Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Page 12

  "I wouldn't let that happen," Sully said. "It's a fresh wound, Berk. You need to give it time to heal."

  "And until then?"

  "Stop picking at it."

  They lapsed into silence after that. Berk shifted onto his hip, pulled his cloak tight, and tried to get some sleep, but his mind kept wandering, and his eyes refused to stay closed. Judging by the snores emanating from Sully's direction, the lieutenant had no such difficulty. Berk scowled in his friend's direction and rolled over. By the time he finally started to doze off, the sleet stopped. It seemed like not long after that, Sully nudged him awake with a toe to the ribs.

  "Rain stopped," he said.

  Berk made a non-committal noise and tried to ignore him.

  "I'd rather sleep on a lumpy mattress in the barracks than the cold, wet ground. We can be in Broadhead well before dawn."

  When Berk still made no move to rise Sully's toe landed with more force.

  "On your feet, soldier. That's an order."

  Berk grumbled some more, then pushed himself off the ground with a groan to avoid another assault. "You start pulling rank, and this is going to turn into a long trip."

  Sully chuckled and shoved Berk toward the horses. "Rank's no good if you don't get to use it. Move out."

  The wind still buffeted the trees as they led their horses back to the road. Once in the open, it gusted around them with renewed force. They kept their horses to a steady trot so as not to risk injury on the slick road, so it took longer than Berk anticipated for the first lights of Broadhead to come into view. They lost sight of it around a bend, and then it reappeared, looming large. Berk filled his head with thoughts of dry blankets, a relatively soft mattress, and a warm meal.

  "It's just a city," he told himself. "And ghosts are just memories. Kort's not here. Duff either. They're in the Halls."

  Then they were being hailed by the gate guards, and Berk forced his attention on them to avoid looking up. Duff had met his end up there, unwilling to believe the monster they faced wasn't really Kort. He'd stepped in front of Berk, blocking his shot, extending his hand to the thing--

  "Sounds like we're a good three or four days behind the Emperor," Sully said, yanking Berk from the edge of panic.

  The gates swung open and they were waved through.

  "Let's find some bunks and get some sleep. I'll pay our respects to Captain Rothel in the morning. We can grab a hot meal, and be back on the road before mid-morn."

  "Aye," Berk said, trying to keep his thoughts from charging in the direction they seemed intent on going.

  "Then again, there's a fairly decent brothel a few blocks from the river gate. They have a soft spot for soldiers, generally charge less, and definitely know how to take the chill out of a man."

  "Aye. Whatever you say, Sul."

  "Did you even hear me?"

  "The barracks, find a bunk, something about the river." He glanced Sully's way, and his friend's mouth twisted into a grin. "What?"

  "I suggested Lady Lace's."

  "Lady… oh. You weren't serious?"

  Sully raised a brow. "I wasn't, but it might not be a bad idea. At least they'd keep your mind off where it seems to be taking you, maybe exhaust you to the point of sleeping. I'll even pay."

  "No thanks," Berk said. "I'm plenty tired. I'm going to have much trouble sleeping."

  Sully snorted, but let the argument drop. They saw to their own horses, not wanting to rouse the stable boys, then went to find someplace to bed down. There were a lot fewer empty bunks this time, but Berk found one near the door, stripped off his uniform as quietly as he could, and collapsed onto the lumpy mattress. Even warm, and with no roots digging into his spine, it took a bit for him to get comfortable. He couldn't keep the images of Kort and Duff from moving around behind his eyes, and he sent a fervent prayer to the Goddess for a night of peace, letting exhaustion pull him under.

  And it worked. Right up until she stepped out of the shadows and sauntered toward him. It took Berk a moment to place her, but then she moved closer and the light danced in eyes the color of saffron flowers. He flashed back to that day in Nisair when she came to him in the practice yard and put some kind of spell on him. She'd forced Berk to go to Ciara's father, and she was there on the wall, helping him.

  "Hello, handsome," she said. "I didn't expect to find you here."

  Berk swallowed, unable to do anything else. His body refused to obey any command, no matter how desperately given. Even his heart, which should have been pounding in fear, thumped contentedly in his chest.

  "You caused a bit of trouble the last time I saw you." She crouched down beside his bunk and reached up to turn Berk's head so he could see her. "I warned him, though. Didn't I? I knew there was more to you than meets the eye. He believes too strongly in the omnipotence of magic to understand there are other kinds of strength."

  She wet her lips and trailed a finger down the side of Berk's face to trace his jaw as she studied him.

  Berk forced his mouth to open, and pushed the words stuck in his throat past his clenched teeth. "What… do you… want?"

  Her eyes widened, and a surprised smile lifted her mouth. "You see? You shouldn't be able to do that, and yet you do, through sheer force of will and nothing more. I'll need to watch you closely."

  "Leave… me… alone."

  "Too late for that. Much too late. I'll need men like you at my side, and other places. Sleep now." She brushed the sweat-damp hair from his forehead, and leaned over to place a kiss there, then trailed her tongue down to his jaw, and back up, nipping at his earlobe. "You will need to be well rested when I call on you. And be assured, that day is fast approaching."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Cold rain and bitter winds dogged the escort's steps for several days after leaving Broadhead. The further south they traveled, the less harsh the winds, and the more the men's spirits began to rise. Even the tension lingering between Bolin and Dain since the incident on wall, began to ebb. For the most part, they rode side by side, just behind the front guard. Neither of them felt the need to broach the subject of what had happened at Broadhead. At least, not yet. Bolin suspected that time would come. For now, Dain seemed content with small talk.

  "So…" Dain dragged the word out to put the end to what had been a companionable silence. "Do I get to look forward to overseeing your pledging when we return to Nisair?"

  Bolin's head snapped in his direction, and the Emperor laughed, drawing curious looks from the men.

  "You look as though I just threatened you," Dain said. "You are intending to pledge with Ciara, aren't you? You went out of your way to ensure everyone at court was aware of her position before we left. You can't possibly tell me you're going to keep pretending you hold no affection for her?"

  "No, I--"

  Dain broke into more laughter at Bolin's sudden discomfiture, and his horse slanted an ear back at the outburst. "Did you ask her and she denied you?" Dain smirked. "Not that any would blame her if that was the case."

  "We didn't exactly have an opportunity to discuss it, did we?" Bolin glanced Dain's way. The Emperor's eyes glittered with ill-concealed humor. "What more?"

  "You do realize Ciara is in Nisair with my sister and my wife, correct?"

  Bolin furrowed his brow. "And?"

  Dain grinned, then quickly schooled his expression into something bordering on indifference. "Probably nothing at all to worry about. From what I've seen of Ciara, she's very strong-willed. I'm sure no one stands a chance of swaying her in any direction she'd rather not go."

  "What is it you're getting at?"

  "Midwinter would be nice." Dain canted his head and affected a faraway look. "A fresh blanket of glittering snow beneath the stars, Ciara in a beautiful moss green gown, you in your dress uniform. Or you could wait until spring. But, really, I think it will be out of your hands completely. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the scribes weren't already busy drawing up the invitations."

  The Emperor barked out
another laugh when Bolin responded to the ribbing by nudging Sandeen, causing the stallion to swing his haunches into Dain's horse and send it skittering sideways with an irritated snort.

  The frequency of those lighter moments decreased the closer they drew to the borders of the Greensward. More and more, Bolin found himself dropping back to ride alongside, or just behind, the carriage bearing Nialyne's body. He made no conscious decision to do so, and hardly realized when he had, until the power she had gifted him began to hum.

  Bolin rarely held onto magic for any longer than the space of a day or so. The witch's power he had held only to further study it, and doing so had nearly killed him.

  Nialyne's power… Unable to ignore its steady pulse, Bolin could only attempt to avoid it. Under any other circumstances he would have found its presence soothing, and would have reveled in the strength and beauty of it, instead of purposely staying as far from it as possible. It nestled in the core of his being, a sparkling gem with edges sharp enough to lay open all-too recent wounds.

  His sub-conscious did enough of that at night, Bolin didn't need to invite it during the day. Dreams plagued him with increasing regularity. By the fifth day out of Broadhead, they had Bolin dreading the thought of closing his eyes. Ambiguous, obscure things, they left his heart racing and sweat trickling down the back of his neck. They faded as soon as he woke, leaving him with nothing more than a growing sense of unease. He took to holding off sleep as long as possible, which did nothing to dissuade the dreams' persistence.

  One such evening, Bolin thought to distract himself by giving Sandeen a more thorough grooming than the stallion usually received while on the road. Several picket lines had been strung between the trees, all except one of which had a handful of horses securely tied. That one lay loose in the grass. The horses that should have been tied to it, wandered, unattended, at the edge of the camp. Bolin swore under his breath and went to collect Sandeen and a couple of the other mounts, calling to a nearby soldier to catch the others.

  "Who's responsible for this?" he asked.

  "I'm sorry, sir," the soldier said, scrambling to rectify the situation. "That'd be me. I must not have secured the line."

  "That much is obvious. This the first time you've tied a line, then?"

  The question came out on the verge of a snarl and the soldier hesitated.

  "No, sir. I'll make sure to do a better job of it next time."

  "Perhaps you'd do better practicing before the next time. Or, would you prefer we're cut down scrambling for horses that aren't where they should be, if some force gets past our sentries?"

  "No, sir."

  "Is there a problem?"

  Bolin swung around to face Captain Everyn as he came to join them. "I guess that depends on whether or not you view incompetence as a problem."

  Everyn frowned and glanced the soldier's way. The captain gave a slight jerk of his head to dismiss the man as he took the horses the soldier had been leading. "Isn't the first time a line's come loose."

  "That kind of attitude explains the laxity of your men."

  Everyn's jaw tightened and he pivoted around to face Bolin. "If you've a problem with how I handle the troops, General, feel free to take over."

  "I've a problem with sloppy discipline, Captain. Something I wouldn't expect in a group as seasoned as this."

  "They're men. Men make mistakes."

  "And mistakes are what will get them killed."

  Dain was suddenly there, pushing between the two of them. "Stand down, the both of you. Someone care to explain what this is all about?"

  Bolin's jaw worked as he continued to fume beneath the surface, even though the rational part of him saw no sense to the outburst. Everyn was right about lines coming loose. Besides which, Sandeen had a habit of lipping at the knots. He'd been responsible for untying more than one line in his day, and it was possible he'd untied this one. No harm had come of it.

  Dain raised a questioning brow at him. "General?"

  Everyn answered before Bolin could. "Nothing of consequence, Majesty. A misunderstanding is all." He tipped his head to them both and turned to finish securing the last horse to the newly tied line.

  Dain took Bolin by the arm and drew him off until they were out of earshot. "I believe the captain is being generous."

  "More than he should be," Bolin said, blowing out a breath and, with it, the last of his anger. "I'll make my apologies to Everyn and the men."

  "I don't believe it's any coincidence, the closer we draw to the Greensward, the more irritable you become," Dain said. "It's understandable. There's a finality to bringing Nialyne home. A forced acceptance. It can't be easy for you."

  "It's not that."

  "What, then?"

  Bolin ran a hand across his scalp and down to massage the back of his neck, where his muscles seemed intent on twisting into a tight, unrelenting knot. "I've not been sleeping well since Broadhead."

  Dain grunted as though Bolin had pointed out the obvious. "Any particular reason?"

  "None I feel the need to discuss."

  "Bolin--"

  "I said I'll make my apologies," Bolin said. "Is there anything else?"

  He silently begged the Emperor not to bring up Donovan, or his witch, because Bolin had more than a sneaking suspicion the dreams were their doing. Regardless of Dain's opinion on the matter, Bolin couldn't shake the feeling that the witch had somehow survived what happened in Nisair. It seemed improbable on the surface, but Bolin doubted Donovan had the skill to create such a tangible illusion from any great distance and, as Dain had pointed out, neither of them had sensed him nearby. Of course, Dain hadn't sensed the witch, either.

  That fact raised many questions. Chief among them being whether or not Donovan still controlled the witch's moves if, for the sake of argument, she still lived. If that were the case, they had all grossly underestimated him, which made Bolin even more grateful Ciara remained safely behind in Nisair. At least that worry wouldn't be gnawing at him. Bad enough he had to be concerned about his sanity being called into question.

  "…to myself?"

  Bolin jerked his head Dain's way. "I'm sorry, what?"

  "Nothing that can't wait," Dain replied, a downturn to the corners of his mouth, and a sharp 'V' forming in the center of his forehead. "I'm turning in for the night. I suggest you do the same."

  His tone made clear he was more than suggesting.

  "I've things to see to first," Bolin said, with an angled look toward the center of camp.

  "Are you capable of doing so without it degrading into a brawl?"

  Bolin swallowed the sharp indignation the question elicited. "If not, you've my permission to intercede again."

  "I hardly require your permission. Until the morning, General."

  The Emperor stifled a yawn and headed toward his tent while Bolin went in search of Captain Everyn.

  ***

  He found the Everyn leaning against a tree at the fringes of a campfire, listening to the idle chatter of the men. Several of them started hastily to their feet at Bolin's approach, but he waved them back down.

  "A moment, Captain?"

  Everyn detached himself from the tree without comment, and followed Bolin to one of the less occupied fires. The three soldiers there saluted, and moved off to give the officers their space. Bolin watched them go, letting his gaze travel. Sentries were posted, scouts were out, the camp had been set up and maintained with quiet efficiency, and not one word from Bolin. He had nothing to fault anyone on, yet something prodded him even now.

  The captain extended his hands above the flames, shifting closer to get more of its warmth. "Mind if I start?"

  Bolin looked his way and gave a short nod of consent, though he wished it was Garek standing there. He never felt the need to couch his words or tone with the burly commander. They knew one another far too well. Everyn he knew only in his capacity as a soldier. A good one, no doubt, or he wouldn't have promoted the man to a captaincy nearly a decade past.
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br />   "There's not a man here, myself included, who wouldn't follow you into the hells without question," Everyn said. "And, for the most part, there's not a man here who hasn't suffered a loss of one sort or another. Some more recent than others, though none as fresh as yours."

  "Where is this leading, Captain?"

  Everyn bobbed his head in the direction of the shrouded wagon. "The loss of the lady's weighing on you heavy. That's plain. There's a fair amount of tolerance that comes with understanding, but it has its limits."

  "You're suggesting the men have reached that limit in regards to me?"

  Everyn gave him a long, steady look. "Not yet."

  "So, this is a warning, then?"

  The captain shrugged, and turned his back to the flames. "If that's how you want to look at it. The men are used to a certain brusqueness where you're concerned. They may grumble over it, but it's mostly tempered by fairness, so it's easier to take. Lose that, though…"

  "And I have?"

  "Yes, sir. At times." He slid Bolin another look. "Hyde likely already shrugged off being called to task on tying the line. Done and gone, and he'll make doubly sure it doesn't happen again."

  "And you?"

  Everyn's breath ghosted out and he turned to squarely face Bolin. "You've an actual cause to berate me? Well and fine. I'll take what's due, even if you hand it to me in front of the men. I've a great deal of respect for you and your position. That doesn't mean I'll stand for being harangued because you need someone to take your temper out on." He paused, not quite long enough to be considered insolent before adding, "Sir."

  They stood on level with one another, and Everyn held Bolin's gaze with only the slightest bit of trepidation evident in his own.

  "I appreciate honesty in my officers," Bolin said, uncertain if he wanted to throttle the captain for insolence, or applaud him for having spine. "Thank you."

  Everyn hesitated, as if expecting something more. When nothing followed, he tipped his head in a short nod of respect and left.