Against That Shining Darkness: Boxed Set Trilogy Read online

“Sit down, Seth,” Wyatt said as he leaned against the rough table in the center of the room. “I'll explain why we came like this.”

  Seth moved a stool closer to the fire; Wyatt was not one to cut a story short. The fire crackled, the guards slumbered and as in a dream, everyone acted as though it was normal. Marshall gnawed experimentally on a hard roll.

  “I'll start with the obvious,” Wyatt said. “I haven't been at home much for the last few years, and when I leave these lands again, I may never return.” He paused, and Seth chuckled. Wyatt always said that before he left for anywhere, even a trip to the latrine. This time Seth suspected Wyatt might be serious—though he’d cloaked it with humor.

  Wyatt continued. “I have something to tell you about Brynd and Luca. Seth, you know they've never been fond of us; maybe you've noticed them growing more hostile.”

  “Their greed grows,” Seth said, shaking his head. “They think of nothing except their inheritance when Father dies.”

  “They hate you,” Jyrmak said in a soft, matter-of-fact voice.

  “Yes, they do,” agreed Wyatt. “Seth, you are twelve now; soon they will view you as a threat. They want the kingdom—all of it.”

  “You think they would kill us, their own brothers?”

  “They are not our brothers,” Wyatt said, curling his lip.

  “What? What do you mean?” said Seth. It seemed the floor had shifted as his world twisted out of his grasp.

  Wyatt turned to the fire, looking into its heart as he continued. “It happened almost twenty-five years ago. The King and Queen held the annual Spring hunt in the hills on the borders of Perth, well past the last frost. The hunt parties separated, and the Queen's party went fowling. For two weeks, they found no sign—though the search was wide and thorough. Then Mother . . . the Queen, reappeared, but none of the rest of her party. A search group was in the hills still looking for her when she wandered into camp late at night. She had seen their campfire.”

  Wyatt halted for a moment. “Jyrmak was much closer to what happened next than I.” He finished and pulled his cloak closer, sitting huddled—as though cold. The usual light in his eyes was gone and his mouth twisted in pain.

  Jyrmak cleared his throat. “The Queen could recall nothing of what happened during those weeks. Somehow, something had blocked her mind. I prayed with her for her mental recovery, and some things came back to her. It soon became obvious she was with child. The pregnancy was well-advanced, so there was no scandal about the conception. Five months later, she bore the twins. I delivered them. It was a difficult birth. Jyllanah lived through it, but I had to take the babes from her womb with surgery. I thought she would never conceive again, and when she did after three years, I suspected neither she nor the child would survive. I was half-wrong. After her normal term, she had you, named you and died a week later.”

  The room was silent for a time, except for the crackling fire, until Marshall's restless cough pulled them all away from their thoughts.

  “But what makes you certain Brynd and Luca are not our brothers?” asked Seth.

  Wyatt shook his head. “She wasn’t pregnant before she disappeared. She would have known the moment she conceived and—bound by duty—would have told Father. They were full-term after only five months. They are not our brothers. I shudder to think how they must have entered her womb. Jyrmak thinks there’s no blood tie at all.”

  “Is that why they hate us?” asked Seth. “Do they know?”

  “Perhaps they don't know it so much as they feel it,” Jyrmak said. His eyes reflected the firelight. “There is a deep stain upon their souls, and the sense that you are different helps make them hate you too. Someday, the one who put them there will tell them. We know already what their response will be. We’ve had to keep this quiet. Else, your enemies would not have waited for this plan to mature. The Queen hoped the situation could be redeemed.”

  Though this was new information for him, Seth’s surprise did not go deep. It made sense. He’d sometimes thought he should be closer to his brothers, even if they were rude… vicious. The implications though were more troubling.

  “Seth, I'll be leaving soon,” said Wyatt. “Father asked me to bring Jyrmak and Wyatt back as your tutor and an instructor at arms. They are old friends and allies. What you will learn from them may keep you alive.” Wyatt stood, outside a dove called to the dawn. “Tomorrow we'll arrive in public, but I need to tell you this first, I may not have a chance later. In five years, you will be of age. Seth, you should avoid seeming a threat to Brynd and Luca. To them you should try to appear harmless.… So, I leave you a gift.” Wyatt pulled a shining flute from his belt. “Few take a musician for a threat; you are already skilled with the straight flute, but keep this instrument with you always now. Music may help hide your nature from them, but if that fails….” Wyatt grinned and separated the flute’s two parts, revealing its secret nature.

  “Time to go,” Jyrmak said. Marshall stepped to the window, dropped a rope over the edge and fastened it hard to a board that spanned the opening. He flipped the rope into a climber’s bight—around his waist and through his legs—and disappeared through the window. When the rope slackened again, Jyrmak stepped after him, muttering. “I'm getting too old for this.”

  Wyatt embraced Seth then followed. “Oh, Seth, could you please untie the rope when I'm down? Please wait till I'm at the bottom, eh?”

  One guard lying against the wall muttered and stirred in his sleep. The wind drifted through the window and blew a soft note on the flute in Seth's hands.

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  Under the willow tree, Seth smiled at the memories.

  He twisted the head of the flute and pulled. The slender blade concealed in the flute's interior glinted in the light filtering through the leaves. Seth tested its edge and replaced it.

  For five years he’d modeled his public life after the flute's example. On the outside, he was only a musician and a scholar, seeming to care about little else, but he trained with Marshall and studied with Jyrmak. With Marshall, there was combat and physical training, hardening body and mind. With Jyrmak he studied politics, the structure of kingdoms, how to judge men; the messages found in the face or the posture of the body, how to detect deceit. He learned the tongues of men, and dragons, and languages long vanished. At least, he’d learned something of all those things. Dragon grammar was still mysterious in its variety of past tenses and odd declensions. No, he wasn't a polished product yet. With all his progress in the study of military strategy and politics, his deepest thirst had become the mystery of the magi's power. Yet that was still almost opaque to him—in spite of his study of Jyrmak's Great Book of the Covenant.

  With a start, Seth noticed the thrush had stopped singing at the western end of the garden. Other birds took flight, their wings drumming as they shot past his sanctuary.

  The ferret flashed past, a brown streak on its way to a break in the wall. Someone was coming down the overgrown path through the garden.

  Through the willow branches, Seth glimpsed two figures moving. As they came closer, he recognized voices; it was Luca and Brynd. He could see them now. Brynd's mouth smiled as usual, but his eyes were cold. Beside him, Luca's scarred face flickered behind the willow branches. They passed without seeing Seth. He tucked his flute in his belt. It was time for his lesson with Jyrmak.

  He rose and followed the ferret's path out of the garden.

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  The shadow of Gynt castle stretched into the east as Seth glided through the brush toward the castle. He paused a moment and studied Jyrmak's tower. A slight smile showed at his eyes then around his mouth as he tucked his flute in his belt. It was the smile that years ago warned Wyatt that he’d find his bed short-sheeted in the evening.

  Seth stepped to the wall where large stones fit close without mortar, and the cracks and bulges offered a path. A soft light shone from Jyrmak's window as darkness thickened around the towers. Seth reached high for a projecting r
ock and groped for hand holds. With a careful quickness, he moved up the wall.

  Soon the window was close. Seth was reaching for his next hold when something made him hesitate—light from the window reflecting off the matte-textured rock. Seth probed the angular piece of basalt. It was slippery.

  Oil on the wall!

  He muttered to himself and looked at the boulder-strewn ground thirty feet below—a broken ankle or worse.

  Wasn't it like the old wizard to trap the route to his window?

  Irked, Seth rested, considering his alternatives. He could climb down and be late, but that would need explaining, and going down would be much harder. He could call to Jyrmak for help. Either would make him appear foolish. It seemed like one of Jyrmak's chief joys was pointing out Seth's lack of foresight. Seth peered up into the gloom; the stones above the window and to the sides did not seem oiled. Seth crabbed to his left then up over the window then right again. He felt his way down. With his toe, he found the stone arch above the opening and reached lower for a firm grip with his hands. With a quick bounce away from the wall, he swung out and then forward into the room.

  Jyrmak glanced up from his book. A raven preened its glossy feathers from Jyrmak’s shoulder. Seth noted his chair wasn’t in its usual spot by the table. It was behind him, in front of the window. He sat; he might have known.

  “There is a saying in The Proverbs of Agur; 'Surprising the mighty is like sticking your hand in a lion's mouth,'” Jyrmak said with a sharp nod. “Now that’s over, Seth, I'd like you to meet Fletch. I've just taken him on, and he's flown all the way from Ravenswood,” Jyrmak said.

  “Fletch? Is he tame?”

  “I am, at least, polite,” the raven said in a chilly tone. Though his voice rasped, he was quite understandable.

  “He talks,” Seth said, forehead wrinkling. Though Jyrmak had told him of talking birds, he’d never quite believed it.

  “He hears,” Fletch rasped back. No doubt, he encountered this reaction often.

  Seth sighed—humiliated twice in the space of a few seconds.

  He remembered his thoughts by the stream. “Jyrmak?”

  Jyrmak closed his book and regarded his pupil.

  “When I study The Book of the Covenant, I see promises of power and times when the great magi worked mighty things. But—other than the calling for light in the darkness and finding the right path—I haven't succeeded in any of the mysteries. Is there something wrong I'm doing or not doing? On the trip to Ibuchan last year with Marshall, there was a bookseller, and he had books of spells and…”

  “And you thought there might be other books that would be more… practical?” asked Jyrmak cocking a bushy eyebrow.

  “Something like that,” Seth admitted, twisting on his chair.

  “Look, Seth. Behold the glittering flash of the bait that conceals the dark hook,” Jyrmak said. “Every one of us faces it. Supernatural power at your beck and nod—an easy servant called then dismissed without pay or obligation. What would you have? Love?—here's a potion. Power?—an incantation to sway the minds and hearts of men. The admiration of all people?—a display of mighty power. But that is not the way of the covenant.”

  Jyrmak stood and walked to the window. “The working of covenant power must be in accord with the creator’s will. To call on covenant power without the inner bidding is foolishness, but to call on other powers is a trap. Before you ask anything of the covenant, ask for direction. Never… never… ask anything of the other.”

  Seth sat silent for a long moment. It was a dangerous hook.

  Jyrmak watched him for a moment then returned to reading.

  Seth glanced at the chess game he and Jyrmak had left the previous evening. Jyrmak had moved and would now checkmate Seth in three moves.

  He tipped his king over with another sigh. “I'm here for my lesson,” he said.

  “It's over,” Jyrmak said.

  I'm sitting in my lesson.

  “Play something for Fletch.” suggested Jyrmak. “Perhaps he'll change the low opinion he seems to have gained of you.”

  Seth took out his flute. He enjoyed music and held a mastery of the flute few attain. The notes murmured of water running over crystal stones in deep woods, creating a dream of beauty. When he finished, Fletch was silent; he seemed asleep. Seth smiled, his music did that to some birds, most often songbirds; ravens, crows and magpies preferred gaudy baubles and shiny trinkets. Perhaps it was different with talking ravens. Seth rose to leave. At the door he paused. “Jyrmak...?”

  Jyrmak looked up from his book again.

  “How many moves ahead do you think?”

  Jyrmak paused; Seth wasn’t referring to their game. “As many as I can, Seth, which is more than I've seen you attempt, I might add.”

  Seth frowned. “I see meager fun in that.”

  “What does that have to do with surviving?”

  Seth thought about this for a moment then he laughed. “Survival, thy cost is too high.” he announced then pivoted to leave with a flourish.

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  Jyrmak shrugged and turned to his book; he was almost finished interpreting a tough passage. A sudden sensation came over him—urgency, alarm.

  Seth

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  On the windowsill straightening his feathers, Fletch heard a thunderclap behind him. He whirled with a startled croak to see the remnants of the huge, ironbound door scattered on the floor and into the hall. Jyrmak had vanished.

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  Far down the hall, Seth's knees relaxed. He wondered why then remembered the sound from behind him when they’d relaxed. The sound air makes when a hand is moving rapidly towards your back to knock you into a mud puddle—quite common around Brynd. As his head snapped forward, he wondered who hid behind the pillars in the hall and how could he have missed them in the shadows. A short flight of stairs going down was in front of him. He considered sprawling down it, but he sensed a menace other than Brynd's, and even feigning clumsiness might be dangerous here.

  His toes curled over the rim of the stair—already he leaned forward—straightening his legs, pushing out and away from the top step. He whipped his legs over his head, twisting his torso to bring him to a smooth landing at the bottom.

  Tumbling practice pays off…

  He spun back for his attacker. Something leapt at him—a shadow, darker than the surrounding shadows. Seth's flute became a blade and snapped into high-thrust position. A flaming light, writhing and ugly, burned within the shadow. No sound came from the form, but something struck his blade. The flame whipped forward at his head, but with a jerk instead of power. He leaped back, avoiding the swinging fire. The shadow fell; the flame sunk into the floor; the stone cracked and bubbled.

  A great crash sounded from up the hall. Seth looked up to see Jyrmak standing at the head of the stairs, anger and concern on his face, his beard and cloak steamed. The figure at Seth's feet was no longer cloaked in shadow. It had been a man—squat, naked and brutish. Now it lay upon the stones.

  Seth stepped closer to examine the body, but halted when Jyrmak's staff, blocked his path.

  Jyrmak hissed—the sound an older dragon makes to a younger dragon to forbid the idiotic. Its meaning—roughly interpreted— was, rashness is the foe conquered by avoidance.

  Dragons were epigrammatic, but seldom rash.

  “What did it carry?” asked Jyrmak.

  Seth shivered when he remembered the red flaming sword. It almost seemed the color itself was evil. The quick glimpse of it had stirred a loathing in him he couldn't push out of his mind. “I'm not sure,” he faltered. “A sword, flaming and ... ugly, like a wound.”

  “Drop your blade,” ordered Jyrmak. “Its power wasn’t meant to withstand this.”

  Seth dropped the thin weapon on the stones. A burning smell filled the hall. He stared at the body, which glowed brief and fierce. Then there were only ashes, scattering about in the drafty corridor. The metal of his f
lute’s blade had shattered and warped.

  “Come,” Jyrmak said. “We have walls to mend.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  From the window, Seth watched the moon sink behind the western hills. The rising sun brushed the horizon with pale colors. All night he had joined Jyrmak in prayer. At last Jyrmak rose, walked to the dead hearth and tried warming himself at the ashes. Seth had never seen him so haggard.

  “Can you tell me now?” asked Seth.

  Jyrmak looked up as though puzzled by Seth's presence. The night had taken a toll on him.

  “Jyrmak, can you please tell me what's happening? That flame ... it seemed familiar, like I dreamed it—”

  “In a nightmare,” finished Jyrmak. He drew a deep breath and answered with effort. “It came from the same realm that evil dreams do.”

  “You mean Lucifer’s dominion? I thought you said he’d left this world.”

  “No, not him,” replied Jyrmak, “but a minion to whom the legacy of darkness fell.”

  Seth considered. “Tell me now… the whole story.”

  Jyrmak, his face unreadable, turned to regard Seth “There is much I suspect, but little of which I’m sure. He was only a minor force once, evil, but nothing like he has become. Now his power may even rival his old master's. I have sensed his hunger, his burning will to consume. His foul spirit stains the world. His name is Mogvorn, and he is the directing force behind the Dark Hand.”

  Seth hesitated. “But what is he after Jyrmak, why attack us?”

  Jyrmak watched Seth for a long appraising moment then regretted it; Seth had read the answer in his face. “Yes,” Jyrmak acknowledged. “He sent the attack for you alone.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “He somehow got past the hedge I set around you. That tells me enough.”

  “So that's why we were up all night,” Seth said.

  “Yes, I rebuilt the hedge; you’re concealed again, at least from his magical sight. Though if you stay here, he can find you again. But, for now, you are safe. Just be careful you do nothing to tear apart your protection and open a door to the Dark Hand. You are long past the age of accountability now.”