Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Page 10

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Berk woke with a start, pillow drenched in sweat, heart racing. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, the last vestiges of a nightmare fading amidst the soft snores and myriad noises of the men in the barracks around him. The normalcy of the sounds helped calm his slamming pulse, but did little to convince him he'd find sleep again. Even if he did, he really had no desire to do so for fear of what waited.

  The cot groaned as he rolled and swung his legs over the edge. He pulled a heavy wool tunic over his head, grabbed his cloak and boots, and padded, barefoot, out of the barracks. The late autumn chill slipped down the back of his neck, cooling the sweat and sending a shiver racing along his spine. He leaned against the barrack's wall to tug his boots on, then headed across the yard, keeping to the shadows and out of sight of the night guard for no reason other than a desire for solitude.

  Once on the southern wall, the breeze hit him with more force, gusting through the crenels as he passed. He kept his hood back and lifted a hand in greeting as he approached the wall guard. He knew the man well enough to be recognized, but thankfully, not well enough to engage in a lengthy conversation.

  "Brisk night," Berk said, by way of greeting.

  Halvin nodded. "Aye, that it is." He fished under his cloak and drew out a flask. "Care for a dram t'warm you?"

  Berk sniffed the contents before drinking. Taste being subjective, the night guard, especially those who drew wall duty on cold nights, often got creative with their choice of beverages to ward off the chill.

  Halvin chuckled. "Just Mol's best spice brandy. I don't have Will's cast iron gut. I swear, that boy could put the fires of hell themselves in there and not feel any ill effects." He took a pull from the flask when Berk handed it back, before tucking it away again. "What brings you out? Didn't twist the lieutenant's ear and earn yourself a turn up here with us grunts, did ya?"

  "Not this time," Berk said. "Just out for a bit of air."

  "Ah. Well then, I'll leave you to it."

  Berk nodded his thanks, twitched the cowl of his cloak higher around his neck, and strode off in the opposite direction. High clouds scuttled in front of the stars, and the scent of rain hung heavy. Berk drew it in through his nose, filling his lungs and his senses as though it could scrub them clean. Leaning against one of the crenels, he watched his breath ghosting from him.

  "Here and now." He whispered Sully's favorite line, trying to feel it as deeply as he usually did.

  He couldn't change anything that had happened. Couldn't bring back the dead. Couldn't take back his actions. Apparently, he couldn't stop dwelling on any of it, either, but he needed to. Desperately. If he could, maybe the nightmares would leave him be, and he could get through the day without the feeling of dread that dogged his steps.

  So much had happened since the first attack on the road to the Greensward. They'd lost two of their tight-knit group and left Dafyd in Galys Auld to finish healing. The only good that had come of any of it had been meeting Ciara, and even that came tainted with the knowledge they would never be any more than friends.

  Berk swiped a hand across his scalp at the wayward thought. "Goddess's blood, enough already."

  "Berk."

  His breath caught and he froze. An icy finger of alarm traced down his spine, and he swallowed against the sudden drying of his mouth. He knew the voice, but didn't turn toward it because it couldn't be real. He squeezed his eyes shut, and gripped the edge of the wall until the stone bit into his fingertips, praying the nightmare still held him.

  "This isn't real."

  But when he peered sidelong at the figure standing only a few strides away, the abomination looked so much like Kort, Berk found it hard to convince himself it wasn't. It couldn't be, of course. Kort died on the way to the Greensward, his throat ripped out even as he gave the warning that saved the rest of them from being slaughtered in their sleep. Afterward, his body disappeared from Galys Auld's Grieving House, only to reappear as some sort of twisted creature on the wall at Broadhead.

  "You're dead," Berk said, unable to keep his voice steady.

  "You should know. You killed me."

  The specter walked forward and Berk shrank against the parapet. "That wasn't you at Broadhead, and it's not you now."

  "I saved your lives." It looked down to touch the two crossbow bolts protruding from its chest. Nothing more than horrid, gaping holes lay beneath the furrowed brow, yet when it lifted its face back to Berk he felt them boring into him. Accusing him. "Why did you do it, Berk? Why did you kill me?"

  Cold terror seeped over Berk, and a tremor grabbed hold of him.

  "Please," he whispered, holding up a shaking hand to fend the creature off. "Leave me alone."

  "We were brothers."

  The thing stretched out a decaying arm. The flesh hung from it in pale, ragged ribbons. It had done that on the wall at Broadhead, implored them to remember him, and Duff had reached for that hand, only to have his guts ripped out.

  "You're not real." A desperate sob caught in Berk's chest. He closed his eyes and repeated the words over and over, praying fervently to the Goddess to make it end. "You're not real. You're not real. You're not real."

  A dog barked in the distance. Closer by, a pennant snapped and fluttered in the wind. Berk's ragged breaths filled the gaps in between. He should let the thing do to him what it had done to Duff. Let it send him to the Halls where at least he might find some peace. But Berk could no more do that than fall on his own sword.

  He forced the terror aside and opened his eyes to face the walking nightmare, only to find himself, once again, alone. He twisted, looking one way and then the other, but the specter had vanished. A sharp cry of relief escaped him when the thing didn't reappear, and Berk sagged back against the wall, sliding to the ground when his knees gave out. He buried his face in his hands, trying to hold back the sobs wanting to tear out of him, and finally letting them come because he had no other choice.

  "It wasn't you," he whispered. "Goddess's blood, Kort, it wasn't you."

  Berk stayed that way until the cold of the stone began to seep into his bones. He shot occasional cautious glances up and down the length of the wall, terrified the apparition would reappear. When he spotted Halvin headed his way on his rounds, Berk shoved to his feet and walked off, moving stiffly until the numbness worked out of his legs and backside. He made for the barracks, and though he doubted he'd be able to sleep, at least he'd have the company of the other men to, hopefully, keep the ghosts away.

  ***

  Berk did finally fall sound asleep shortly before being woken by a page to tell him the commander wanted to see him first thing. He muttered an incoherent reply that turned into a curse when the page came by a second time. The barracks were nearly empty by the time Berk lurched to his feet, which meant 'first thing' by the commander's definition had already come and gone, and there'd be the hells to pay for showing up late. He scrambled into his uniform, still cinching his sword belt as he bolted across the yard. He didn't see Sully as he rounded the corner. Thankfully, the lieutenant saw him and managed to sidestep the collision, grabbing Berk by the arms to slow his momentum.

  "You look like something the hells chewed up and spit out," Sully said as he surveyed Berk at arm's length. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you'd spent too long at Mol's last night."

  "Didn't get much sleep," Berk said.

  "Seem to have gotten plenty this morning."

  Berk frowned and looked toward Commander Garek's office. "Is he still in?"

  Sully gave a short nod. "He sent me to get you after the page failed. Twice. He wasn't in the best of tempers to begin with. You can imagine how your tardiness has degraded that."

  "Guess I can look forward to cleaning harness for the foreseeable future."

  Sully didn't comment, and the way he pursed his lips at the quip told Berk, whatever the commander wanted, it wasn't something to make light of.

  Commander Garek sat behind a desk piled high with a
n assortment of dispatches, log books, and stray sheets of parchment. He'd carved out a bare spot in the center of the mess, large enough to rest his arms. He glanced up when Berk and Sully entered, the full weight of his scowl landing on Berk.

  "Nice of you to join us." He leaned back, his chair groaning in protest, and folded his arms across his massive chest. His mustache jerked downward as his gaze swept over Berk much the way Sully's had. "You look like you spent too much time in your cups last night."

  "Already told him that," Sully said.

  "I like to see my men a bit tidier when we're not on the road. Did you sleep in that uniform?"

  Berk glanced down and brushed a hand self-consciously over the front of his tabard. "No, sir."

  Garek grunted. His eyes trailed over Berk a second time and he tried not to fidget under the scrutiny. Then, with something that might have been a sigh, but coming from Garek sounded more like a growl, the commander leaned forward. The chair gave another loud complaint as he shifted his weight to rest his elbows on the desktop. "Captain Marshall is of the opinion you threatened him the other day."

  "What? No, sir," Berk said. "Jorny and Pehl can back me on that if my word's not enough."

  "It is, and they have. You know, normally, I'd tell the two of you to take it outside the walls and have done with it. But Marshall has Lord Vaedryn's ear and, thanks to your actions in front of the Council, you now have Vaedryn's eye. So, explain it to me, because I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around you trying to argue your way into an execution."

  "I couldn't just stand there and listen to them threaten Ciara," Berk said. "She hasn't done anything. She wasn't responsible for what happened on that wall."

  "Neither are you."

  "I took her up there against her will, and I tried to kill General Bolin."

  "And both he and the Emperor have exonerated you. Or is their decision not good enough for you, then?"

  "It's not that."

  "You want to lose your head?"

  Berk bit his tongue to keep it still.

  "Lieutenant." Garek tipped his head toward Sully, but didn't release Berk from his glare.

  "Sir?"

  "In your opinion, is this soldier drunk?"

  "No, sir."

  "Hmm." He scratched his chin through the tangle of his beard. "Look, lad, I understand why you felt you needed to defend her in there --"

  "I don't think you do."

  One of Garek's bushy brows made a run for his hairline. "Do tell."

  Berk looked away. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, his thoughts muzzy, and his head had started a steady throbbing as soon as he'd gotten out of bed. The… vision… he'd had on the wall seemed as sharp and clear now as it had the night before. He wished it had been a dream. They were easier to dismiss.

  There had been an old sergeant a few years after Berk joined Garek's company. Sergeant Drae. From what everyone said, he'd been one of the best infiltrators in the Guard. Being the best at something like that, meant you did a lot, and saw a lot, that could eventually wear down even the hardest man. It wore Drae down, only he kept at it. By the time Berk knew him, the man had cracked. He saw ghosts, he said, and wandered the barracks talking to them. The commander finally had to take Drae's weapons away because he nearly killed a man who tried to get him back to bed one night when he went wandering. Eventually, the sergeant threw himself off the gate tower, unable to take the torment any more.

  Berk didn't want to end up like that.

  "Before nightfall would be nice," Garek said, a rumble to his voice that spoke of frayed patience.

  Berk slid his glance Garek's way and shook his head. "I don't have an excuse, sir."

  The commander snorted. He tapped a finger against his chin, face scrunched in thought. After an uncomfortable silence he said, "I've a feeling Lord Vaedryn is going to be hunting heads shortly, and Marshall's not about to let him forget yours." He frowned down at his desktop, sliding a sealed letter back and forth. "I've a message that needs to get to the Emperor. Sooner, rather than later."

  Berk opened his mouth, an objection already forming on his lips, but a narrowed look from the commander silenced him.

  "The lieutenant's not too keen on my sending you. Seems to have a few concerns regarding your current state of mind. I'm not sure he's wrong. Now, I could just assign you to Trombachou or Guldarech for a time, but that wouldn't really put you out of the Council's reach, would it? And, as much as you'd like to volunteer to put your head on a pretty platter for them, or apparently anyone else who asks, I owe it to your father to see that doesn't happen." He jutted a finger Berk's way, and his voice grew angrier with each point. "You owe it to your father. By the Goddess, you owe it to me, Sully here, and every one of those men out there. It's a long list, lad. So, you're going to play messenger for me, whether you feel like it or not. And, as much as I'd rather not be without both of you, Sully's going along so I don't have to deal with him worrying like a mother hen while you're gone. You catch up to the Emperor, give him my message, and if he doesn't send you back with one, you go along to Galys Auld and bring Dafyd back home where he belongs. Objections?"

  "A few," Berk said.

  "Don't lean on me, lad." Garek lifted the folded, sealed parchment from his desk and held it out to Berk with two fingers. "Get your gear, and get on your way. This is for the Emperor's eyes only."

  Berk reluctantly took the message.

  "There's something else?"

  Sully caught his eye and gave a slight shake of his head, and Berk swallowed what would have, most likely, been an unwise comment. "No, sir."

  "Good. Then get out."

  When Berk didn't turn quick enough, Sully took him by the arm and spun him toward the door, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "Do me a favor," Garek said as they left the office. "Stay out of trouble. I want both of you back in one piece."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  By the time the sun began to crawl over the horizon behind a thin layer of clouds, Ciara was well and totally lost. If Ferris followed any trail, she certainly couldn't see it, and finally gave up even trying. She hunched her shoulders against the frigid wind that rattled through the trees in moaning gusts, thankful the rain had stayed away. Her horse shied, dancing sideways as a sudden whirlwind of leaves swept up in a frenzy around its legs, and Ferris turned back as Ciara settled her mount.

  "There used to be a wayfarer's hut up the ways a bit, if you're good for it," Ferris said, leaning forward in the saddle so Ciara could hear. "We can have a fire and something to eat before taking some rest."

  Ciara nodded and smothered a yawn behind her hand. She would have been more than happy to stop where they were. The warmth of her horse radiated only so far. A stark contrast to the chill claiming the rest of her. Even a tiny fire would help chase the dampness from her bones.

  Ferris frowned. "There's really no good shelter here. But if you need to stop--"

  "I'm fine." Her teeth chattered around the words and the Sciath's frown deepened. "Truly. I'm just cold and tired. I'll survive a bit longer, but not if we sit here debating the fact."

  The words sounded harsher than Ciara meant them to be, but Ferris gave a short nod and spun his horse around before she could form an apology.

  They arrived at the shelter sooner than Ciara anticipated, though 'hut' seemed far too grand a name for the sagging lean-to. A tattered hide blocked the open side. Laced together saplings, the gaps between them stuffed with moss and mud, made up the other three walls. It may not have been much, but at least it appeared dry and would offer relief from the wind.

  "Why don't you take our packs inside," Ferris said, having dismounted and come to stand beside Ciara's horse. "There should be enough wood stored to get a fire going. I'll see to the horses."

  Ciara nodded dumbly but made no move to comply. Her limbs had gone heavy, her eyes blurry, and her mind about as numb as her backside.

  "M'lady?"

  She gave her head a shake then nodded again
and swung her leg stiffly over her horse's rump. Ferris caught her by the waist and guided her down, and it took a moment before her legs felt sturdy enough to risk walking.

  Something scurried away as Ciara drew back the hide flap covering the doorway of the hut, but she was too exhausted to be startled. Shafts of filtered light slanted through the thatched roof and showed a bulky mattress against the far wall, a central fire pit ringed in blackened stones, a small chest and, as Ferris had predicted, a stack of dry wood in the corner. Ciara made for that first, gathered up an armful, and dumped it into the fire pit.

  She had no tinder or flint, so once she arranged the wood, she held out a hand and called the fire. It was one of the earliest skills Ciara had mastered under her aunt's tutelage and, in her mind, one of the most practical uses of earth magic, besides healing. The logs caught with an eager burst, the flames shooting up with such vehemence Ciara feared they'd light up the angled roof as well. They subsided just as quickly and Ciara settled next to the stone ring with her arms wrapped around drawn up knees, watching the fire until her eyes grew too heavy to hold open any longer.

  ***

  Ciara jerked awake with a startled cry. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The vague fragments of a dream brushed against her memory, just out of reach. She'd been somewhere dark and indistinct. Bolin had been there, and Donovan. Other figures moved in and out, but none clearly. Then Bolin had--

  Ciara's breath caught. The feeling of utter terror that had held her pinned in her dream as Bolin turned against her, against them all, threatened to overwhelm her again.

  "M'lady?"

  Ciara flinched away from Ferris's light touch on her arm. She didn't recall moving to the musty, grass-stuffed mattress. For that matter, she didn't remember anything after starting the fire.

  "You were sound asleep when I came in," Ferris said from where he hunkered down beside her. "I took the liberty of moving you where I thought you'd be more comfortable."

  "How long was I asleep?" Ciara asked. It felt like days. She sat up, rested an elbow on her upraised knee and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead in an attempt to ease the steady throb behind her eyes.