Wilde's Meadow (Darkness Falls #3) (37 page)

The eastern horizon? That means morning. “What time is it?”

“Midnight. Is your ability to use magic dwindling with your … you know … because of the baby?” Perth smirks and points at my stomach.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had to threaten you, Perth.” I try to maintain a scowl, but a smile forces its way onto my face. “I figured you’d already know.”

“Conserving energy?” Perth plops in front of the fire, keeping his proud smile, then spins the stick driven through the rabbit, cooking its undersides.

“Something like that, but listen: Griandor spoke to me. We have to get to town before the sun rises—”

“The sun never rises, Katriona.”

Taking a seat next to him, I focus on a cluster of fallen trees in the distance. I squint and imagine what this world will look like bathed in the golden rays of the sun. “It will today.”

Perth takes his catch out of the flames then sets it on a rock, allowing the meat to cool before we cut it into pieces. “I pray you are correct.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“You will travel down the cliff side, through this forest, then ride toward the square. Avoid being seen. Shroud yourself with magic if you must. Somehow, you will have to rescue the children. With your diversion of attention, I will kill my father.” His face blanches at that last sentiment.

Mine probably does, too. “That’s not a very detailed plan.”

“It is the only one I have. Arland paid more attention in battle preparation classes than I ever did. We
were
children!”

I place my hand over his and squeeze, erasing the panic on his face. “Are you going to be able to do this?”

“Without a doubt. However, I am sorry I will have to leave you to your own defenses. There is no way I can keep my promise to Arland while at the same time help you save him, the children, and—”

“I will survive this war. My prophecy told me as much.”

“How can you be so sure when you have never seen your prophecy?” Worry lines his forehead, and he cocks his head to the side, a slight frown toying with the corners of his lips. Perth’s more concerned about my well-being than he is with killing his father, at least on the outside. “But I believe you will live. If I did not, I would never send you in there.”

Laying my head on his lap, I sigh. There’s nothing more to say. Today marks the end of Darkness, the end of Leader Dufaigh, the end of so many things.

Perth hands me a piece of rabbit. The animal doesn’t have a lot of meat, but what’s here smells so good my mouth waters. I take a small bite, savoring the charred flavors of grilled food.

My chest warms, the comforting feeling trailing all the way to my stomach. The sensation is amazing, like I’ve never eaten before. I sit up then take a few more bites, ripping the tender meat right off the bone.

“Would you like some more?”

I glance at his half-eaten piece. “I must look like a pig.”

“A starving, pregnant woman, maybe. Pig, no.”

We laugh, and he hands me one of the other legs.

“Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you. You saved me, Katriona. You saved Encardia.”

I take the last bite and stare longingly at the empty roasting stick and bare bones. “Almost.”

He turns toward the horses. “How about we finish this?”

“Let’s!” I’m on my feet in no time at all, darting for the animals and ignoring the queasiness in the pit of my belly. Not a good time for morning sickness. I reach the horses, and before I mount mine, Perth rushes up and hugs me.

He holds me so tight, I can barely breathe. “I do love you, Kate. You are the greatest friend I have ever known.”

“I love you, too.” I pull away and wipe a tear from under my eye. “See you down there?”

Perth nods, face gray and pasty. “Stay safe, please.”

“You, too.”

I ride Mirain down the steep hill, through the thick Baccain Forest and toward The Meadows, glancing over my shoulder every few feet to make sure Perth hasn’t changed his mind. I can’t see him anymore, but I know he’s there waiting, deliberating, fighting his inner demons. Killing a person is not something to be taken lightly; killing a parent is downright traumatizing.

My belly is full, but a deep, unsettling ache still stretches across it. I hope I see Perth again. I hope I live through this fight to see him happy, respected, honored. That’s all he’s ever wanted. Honor is something so many people desire but do not deserve. When I first met Perth, I didn’t believe he deserved it, but now I know he deserves honor and respect more than most people.

My mother, High Leader Maher, Lann, Flanna, Brit, even Gary and Mr. Tanner … there are too many to think about, but they all deserve it, too. Most of them died before they could see Encardia for what this world is, or what I’m told this world is, and that’s horrible. So many lives were lost overcoming the war. So many people never even experienced life
before
the war. I hope Griandor and his brothers and sisters are caring for the fallen now. I hope his father shows them love, warmth, kindness, trust, light, friendship, and whatever else they may have missed in this existence.

Mirain enters a part of the forest free from low-lying branches and picks up her pace, trotting along the level ground covered in dirt and dry pine needles. The air freezes my cheeks and pulls tears from my eyes. I wipe away the salty fluids. Crying would be appropriate if I was anyone else, but what good will it do me now? I’m still alive. Arland has a chance. Mom is alive. Cadman and Rhoswen are out there fighting. And if I hurry, Anna and Marcus will be okay too. We have opportunities at life, and those opportunities rest in the hands of me and Perth. Arland and I together may be the key to light for Encardia, but Perth and I are the key for lives to be spared.

Even though his plan is terrible. At least I seem to be good at distractions. Explode in flames, request the magic to protect me and the children, kill a few shifters … that part will be easy, but what will I do if that’s not enough? What will I do if Perth fails in his part?

I duck to avoid running into a branch. We’ve entered into another thick grove of trees. Branches stick out near the bottoms of wide trunks. If Brit were here, she’d want to climb these trees and make up stories about warring nations we’re in control of, just like we did when we were kids. We’d spend our days as high as we could climb, hair blowing in the warm breeze, imaginations running wild. I miss her.

God
I miss her.

Mirain stops.

“What is it, girl?” I look up.

Vines clutter the path before us, creating a perfect hiding place for anything looking to kill.

She whinnies and backs away, jerking her head and jingling her gear.

Glancing around, I see nothing, hear nothing, but I know I cannot be alone. My horse wouldn’t stop for vines. She’s a gift from the gods. She’s fearless, powerful, and protected. I’d call out to see if anyone is here and needs help, but whatever spooked her is not human and can’t be friendly.

“Let’s go another way, girl.” I ride Mirain to the left about a hundred yards then turn right again, following a new path toward The Meadows. I don’t want to fight. Not yet. Not here. I need to save what little energy I have for Dufaigh, for Anna and Marcus, and for Arland.

I keep watch for daemons, for soldiers poisoned by Dufaigh, for anything looking to stop me. I close my eyes, searching for a pulsing core of shifters, open my eyes and search the thicket for hounds, but find nothing other than the tree line ahead of us.

We’re getting close.

I dig my heels into Mirain’s side, and she takes off, galloping hard. The wind blows in my face, lifting my hair and sucking the air from my lungs, but I push forward. This is it. This is what I’ve prepared for. This is the day Encardia will once again see the sun shine.

I lean forward, urging Mirain to ride faster, freedom singing in my veins. Freedom from fear. Freedom from living in Darkness.

A howl rings into the night.

We aren’t alone.

We’re being followed by the worst kind of daemons. Daemons who have taken my life once, but they won’t get us today.

“Run, Mirain. Run hard.” I refuse to release my fire now and drain my energy before the real fight.

The hounds call to one another, yipping and howling like dogs on a hunt.

Mirain breaks through the line of trees, and we enter an empty field. I look back to see how many hounds still follow us, but it’s not just mutts we have to worry about. There are hundreds of daemons. The tairbs chase us, their red, glowing eyes getting closer and closer with each long stride of their ox-like legs. Coscarthas run behind, turning their faces toward the sky and shrieking.

Not bats, please, not bats.

The air swooshes—

I kick my heels into Mirain harder. “Come on, girl. Faster. This is not our fight. We have to get to the square.”

Her brilliant white coat warms, and actual light reflects from her, blinding me to anything but my horse. She runs so fast toward town, her stride makes it feel as if we’re floating. Mirain jumps over an embankment, then lands on the uneven path like we’ve jumped onto a pillow.

I glance behind us; none of the creatures are near. The gods may not battle directly, but they certainly have a lot of influence in this war. Griandor knew I’d need an animal who could outpace these daemons, and he knew I love horses.

“There she is,” someone shouts.

“Do not kill her. Leader Dufaigh wants her alive,” someone else screams, equally conspicuous.

“Shoot the horse.” The last voice is familiar, young, smart.

Tristan
?

I can’t look back. I know the young, eager soldier from Watchers Hall, the kid who had something to prove and the ability to back himself up, is the one who made the call. He is supposed to be protecting Marcus and Anna. I hoped he was stronger than this, stronger—

No
. I cannot be angry with him. So many fell under the spell of Foghlad, and again under Dufaigh’s string of lies, so many older and wiser than sixteen-year-old Tristan. Looking back would be a mistake. Looking forward is what’s important right now.

Arrows zip through the air, sticking in the dirt on either side of us but not striking. A blue flame grazes my boot, close, but not close enough, and fire won’t hurt me. Not this kind, anyway.

Mirain’s hooves clop on stone as we near The Meadows, as we move closer to the square, closer to what used to be a happy civilization.

Closer to the end.

A crowd gathers in the town, facing away from me. They surround a platform built where the bench used to be, under the chestnut. There are two wooden posts centered on the platform, and kindling piled under it. Dufaigh plans to burn these children alive for supporting me? For doing what’s right? I cannot wait until
he
burns. I cannot wait to make this right.

I push in Mirain’s stirrups, slowing her fast progression toward the square. “Woah, girl,” I whisper.

“Make way for the condemned.” My mother, or the shifter pretending to be my mother, carries a torch in front of her while two children stumble behind.

The top of two heads is all I see, but I don’t need any other confirmation. If I don’t reach Anna and Marcus, they will die.

I check behind me for daemons but find none. Dufaigh must not want them to come into town. Spell—or whatever it is he’s doing to them—or no spell, siding with tairbs, coscarthas, hounds, and anything else would be bad for his power play, at least if anyone knew he is siding with them.

I slide from Mirain’s back, then lead her toward the boarded up weapons shop. “Stay here.”

Creeping toward the square, I’m too nervous to breathe, too nervous someone will spot me before I know what I’m doing, before I save the children. But the closer I get, the less I worry. Will anyone notice me once I’m in the crowd, or will they all be too focused on the disgusting carnage in front of them?

I join in with the onlookers as they push and inch to get nearer to the accused, moving in and out like a needle through fabric. Evil makes these people hunger for more evil, makes them forget who they are and what they’ve fought against for so long. Evil makes the world dark.

Mom climbs onto the platform, then turns and helps up Marcus and Anna.

Dufaigh is nowhere to be seen.

High Leader Maher climbs the wooden stairs, followed by Leader Murchadha and finally Leader Dufaigh. Narrowing his eyes, he scans the crowd, pausing every so often.

Thank God I’m short.

The greedy Ground Dweller purses his lips and rests his hands on his belly. “Kimball, I do not enjoy being in the open. Katriona is still out there. She could be here for all we know. Our lives are all in danger.”

The crowd stills and holds their attention on their Leaders.

Arland’s imposter father smiles. “We would have been alerted to her presence by the soldiers guarding our perimeter.”

Why didn’t the soldiers alert anyone to my arrival? They shot at me. They shot at my horse! Someone should have followed me into town and warned the Leaders. Maybe Saidear is out there? Maybe Cadman and Rhoswen are back? Someone else is helping.