Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three (29 page)

"Goddess above," he whispered. "Not this. Anything but this."

Someone grabbed him by the arm, yanked him to his feet, and shoved him forward until another body stopped his momentum. Sounds erupted once more: men, horses, Everyn shouting orders. Dain's power coursed around him and Bolin sucked it in like a thirsting man gulping water. He shook his head to clear it and the ground tipped perilously beneath him.

"Bolin?"

He blinked the sky into focus. A moment of disorientation knotted his stomach when he realized he was once more on his back, yet could find no memory of getting there. Then Dain wavered into view, Captain Everyn behind him, looking every bit as concerned as the Emperor, his attention split between the sky above and Bolin, lying on the ground.

"Help me up," Bolin said, his voice rough.

Dain put a hand on his shoulder to keep him prone. "Give it a moment. Last time we had you on your feet, you didn't stay that way very long."

"I think they're gone," Everyn said, and turned his head to spit. He looked down at Bolin. "You still in one piece, General?"

"Aye." Though, from the throbbing in his skull, and the fact his voice sounded like gravel under a wagon wheel, Bolin didn't know if he believed that any more than the two men giving him skeptical looks. "Either help me up, or get out of my way."

Everyn gave a tight grin. "He's fine." He helped Dain pull Bolin upright. "I'll get some order restored and send Sully over. You might need stitches."

He strode off, head in constant motion as he scanned the sky. Bolin put a hand up, gingerly feeling the sticky lump on the side of his skull as he took stock of the scene. Even though at least two horses were dead, and several men were seated on the ground being tended, a sense of order prevailed.

Bolin hesitantly allowed his focus to slip inward, fear at what he would find, or, perhaps, hot find, making it more difficult than it had ever been. He reached for Ciara's pendant first, and it warmed against his breast. Taking courage from that, he dove deeper, toward the place where the power of the Greensward nestled.

An audible gust of relief escaped him and he sagged back. Dain caught him once again and, this time, Bolin allowed the Emperor to guide him to a nearby rock and lower him to sit. Bolin cradled his head in his hands, the tremor in his arms working through his entire body. Dain walked away, a murmur of voices followed, then Everyn's voice cut through the rest, calling for Sully.

For any of Sciathian blood, the presence of magic in the world was a constant. Bolin needed it as thoroughly and desperately as he needed air, and thought about it as frequently as he did breathing, which was never, until he couldn't any longer. To have it removed from him completely, even for the space of a few heartbeats, had been the most horrific thing he'd ever experienced. It eclipsed even the memories of Nialyne dying in his arms.

"Something more than wraiths and a blow to the head has a grip on you," Dain said softly. He lowered himself to squat in front of Bolin and passed him a water skin.

Bolin drank deeply, even more so when he discovered Dain had brought him spiced wine and not water. The tremors stopped, but he felt as though he'd been beaten and dragged behind a horse for leagues on end. He stared into the distance, his eyes settling on the unmoving body of a horse.

Dain laid a hand on his arm to draw his look. His eyes widened, shading to deep blue. "Goddess's blood, Bolin. I don't know what's worse. Feeling the terror radiating from you, or seeing it swirling in your eyes."

"You should be on this side of it," Bolin said, his voice steadier than he would have thought it could be.

"I'd rather not. What is it?"

Bolin looked past Dain to where the men had regrouped. Things could have gone much worse. Everyn glanced his way, and Bolin gave a short nod.

"Not here," he said to Dain, taking another long pull from the skin before standing. "We need--"

Something buzzed past his head. A soldier gave a startled cry as a black feathered arrow hit him high in the shoulder, but didn't penetrate his mail. Bolin shoved Dain toward the men. As more arrows followed, he drew his sword to face the new threat. Captain Everyn's voice rose up once again, Sully's joining it as the lieutenant called orders to a handful of men, pulling them in to surround the Emperor.

A barrage of war cries heralded the band of marauders as they rushed onto the road in a disorganized rabble. They had little hope of success against the training and discipline of the Imperial Guard, provided they could shake off the panic instilled by the wraiths.

As Bolin headed toward the fray, a drawn out screech cut through the air, drawing his gaze skyward to the fluttering shapes of more wraiths.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

"Watch the flank!"

Berk whirled at Captain Everyn's warning. He glanced back toward the Emperor, saw him well protected, and sprinted off to help bolster the flagging line. A group of marauders managed to separate a handful of the Guard, who were now being harangued by wraiths as well. One of the soldiers tripped over a fallen horse and went down. He rolled enough to avoid the first downward chop of an axe from a pursuing marauder, but that put him up against the front quarter of the horse with no place to go.

Berk lowered his shoulder and charged. He caught the marauder in the back and sent him crashing headlong into one of his companions. The man righted himself and whipped around, a snarl disfiguring his face. Berk raised his sword, wide and off-point, allowing the marauder to slap it out of the way. The man blundered forward, grinning in a wide display of jagged teeth. Berk shifted his weight back and to the left, then slid forward, his dagger flashing up. His arm jarred as the blade hit boiled leather, punched through the first layer, then caught on something harder beneath. The move put Berk inside the circle of the man's arms and before he could take advantage of that, Berk reversed his grip on his sword and slammed the pommel up under the marauder's jaw. Bone cracked, and the marauder's head snapped back taking the rest of his body with it. Berk brought his sword around, centered over the man's chest, and threw his weight behind the downward stab. This time the blade penetrated. The man's eyes bulged as he blew out a surprised grunt through his shattered jaw. Berk yanked the weapon pulled free as another marauder started toward him. The man fell to another soldier's blow before he could bring his axe around.

A shadow flickered at the edge of Berk's vision and he threw himself to the side under the fluttering of a wraith. It screeched as it dropped into the melee. Berk thrust into it, and his sword passed through like water. An icy chill ran back up the blade, all the way to Berk's shoulder. With it came overwhelming terror. A thousand fears crowded Berk's mind in the space of a single breath, and he staggered back, heart slamming in his chest, muscles suddenly weak and trembling.

The wraith crouched, a plaintive, enticing whine rising from it as it shuffled toward Berk. It crept over the marauder on the ground, then looked down with a hiss when the man whimpered. The wraith mantled over him like some malformed hunting bird, and the man's whimper became a nerve-rending scream. A nearby soldier skittered away from the scene, and the wraith's head swung to follow his retreat. The Guardsman raised a hand in front of his face as though to ward the creature off, scuttled after him.

The horror drained from Berk as soon as the wraith's attention turned elsewhere. He darted forward, unsure what he intended. His sword had already proven ineffectual against the thing, so he threw himself bodily at it, hoping to distract it from its new quarry. Hitting a solid shape beneath the flapping rags caught Berk by surprise, but as he drove it to the ground, the chill crept through him again and, with it, the fear.

"Not again." Berk growled the words between clenched teeth, and thrust himself off the wraith as he forced the dread down.

The images the creature showed him were nothing new. Berk had been living with one version or another of them for weeks, until the Emperor had removed whatever spell the woman's touch had put on him. They had haunted his sleep, and pestered his waking mind, giving him plenty of practice at ignoring them or, at least, not letting them rule him. He pushed them aside and clambered to his feet, swinging his sword at the creature. He knew he couldn't kill it, but hoped to be enough of a pest that it would opt to leave.

It hissed, then grabbed for the retreating soldier. The man's feet tangled and he fell. Berk leapt in front of the wraith, continuing to swing his sword in whistling arcs. The wraith reared back, keening, then twisted, gave one final grating cry at Berk, twirled in the air, and pounced once again on the fallen marauder. The man's screams were cut short as the wraith lifted him skyward.

Berk rubbed a shaking hand across his jaw and darted a look around before reaching down to link arms with the soldier and help him to his feet.

The man gasped after air, looking as shaken as Berk felt. "Stiles."

"What about him?" Berk asked.

The soldier turned terrified eyes skyward, then gestured toward the trees. "He got forced off that way. I was going to help when--" He shuddered. "Goddess above, what are those things?"

"Wraiths. If you stay within the Emperor's wards they won't be able to get to you."

He nodded, visibly trying to get hold of his fear. "General Bolin went after Stiles."

"Get back to the others." Berk gave him a push toward the road where Captain Everyn and Sully had managed to keep most of the men in formation.

He nodded again, swallowed hard and rolled his shoulders back. "What about you?"

"I'm going after Stiles and the general."

The man's gaze darted past Berk, and a look of relief crossed his face. "There's one of 'em."

Berk turned to see a man stagger from the trees, a hand pressed to his upper arm, blood oozing through his fingers. He took a few uncertain steps, eyes searching, then came huridly their way.

"General Bolin?" Berk asked.

Stiles blinked rapidly. "Took down two marauders, then ordered me out and headed into the woods after a handful of others."

Berk frowned over his shoulder. There were very few marauders still standing, and even fewer wraiths dotting the sky above them. "Tell Captain Everyn I've gone after the general."

"You can't go alone," Stiles said.

"And you can't go with me. You're in no condition to fight, either of you. Tell the captain to send some men."

Berk gave them no chance to argue, but sprinted off. The captain would send reinforcements as soon as he heard. In the meantime, Berk couldn't allow the general to fall into marauder hands. He knew all too keenly what that entailed.

The forest closed around him quickly, thick,and unnaturally quiet. Berk moved slowl
y
,
stopping frequently to listen. Shouts, and the occasional screech of steel against steel began to fade, leaving only the creaking of branches and occasional call of a bird to disturb the stillness. A twig snapped and Berk whirled, bringing his sword up, his pulse jumping. Something small and furry darted off through the underbrush and Berk scowled. He scanned the area again and thought he caught a glimpse of a figure through the trees. He started toward it, placing his feet carefully, nerves on edge, ears strained for the faintest sound over the brush of leaves and the groan of trees bending in the wind.

He found nothing when he got to where he thought he'd spotted the figure. That didn’t' necessarily mean no one was there. Marauders were highly skilled at leaving little sign of their passing, and there were better trackers than Berk in the Guard. He made a wide circle of the area, but his search came up empty. For all he knew, the general was already back with the others, having more sense than to wander woods infested with enemies.

Berk half-turned at a soft rustle, but a naked blade pressed against his throat from behind, stopped him from going any further. A vise-like grip closed around the wrist of his sword arm. The words hissed into his ear were low and urgent, "Not a sound."

He recognized the general's voice but, before he could question the man's actions, the crash of someone pushing through the growth reached him. The general's grip tightened, and the blade dug in enough to pull a hiss from Berk. Bolin eased them both back into the shadow of a huge tree, out of sight of the two Guardsmen passing by.

Berk tipped his head to relieve the knife's pressure. He could see the side of the general's face, close to his own, smeared with dirt and sweat, and lined with tension, his full attention on the passing soldiers. Berk shifted, and the general gave the barest shake of his head, angling the tip of the knife to prick Berk under the chin.

The soldiers disappeared from view, the sound of their passing fading. In one, quick move, the general withdrew the knife and shoved Berk forward, spinning him. His hand closed around the grip of Berk's sword and twisted it from his grasp as Berk stumbled away. When he regained his balance and turned, he found himself looking down a goodly length of polished steel.

He kept his hands away from his body, palms out. Blood caked the general's hair to the side of his head, and his eyes had a wild look around the edges, like a skittish horse.

"General, are you all right?"

Bolin blinked rapidly. His brow creased for a moment, but neither of the weapons wavered. Not all that long ago, Berk had been on the other side of this scenario. He hadn't cared for then, any more than now.

A voice drifted on the wind. Someone calling for them. Berk would have answered, had the tip of his sword against the center of his chest not persuaded him otherwise.

The general shook his head. "Don't."

"What's this about?" Berk asked, keeping his voice as low and calm as he could. He still had his dagger and two boot knives but he imagined he'd be dead as soon as he reached for any of them. He angled his head in the direction of the shouts. "Those are our men."

"I know." Bolin's mouth twitched. He wet his lips and looked toward the road. "I can't go back. It's gone. Somehow. I thought…"

"Looks like you took a hit." Berk waggled a finger at the general's head. "I'm guessing you're not thinking too clearly."

The general lifted the hand holding the knife and backhanded blood from the side of his face. He glanced down at it in confusion, and Berk took advantage of his distraction to ease his arm up and slowly guide the sword aside.

"It's not that," Bolin said. He jerked his chin toward the road. "You should get back."

"What about you?"

The general nodded but made no move. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, as though he'd just run a league. Berk edged toward him and reached for his sword with slow, careful moves. The blow to Bolin's head must have really tangled his thinking. Berk had seen it happen before, more than once. The worst case he knew of was one of the stable boys. He had taken such a hard strike from a hoof, that four years after, he still lost track of where he was, or what he was supposed to be doing.

Before Berk's fingers brushed the sword, the general dropped it. His fist flashed up hard and fast, snapping Berk's head to the side and dropping him to his knees. A boot caught him in the ribs. Not hard enough to do any damage, just enough to flip him onto his back, where the same boot came to rest on his chest to keep him there.

"Don't make me kill you," Bolin said.

The general cocked his head and Berk listened past the pounding in his skull, but heard nothing. A look of sheer panic suddenly claimed Bolin's face. He backed away from Berk until a tree stopped him. Even then, his heels continued to dig into the ground, legs straining as though he could move the tree by force. He whispered something, and over the distance between them, Berk could see him shaking.

He rose slowly to his feet and took a cautious step forward. His sword lay on the ground and he glanced at it, then back at the general. Bolin's eyes were once more locked on him, burning with an intensity that sent a shiver down Berk's spine.

"Pick it up."

Berk shook his head, and had to fight off a wave of dizziness.

"Please. Pick it up and kill me, before I change my mind."

"What? No."

"And if I make it an order?"

"I'd say that blow to the head has done a fine job of scrambling your wits."

The general barked out a short laugh. "If only that were the case." He scrubbed a trembling hand across his face, but kept his other palm tight against the tree, as though he needed the support to stay upright. "Why did you come after me?"

"I thought you might need some help."

"Your loyalty is commendable. Unfortunately, there's nothing you can, except return to the others."

"You're not coming?"

"I can't. Not now."

"And what do I tell the Emperor?"

"You tell him I gave you a direct order," the general said, his voice sharp. "Being the good soldier you are, you obeyed it."

Berk frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't do that. I'm not going to leave you out here, not in your condition. Not with marauders around."

The general's fists clenched at his sides. His fingers flexed slowly open before tightening into a ball again. His expression went through a similar transformation; wrinkling in fury before calming, and then sliding back into anger.

He laughed. "It would have to be you, wouldn't it? I mean, if anyone was going to try and stop me, who better than you? Go back, Berk. I--"

He jerked off the tree and tensed, gaze fixed on the thick underbrush, too low to be looking for men. Berk started toward him, but the general signaled him not to move. The scrub off to his left shook, branches cracking, grumbling and snuffling emitting from the foliage. A moment later, a figure emerged, backing out of the clinging branches and wiping at leaves and twigs stuck to the tattered coat it wore, all the while mumbling in a deep, gravelly voice. It turned, eyes widening when they landed on Berk, narrowing when they swept past him and found the general. A tangled beard covered the lower half of the… man's… round, gnarled face. He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose.