To Darkness Fled (71 page)

Sir Caleb paused to take a sip from his goblet. "Having lived longer than you, I'll tell you what I've learned. Though these causes are worthwhile and good, none will bring true, lasting satisfaction." Sir Caleb glanced at Sir Gavin.

The Great Whitewolf turned his mismatched eyes to Achan. "Only one cause has spurred my life, and it's the only one that follows a man into the Veil. I know Caleb serves the same cause."

Achan turned back to Sir Caleb. "Live for Arman, Your Highness. Serve him. He created you for a purpose. He's proud of who you are. He deserves your respect, your sacrifice, your service. Only he can bring you satisfaction and meaning in this life. No woman can do that--even if your every hope were granted. Live for Arman alone, and he'll give you the desires of your heart."

Achan tried to comprehend the idea of loving Arman more than anyone. Sparrow seemed to think he didn't follow Arman at all. "But he seems so far away. Like that temple." Achan pointed to the ceiling, toward the temple above the stronghold he still hadn't found time to visit.

"Aye, the stairs are high, and slippery," Sir Gavin said, "for I almost broke my neck climbing them this morning. But before I knew it, I'd reached the top. And what a view. Arman is always worth the climb, lad."

"But I never know when he'll answer me. I feel like I'm bothering him, like he's too busy."

"He hears every word you say, every thought you think. And he always answers, though sometimes his answer is 'no' or 'wait.' Live for him, Achan. Give him your trust."

"I will." Achan stood. "But first I'm going to speak with Sparrow and apologize for my recklessness. I hope she'll agree to remain friends."

Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb rose and bowed. Protocol for treating Achan like royalty in public. He still wasn't used to it.

Sir Gavin kept his head down, his curtain of white hair flanking his beard. "I fear Vrell has already gone, lad."

A savage rage swept over Achan. "What do you mean?"

"She left this morning. Sir Eagan agreed to escort her wherever she wanted to go."

Sir Eagan had betrayed him? "Why didn't you tell me?"

"She asked me not to."

"How is Sparrow going off with Sir Eagan alone following protocol?"

"Sir Eagan is trustworthy," Sir Caleb added.

Achan scowled at Sir Caleb. "And I'm not? Tell me where they went."

Sir Gavin frowned. "I cannot, for they didn't tell me."

"You lie."

"I never lie."

"You lied to me about Sparrow. Tell me what you know about her. You've always known more than anyone else."

"Achan. Calm yourself," Sir Caleb said. "You're acting irrationally. Moments ago you said you were going to revoke your proposal. All has worked out."

Achan gritted his teeth and reached out for Sparrow.
Sparrow, what is this? You just leave?

He waited, wringing his hands. When she didn't answer, he tried to look into her mind. He felt her shields, strong and impenetrable as always. How did she do that?
Sparrow!

Achan called to Sir Eagan next and received no answer. He lunged for Sir Gavin, slid his hands around Sir Gavin's neck, cradling the man's hairy cheeks with his thumbs. He stared into Sir Gavin's eyes. "You will tell me what I want to know." He tore into Sir Gavin's mind, seeking a conversation with Sir Eagan and Sparrow, but the knight seemed to know how to defend against such an attack, for Achan could find no shred of Sparrow in his thoughts. "Tell me!" He yelled so loud his throat seemed to rip.

"Achan." Sir Gavin gasped a breath of air. "This isn't what Arman would have for you."

"Your Highness!" Sir Caleb grabbed Achan's arm and pulled. "Please. He's an old man. This could kill him."

Do it
, a boiling voice said.
This man has betrayed you and deserves to die.

Achan withdrew instantly. Sir Gavin staggered back and fell onto the bench. His eyelids fluttered, his face pale and sweaty. Achan jerked free from Sir Caleb's grip and backed away, repulsed with his own temper, horrified to have again heard
Hadad's
voice, unable to use Darkness as an excuse this time.

"I'm sorry." He limped out of the great hall as fast as he could, clutching a hand to his arm to ease the ache.
Sparrow, please don't do this. Just talk to me. Tell me where you are.

He climbed the tower stairs slowly, Shung, wisely silent, at his heels. Achan's temper rose the higher the stairs took him. Why did Sparrow not answer? Was she punishing him?

He limped to her chamber and fell on his knees beside her pallet, panting from fatigue. He placed his hand on the dent in her pillow. A jar sat in the middle of her bed, a red twine bow tied around the edge of the lid. A small scrap of parchment held three words in flowery script.

For your fleas.

Sparrow could write? Better than him? He lifted the lid on the jar and sniffed. It smelled of pine. He sat back on his heels, set his forehead on the edge of her bed. Sparrow gone? Forever? It couldn't be.

Picturing her face, he reached for her again, trying to push past her walls. Unfortunately, the fortress of Sparrow's mind was made of steel.

"Aargh!" Achan pulled himself up and limped back to the tower stairs, Shung shadowing him as usual. Moisture from the waterfall misted him as he stepped onto the lookout tower. He scanned the bailey and what little of the rolling road he could see before it twisted out of sight. No sign of Sparrow and Sir Eagan.

Achan turned and found the narrow stone steps off the right of the tower, just where Lord Yarden had said they'd be. He followed them up.

"Little Cham? Where are you going?"

"I must speak with Arman."

The stairs, cut from the mountain itself, tunneled through the moss-covered rock. Achan soon lost all light. Not having thought to bring a torch, he stumbled in the dark, his side, shoulder, back, face, and leg aching now. After a tediously steep hike, he exited into a green forest on the banks of the Betsar before the second major waterfall. Trees hung heavy with leaves and moss.

The white stone walls of Arman's temple appeared though the tangled greenery at the top of the first waterfall. The Evenwall misted most of it from view, but Achan could see the three circles etched onto the pediment of the temple roof. Despite his fatigue, he slogged up the mossy stone staircase that zigzagged up the rock wall. By the time he stood on the porch to the temple, his shirt was damp with sweat.

He stepped inside a square room built of stone with a cobblestone floor. A long polished altar covered in golden cups and flowers stretched across the far end of the room. No pillars. No gilded statue. Its beauty came from four long and narrow windows of colored glass, one on each wall. A fifth window with the design of three interlocking circles arched above the long window directly behind the altar. The sun shone brilliantly through the colored glass.

Achan had no patience to appreciate beauty at the moment. "I've done what you asked of me!"

A man at the altar jumped to his feet. One of Lord Yarden's advisors. Achan hadn't seen him, or he wouldn't have spoken aloud. The man bowed, then strode toward Achan.

"Forgive me, Your Highness. I'll come another time."

The man bowed again and breezed past. Achan felt a pang of guilt. These people treated him as if he were someone special. "But I'm not special!" he yelled after the man, who bounded past Shung on the porch.

Achan turned back to the altar. Why no statue? He wanted to look on Arman's face.

"I trusted you," he yelled to the tall window. "I listened to Sir Gavin. I listened to Sir Caleb. I've done what everyone said. I'm trying to do what you want for Er'Rets. I serve despite my own desires. So why do you betray me?"

The room remained still. Achan shivered. No heat meant no voice of Arman was coming to give him answers. Why did Arman say so little?

"I'll wait all day if I must! No wars will be fought until I hear from you. Nor will I marry any twelve-year-old girls."

Still nothing.

"You use me, make me act the puppet. Well, I need your advice, o great puppet master. What shall I do about my Sparrow? She has flown and I'm..." Achan knelt at the altar, placing his forehead against the smooth wood.

"What would you have me do? Why is it everyone else may do as they please, yet I am bound so?" A thought of Lady Tara entered his mind. He wasn't the only one who couldn't do what he wanted. It only frustrated him more. "I
am
trying. I thought you wanted me to be king. Then why don't you do something about Sparrow? How am I supposed to fix this?"

A bird's song caused him to raise his head. A tiny bird fluttered near the roof, then settled on a rafter of the hammer beam roof. Achan sat back on his heels and stared at the little black, grey, and white bird. A sparrow.

"Why do you toy with me? I'm not poetic enough to translate such symbolism. I demand to speak with you." He jumped to his feet. "I demand to see your face!"

The floor trembled under Achan's feet. Heat swept through the room as though a fire burned on the air. The gold cups on the altar rattled on the wood surface, trembling until each fell off the edge and clattered to the floor. The window with the three gold circles exploded inward.

Achan cowered on the floor, throwing his arms over his head. Heat coiled in his heart and spread through him until it reached the tips of his fingers. Wedges of glass crashed against the stone floor around him, breaking into even smaller shards. The sting of their sharp edges bit into the back of Achan's neck and arms.

His skin grew clammy from the heat. He sucked hot air into his lungs, fearing each breath might burn him alive. The floor stopped trembling, the room stilled, unnaturally quiet, but the heat remained.

"Arise, Gidon Hadar, son of Axel." A deep voice reverberated in the temple.

Achan peeked out from his arms and over the altar.

A warrior dressed in antique armor stood before the broken window, his presence so bright Achan could hardly look. Achan rose on shaky knees, keeping his eyes focused on the altar. The heat and light from the warrior's presence still smote Achan's eyes until they watered.

Achan forced himself to look the warrior in the eye. Brown eyes. This young man couldn't be Arman. The brightness and heat stung and he looked away. "Where is Arman? Why won't he answer?"

"Because no one comes to the father except through me."

A familiar phrase, one Achan had heard before. "You quote from the Book of Life."

The warrior raised his eyebrows. "I am the author."

Really? "You are Arman?"

"I am his son, Caan."

His son. Figures. Caan had his father's burning heat in common. Achan squeezed his hands into fists and dared eye contact once more. Caan's face was scarred, but his eyes were peaceful, despite the heat. "Why won't Arman answer me?"

Caan's gaze seared Achan's eyes. "It is also written: 'Do not put Arman to the test."

Achan squeezed his eyes shut, his eyelids cool against the burning. "But he's answered me before."

"Your thoughts are not His thoughts, nor are your ways His ways."

Why so confusing? "But if Arman has chosen me above all others--"

"Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, son of Axel. You have been invited, but you have not accepted the invitation. For many are invited, but few accept."

Had not accepted? Achan glared at Caan, then dropped his gaze to the wooden surface of the altar. "But I have. I've been trying to do my duty as Crown Prince."

"
If you acknowledge Arman in everything, he will make your path clear and straight."

Frustration oozed from Achan's pores. He felt foolish for not understanding Caan's words. "What more do you want? This is a difficult role. Why must I do it alone? I lose everyone I care for. Why does Arman allow this?"

"Arman forces no man against his will, nor should you."

"But...Gren was taken against her will."

"Gren obeyed her father."

"But she didn't want to marry Riga."

"Yet she chose to, in order to obey her father."

Obey her...what? "And you would say the same for Tara?"