Mist & Whispers (16 page)

She tried not to think about what had come of the baby that had been swaddled in the blanket, biting back the emotions that flared inside her. It was so wrong, what had happened here. So wrong, and so evil.

Kneeling there, alone with mixed feelings of sympathy and injustice, a fragrance crept up on Anya. It was warming and sweet, and as it became stronger, there was no mistaking its identity. Somewhere close by was something smelling, so very deliciously, of cinnamon.

Her stomach leapt and growled, like an excited lion cub on its first hunt. She began searching the ground to find where the scent was coming from, growing more frantic as her hands pawed around in the dark and the dirt. It was as if finding the source and tasting its sweetness had been her mission her whole life; all thoughts of the Darkness, of Lorcan, of the riddle, were erased without a trace.

A slicing sting caused her hand to snap back and she let out a low, angry howl before advancing on her attacker. For a split second, the broken and twisted black glass goblet that lay on the ground became her prey, but with one sniff of the substance the goblet held, Anya was mesmerised.

She lifted the glass carefully, keeping it steady to ensure not one single droplet would escape, and stared into it. The thick white syrup was the most incredible thing she’d seen and smelt in her life, and she couldn’t decide whether to satisfy her urge to gulp it down in one, or to sip at it slowly and allow the moment to last. Her hands kept the goblet rising towards her mouth, no longer under the control of her brain.

As the edge of the goblet connected with her lips, the whiteness of the liquid began to change, darkening down to a deathly black in veins that spread out and dispersed into the rest of the drink. The sight was frightening, but she couldn’t stop herself. The drink had her now, and there was no turning back.

A
SEARING PAIN
shot through her hand and shook Anya out of her trance. The black goblet fell to the ground, smashing on impact, but she no longer cared for it. A bolt protruded from the palm of her hand – the back being its point of entry. Across from her stood Wolfond, his crossbow still raised.

Shock set in and Anya was speechless. All she could do was hold her hand whilst trying to fight off the shakes, and stare at the ashen man who had delivered the piercing gift.

‘I’ll fetch Prince Harrion.’

‘
YOU ARE A
magnet for trouble,’ Harrion said as he snapped off the end of the bolt and pulled the shaft out through the other side of her hand.

She bit down a pained cry, stifling it before it could expose her weakness. The Prince held his hands around hers and glowed from wing to fingertips, and her hand came back together.

The relief helped her find her voice. ‘Thank you.’

‘What the hell were you doing, Anya? I know we haven’t eaten much since we got here, but really? Drinking old muck off the ground! What’s wrong with you?’

It was nice how consistently snippy Michael was.

‘I don’t know what happened. I was just looking around and all of a sudden – I don’t know, I just had to have it, like nothing else mattered as long as I drank that stuff, whatever it was.’

‘Dark Blood,’ Wolfond murmured.

‘Dark Blood? Oh come on, Wolfy, you don’t put stock in those old wives’ tales, do you?’ Basra said, still playing with his dagger.

‘I bet you that dagger he does,’ Bear wagered.

The two brothers continued to barter whilst Gavriel explained what exactly Dark Blood was. ‘It’s one of those stories meant to scare people into leading good lives. If you lead a bad life, your soul is sent to Damnare, where it rots for eternity. People say that the God of the Damned has this evil drink, made of blood taken from throats of hexed animals. It’ll damn your soul before it even leaves your body. It’s all nonsense of course.’

Flying horses, dragons and magic were all nonsense to Anya before she discovered Virtfirth. Believing in nonsense was a concept she had become accustomed to.

TEAM FAUSTY ARRIVED
shortly after Team Anya had finished talking through tips and tactics. Faust had chosen a detachment of thirteen men from The Crown Guard, a special chapter that was formed back in the days of Erac and Toldess, sworn to protect the King and his family. There were seventy-two men in The Crown Guard, and Anya would have bet her next ten bowls of mushroom broth with Basra and Bear that Faust had picked the best thirteen.

Faust rode on winged horseback with his soldiers close behind, some of whom were pulling a cage. They didn’t have to get any closer for Anya to know who was locked inside. Lorcan’s silhouette was unmistakable.

Faust’s final words to her at the meeting rang through her head.
Don’t think I don’t know how to destroy my enemy.
She knew nothing good could come of Lorcan’s arrival, but as the only person in the camp who truly believed in his innocence, there was not a lot she could do.

Unbiased to the question of Lorcan’s guilt, Steph tried her best to reassure Anya everything would be ok, whilst Gavriel and Faust organised the schedule. It was decided the two teams would pair off for sparring and rotate opponents for the first half of the training session. The first to floor their opponent would be deemed the winner of the pair.

Colliding with the ground was Anya’s best move on the training field, so she figured loosing would be a breeze.

The sparring was to be followed by three rounds of Capture the Flag; the best of three would claim the victory.

They got straight down to the sparring; Faust’s thirteen against Gavriel’s thirteen, with their respective leaders standing as arbitrators. Shortly after a sword was thrust into Anya’s hand by one of Faust’s men, the first call to begin sounded.

Just as she expected, she was flattened before she’d even had chance to think. Efrem, the smallest of Faust’s thirteen, waited for Anya to advance, and as she did he bobbed around her swing and stamped down hard on her calf.

She brushed the dirt from her face and got to her feet, feeling the warm trickle of blood running away from her bottom lip. She caught Faust’s eyes as Efrem was declared the winner. The sight of her blood seemed to amuse the otherwise humourless General.

The second sparring match ended much like the first, only this time she fell on her right side and dislocated her shoulder. At least her opponent was nice enough to pop it back in for her, she thought, after the gut wrenching pain that accompanied his hands-on remedy.

By the time the third soldier had her on the ground, Anya was feeling rough, and thoroughly pissed off. In a fit of swear words and general rage, she launched her sword across the village and announced she was better off without it. Faust was still all smiles, and her friends were looking on at her with sorry faces.

Linos was the fourth of the Crown Guard detachment to stand against Anya, and as he looked from his blade to her empty hands, his smug grin widened. The call to begin sounded again and Linos arced his sword, slicing through the air and honing in on Anya.

This was no sparring manoeuvre – his intention was to cause her greater harm than mere humiliation.

Instinct took over and she stepped toward his attack, throwing her left arm up to block it. Her vambrace did her proud. His sword was destroyed and the force of her blow took Linos right off his feet.

‘WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?’ she screamed at him ferociously, her team members running over to see what had happened.

‘What’s going on?’ Gavriel demanded of Linos, sword drawn and stepping between him and Anya. ‘I saw you from my post, you could have killed her!’

‘Now, now,’ Faust reasoned, descending on the scene. ‘It was a fair advance. She was the one who put herself in danger by dropping her weapon. You can’t do that in battle and not expect to be attacked.’

‘Well, lucky for Anya she dealt with it. I’d say she was winner of this round, wouldn’t you Faust?’ Gavriel had him cornered. Declaring Anya the winner would have brought even more pain to the General than Linos’s strike would have to Anya, had it connected, and Gavriel knew it.

Faust gritted his teeth and walked away.

It was good seeing the General’s smile disappear. He was beginning to look like a Picasso; abstract and unnatural.

AFTER WINNING THE
fourth round, Anya was filled with a confidence that, once found, could not be defeated. Her left-handed attacks caught the multitude of right-handed men off their guard and once she’d worked out how, bringing the General’s men down was easy with her new weapon.

With her last opponent laid out on the dirt, she made a mental note to thank Feiron again for the vambrace when she got back to camp.

The teams reconvened at the end of the sparring matches. Team Anya would have won even without her ten/thirteen score, as they finished eleven points ahead of Team Fausty. Faust was furious but still seemed confident that he and his men would have the final victory with Capture the Flag.

‘Right, I’m afraid this isn’t as simple as I’d first hoped,’ Gavriel said, addressing his team. ‘Faust and I will both be heading our teams in the match, but one of his men is going to be marshalling.’

‘What? How is that fair?’ Anya demanded, followed by a chorus from her friends and a few of the Stragglers. ‘They’ll be completely biased.’

Basra and Bear began changing their bets with each other, but fell silent when they caught Wolfond glaring at them.

‘Faust has given me his word that his man will remain neutral, so pretty much, he’s going to try and ruin us any chance he gets.’

‘We might as well give up now,’ Steph said, shrugging. Unable to use a bow during the sparring, wielding a sword had taken a lot out of her. She did manage to win one of her matches, but that was more down to the fault of her opponent, who’d tripped over a rock.

‘No, giving up is not an option. It might be masked as a friendly game but we all know Faust’s got it in for Anya,’ Gavriel continued.

‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ she winced.

‘We just have to make sure we stick to the tactics we discussed, and guard our flag until the death. Not literally in a friendly, of course. Even Faust isn’t
that
evil,’ he assured them.

‘So, what do these flags look like then? If we are to capture one, we need to know what they look like,’ Michael said. He sounded nervous, but then he had just been beaten, thirteen times in a row.

‘Well...’ Gavriel gave Anya an odd look that made her throat suddenly feel like sand paper. ‘Faust feels – and Theone agreed with him before we came today – that it would be good practice to play Anya as the flag for our team, and the prisoner as the flag on their side.’

‘What! Why?’ How could Theone possibly agree to that? Did he
want
them to lose?

‘It gives us practise guarding the Marked One, and you practise against a real threat.’

‘What if he spits fire at us? We’ll be burned alive!’ Michael bleated.

‘He won’t,’ Anya snapped. Gavriel raised an eyebrow at her. She hadn’t told anyone but the Four of Lorcan’s innocence. She knew she’d need proof before anyone else would believe her, especially as her own friends weren’t even convinced. ‘He wouldn’t risk it, not with all these men around,’ she added, trying to cover her slip.

‘I don’t know, he hasn’t much else to lose,’ Gavriel reasoned.

Cael started pacing around the team. ‘Come on you lot, we can do this! We’ve already beaten them at sparring and, if you ask me, the prisoner will be an advantage to us. He won’t want Faust to win, not after everything he’s done to him.’

‘Deserves it, murdering bastard,’ Agro, another of the Stragglers grunted.

Anya pursed her lips. Michael shot her a cautious look, shaking his head just enough for her to see without the others noticing. She knew she couldn’t say anything, but she so badly wanted to. She wanted to bang their heads together and make them all see the good there was to be found in the Dragon-Boy. She decided to move the conversation on, as she worried if anyone else said another word against him, she might spit fire herself. ‘Let’s just get this over with,’ she said, teeth gritted, tightening her vambrace.

ANYA, BEING THE
flag, was the goal for Team Fausty. Claiming her would give them the game, so Gavriel found one of the better structured buildings to hide her in. They barricaded the entrances and prepared a discreet exit plan, should their hideout be stormed. Harrion, Cael, and Wolfond were left there to guard her. They’d all won the majority of their sparring matches, so Anya was confident they could protect her.

Not wanting to alert the creatures in the forest with loud noises, Harrion had enchanted two rocks to crumble after ten minutes, and gave one each to Faust and Gavriel. The teams then marched down to their bases, took their positions, and once the rocks had turned to dust, the game began.

It took ages for anything to happen. Steph had been partnered with archers Macken and Strand, and had taken position amongst the trees with their bows. The arrows they were using had safety tips so that no one could do any real damage during the
friendly
training session.

Michael joined Gavriel and Agro on foot to the west of the village. Briar, Bear and Basra took Tim with them to cover the east side after Bear specifically requested him on their team. The fluffy haired geography student had managed to take down three of the Crown Guard earlier in sparring, which had surprised both sides of the training field.

‘Someone’s coming,’ Harrion said out of the blue, fifteen or so minutes into the game. He’d been silent up until that point.

‘Where?’ Anya tried peeking between the cracks in the barricades but couldn’t see a thing.

‘To the west. They’re nervous; I think they’ve already been under attack from the archers.’

‘How do you know th
–
’

‘Ssh!’ He waved his hand for her to get down, but she ignored him. She wanted to see what was happening. She put her face to the barricades again just in time to see someone charging towards her.