon where she could see the dark blood smeared across the flat.

Tears welled in her eyes. Where was Jax? Had the reekat—

“That, boy, is your blood,” Khai said. “I’m quite prepared to spill more of it, next time where it counts.” He shoved the vial to her mouth. “Drink!”

She opened her lips and drank. It was gooey like honey but horribly bitter. Her stomach heaved as she held the repugnant liquid in her mouth, determined not to swallow. Khai’s eyes glittered as the vial drained, and the pressure of his dagger’s point lessened on her skin.

Vrell kneed Khai in the place that hurt a man most. He groaned and doubled over enough for her to slide between the dripstones away from his weapon. She ran to the river, stumbled over the broken chunk of stalagmite, and spat the mixture from her mouth. She slurped a handful of hot, putrid water and gargled the bitterness away.

Khai grabbed her hair and pulled, lifting her out of the water. She took hold of the broken stalagmite and turned and bashed it against Khai’s head. The stalagmite crumbled into smaller chunks. Khai’s eyes bulged and he collapsed at her feet.

Served him right.

Vrell removed her soggy satchel and dug out her small knife. She cut two long strips off the hem of Khai’s cloak. She propped him against a fat stalagmite and tied his wrists behind it. She also bound his feet, just to be sure.

Then she walked into the cave and kicked away the droppings and beetles to form a clear spot under the torch. She sank against the stone cavern wall and wrapped her arms around her knees, as sobs gently rocked her.

9

Achan clambered over the rail of the short sword pen and stumbled through a group of peasants, who laughed at him. He pawed at his helmet, but it seemed welded to his skull. Sir Gavin tugged it off. The cool air tingled Achan’s sweaty face.

“Are you all right?” Sir Gavin asked.

Achan took a deep breath. His arms trembled from the fight with Shung. His hip and leg still throbbed, but the adrenaline coursing through him dulled the pain. “Aye.”

“You should have yielded when you lost your sword. You risk getting killed dodging around like that. If he had hit you with his full power…”

Achan turned to see Shung stalking away through the crowd. “You think he went easy on me?”

“No. He fought hard until you lost your sword. Once you weren’t a threat, he eased up. There are few who would kill another in tournament.”

“But you said never underestimate an opponent. I could have gotten my sword back—”

“Don’t be naive. In a real battle he’d have killed you the instant you dropped it. The only point of wielding a sword is to kill. Never forget that. Are you certain you’re well? Your leg?”

Achan swallowed further debate and looked down at the dark wetness plastering his leggings to his shin. “It will be fine. A bruise or two will rise to the surface by tomorrow. But aren’t you pleased? At least I wasn’t humiliated.”

“If I thought you’d be humiliated, I’d not have entered you.”

Sir Gavin’s backward way of teaching irked Achan. “I
should
have been humiliated with all the training I’ve had with a shield.” Achan cast his eyes to the ground, shamed at his own attitude. This knight had no reason in all Er’Rets to train a stray. Achan needed to remember that.

But Sir Gavin only sniffed and bobbed his head. He tied the shield’s strap in a knot and helped Achan loop it over his head and one shoulder so it hung off his back.

“It was hard,” Achan said, trying to soften his complaint with discussion. “I couldn’t guess when he was feinting or striking.”

“Aye. That takes practice. You’ve had little.”

The herald called out two new names and Sir Gavin led Achan away from the short sword and shield pen.

Achan stumbled alongside Sir Gavin. Only two fights and already his body craved his bed. Yet his mind couldn’t sleep. All his life he’d watched tournaments from afar; now he was a participant. The fact put a bounce in his weary steps. “Why did Shung scream so?”

“Gives him more power and unnerves his opponents.”

“And he stopped screaming toward the end.” So Shung
had
gone easy. Achan scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me about the screaming?”

Sir Gavin shrugged. “I’ve never been the best teacher.”

Achan inhaled to argue, but could think of nothing to say that would make any difference. “What next?”

Sir Gavin stopped. “Why don’t you wander a bit? There’s someone I must speak with. I’ll meet you back here shortly and introduce you.” With that, he turned and strode into the crowd.

Achan looked around himself. He stood near the hand-to-hand combat pen, where two squires were rolling in the dirt. Peasants were chanting, “Ne-sos, Ne-sos.” Two large, red tents obscured his view of the longsword and axe pens.

In the distance, a cloud of dust rose before the red and white striped awning of the grandstands overlooking the jousting field. Achan drifted that direction, hoping he could see at least one match. But before he’d gone very far, his stinging hip reminded him of his wounds, so he stepped between two tents to inspect them.

He lifted his layers of shirts and drew the waistband of his leggings away with his thumb. The tip of Shung’s sword had pierced the chain and grazed off his hipbone, a gash as wide as two fingers. The bone itself was tender, but the cut didn’t look too bad. He checked his leg wound and found a shallow scrape. He’d cut himself worse peeling potatoes.

Squeals of laughter rose from nearby. Achan wove between the colorful tents in search of the source. He emerged in a clearing shaded by several poplar trees about twenty feet from the open tent where squires were helping their masters dress in armor for the joust.

A group of squires and maidens about his age ran about laughing and shrieking, playing hoodman’s blind.

Achan shouldn’t linger. Despite his armor and jerkin, he was a stray, and he doubted very much—judging by the lavish attire—that these people were. But their game migrated closer, and soon Achan stood in the midst of it. He quickly spotted the hoodman: a maiden with long curls so golden they were almost white, and tiny braids in a crown around her head. She wore a blue embroidered dress with layers of skirt. A grey blindfold covered her eyes.

The sunburned squire from Carmine who’d been defeated in the short sword pen bumped into Achan and laughed. The maiden came closer, the hem of her dress swishing in the grass, her arms outstretched, feeling the air. An olive-skinned maiden with dozens of oily black braids tipped with wooden beads, snuck up, whispered in the hoodman’s ear, then darted behind a poplar.