Against That Shining Darkness: Boxed Set Trilogy Read online

  “Agree and start toward them,” Seth said.

  The wave was fifty yards off shore, a great swell of water rushing toward shore. Another few seconds and their opponents couldn't ignore it any longer.

  Kane shifted his eyes toward Seth.

  The outlaws eyed them, wary now.

  Seth suppressed a shiver of tension. “Count three and charge,” he said.

  “Little diversion, eh?” Kane said.

  They drew steel with a shout. Droga reared and lashed the air with his hooves.

  The outlaws’ eyes widened.

  Droga and Chanra leaped forward.

  The bandits screamed curses.

  Seth moved left while Kane veered to the right. When the wave struck, the stallion's longer legs would bear it with no trouble.

  At full gallop, they would be on the bandits in seconds, but the wave should arrive first. Seth estimated the height of the incoming breaker; it should come almost to Chanra’s knees. He swerved up the beach to allow room for error. If the wave hit the mare above her knees, she’d have to slow. Seth didn't want to deal with that and outlaws at the same time.

  But what—? The bandits were screaming in terror. The wave hadn’t even arrived yet. A dark stain appeared on the pants leg of one of them as they turned to run, either more nervous than the normal run of bandits, or—

  “Run for it, Kane. Up the beach,” he yelled and dug his heels into Chanra's sides. The icy, unease from the cavern was back and it no longer pointed to a menace that slept. Something had followed them from the cavern. The chill on his neck was more than a stray sea breeze, and the crashing of water behind him was not in rhythm with the waves. He didn't want to look back, but he knew he must.

  Chapter 5 (Innocence End)

  The fog lifted, and midmorning sunlight spilled over the windowsill where Fletch smoothed the primary feathers on his wings with fastidious care. The breeze ruffled the down on his breast causing the light to cascade into a dark-spectrum prism of purple, blue and green. Fletch cocked his head, watching his plumage sparkle. The sudden light warmed him, and a million dust motes appeared, wheeling in complex patterns governed by the heat, the breeze, and myriad other factors. Jyrmak rested his elbows on the table, observing the dance and the raven—missing nothing.

  A large platter of eggs, cheese, sausage and bread rested on the table, but its existence was doomed.

  Marshall was breakfasting.

  Jyrmak waited. It would be no use to talk for a while yet. He smiled as Marshall worked his way through the heaping platter, stopping only to drink from the pitcher of milk next to him.

  The amount of food Marshall ate as a matter of course might make a much larger man burst, but he could also do without food for long periods without weakening.

  Marshall had returned to the keep before dawn. Jyrmak on arriving the night before, had found—as he hoped—that Seth had already departed. The castle wasn’t yet in an uproar. People were looking, but not yet with overmuch concern. Fletch's reconnaissance flight that morning had been fruitless.

  Marshall pushed away the empty platter, drained the pitcher, and sighed with contentment. Then, moving with his usual vigorous energy, he stepped to the washbasin by the window and rinsed away the dirt and grime of two weeks on the road.

  “Do you know, Jyrmak, on this trip, outlaws waylaid us three times?”

  Jyrmak raised his eyebrows, expressing that this might be beneath his attention. The effect wasn’t lost on Marshall, and he grunted in wry amusement before continuing. “I mention this to point out that the realm is drifting into lawlessness. Last year when crossing the realm over the same roads at the same time of year—only once—and a nervous bunch of outlaws they were too. But this year, they were bold as you please. Brynd and Luca are lax as head sheriffs.”

  “Their interests are with the outlaws anyway,” Jyrmak said. “I’m sure they receive their part of outlaw spoils on schedule. Also, the King appears weak. Carrion birds are always alert to any hint of weakness, but that is of minor import right now. Last night the King toasted his son's succession at the spring feast.”

  “And it favored?”

  “Seth,” Jyrmak said.

  “Not Wyatt?” Marshall walked back to the table and sat.

  “At any rate,” continued Jyrmak. “Seth didn't linger for any more honors. He left soon after the assassination attempt.”

  “The… What!” Marshall shouted. He stood and paced. “I dislike this, Jyrmak, that he should run off now without establishing himself first.”

  “He doesn't need permission to plan his strategy from you or I my friend,” Jyrmak said. “At any rate, the twins control a fourth of the castle guards, and right now...” Jyrmak leaned back as though tired. “This kingdom may be one of the least of Seth's responsibilities.”

  Marshall froze, silent for a moment then sat down again. “The prophecy,” he muttered.

  Jyrmak pulled his cloak straight. “However, we must take care the kingdom doesn't disintegrate in his absence.”

  “Jyrmak, does Seth know where Wyatt is?” Jyrmak stroked his chin. “He will guess—in part. He understands the risks.”

  “Then what is he going to do?”

  “Survive to take the fight to the enemy.” Jyrmak said. “He's an easy target as long as he stays here.”

  Marshall rested his chin on his hand. “All this time I thought we were preparing a king. Now it seems he's a sacrifice.”

  Jyrmak turned to the window. “He can defend himself can't he?”

  “He may surpass me now,” said Marshall.

  “And I have taught him to think and discern, which should never be underestimated. He has a measure of faith and knowledge of the covenant.” Jyrmak said.

  Marshall's sighed and sat back, his forehead furrowed. He shrugged to work out the tension spreading through his back; Seth might be the one the prophecy meant—but believing prophecy was one thing—waiting for it another. He studied the wizard. Jyrmak was rigid—alert, listening—but whatever he heard was beyond Marshall's perception.

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  The wave crashing on the beach broke upon chaos. Seth twisted in his saddle; foam swirled about the mangled bodies of two bandits floating in the wash. There was no trace of the other two, but red seeped through the water. It might have been beautiful against the white foam and sparkling emerald, but Seth knew it for blood. Kane, deeper in the water, urged his stallion higher, but his progress was slow. The wave that had swamped the bandits flooded back now and Droga had to fight against the returning wash. His ears lay back and his nostrils flared as he lunged against the water. For all his ferocity, even he would prefer not to fight the thing behind him.

  Kane's face had paled. Whatever it was, they had both seen it. Fifty yards behind them a V-shaped wave arrowed back toward the beach. Droga would never clear the water in time. Seth wheeled about—shouting a warning to Kane—but the V-shaped wave passed them. Rather than striking at the easy target, it moved to block them both from escape.

  A tremendous head and neck shot from the water, rising twenty feet above the waves, recoiling like a snake about to strike. The wave rushing out to sea, revealed the body of the monster—coated with ice.

  An icewyrm.

  Seth groaned. No one had seen a full-grown icewyrm south of Kyrdistan in five hundred years. Swords would be useless against its frozen armor. He breathed a prayer and tried to think; he’d need to move fast. Fierce cold fell from the wyrm in waves. Ice formed and floated around it in sparkling sheets. Water dripped from its jaws, forming a frosty beard of icicles below its teeth.

  The icewyrm still poised for a strike, its mouth agape but silent. From the corner of his eye, Seth saw Kane pull the stallion to a halt. To his left, half-buried in sand were the remains of a bandit—the legs sheared off. The torso lay face-down with a pike gripped in both hands, as though offering allegiance to a king.

  Seth swerved left, nudging Chanra to charge across the beast's icy snout as h
e flipped off her back to land beside the body and snatch up the pike.

  He wrapped his hands around the steel barb and shouted two command words. He'd never used this prayer, but the covenant would have to work. Without waiting, he grasped the shaft and charged the monster's exposed shoulder while its attention was still on Chanra. His fingers smarted; the barb in front of him glowed red. The icewyrm snapped at the nearest target—the mare.

  Chanra—bred and trained for battle—charged as though she still had a rider who needed to be in sword range. Seth gritted his teeth. He hadn't expected her to run so close.

  As the icewyrm struck, Chanra skipped away as light as foam across the surf. It lunged after her. She reared and lashed out with her forefeet as the great head snapped forward with mouth wide. Then Seth was too close to see anything but his target.

  As the wyrm moved, a crack opened behind the jointed foreleg, white scales shimmered beneath the cracking coat of ice. Seth drove forward. The ice hissed on the hot steel as it sheathed itself deep in the icewyrm's side. Seth’s knuckles grazed scales through the crack, and his hand fell numb. His whole body shivered. He leapt back.

  The beast jerked as the hot steel sank in, but still it made no sound. It turned toward Seth.

  Hooves drummed behind him, and Kane flew past with a slash-and-run attack to let Seth retreat. Seth sprinted away while Kane shouted and passed under the beast's chin, giving it a blow that sent shards of ice flying. The wyrm drew back into the waves, confused, casting about for the source of its inner pain.

  Kane turned Droga for another pass, reining to a halt when he saw the beast retreating. Chanra sprawled between them like a discarded rag on the sand.

  A dark anger rose in Seth, and he spoke two more command words. The beast stiffened in agony and floundered turning, struggling for deep water. But Seth didn't let go of the command for heat until the surface of the waves roiled and a jet of steam shot into the air.

  He pulled himself across the beach to where Chanra lay crumpled, her mane matted with small clumps of ice melting in the sun. She was unmarked, but gone—the first casualty of his campaign.

  Kane came to his side saying something unclear. Weariness hit him; the world tilted sideways and grew dark.

  His head hurt.

  Mist was everywhere.

  Something approached, something shadowy. He hadn't seen it with his eyes open. It cast about, seeking. He must have summoned it by using the covenant commands to kill the icewyrm, a beacon like a fire on a mountain.

  Not that he cared anymore; it was all so far away. The mist—a grey dot between the great field of blue and the expanse of green—floated away from him, or he himself floated.

  The sky rolled back to form a gateway. Beyond the gate lay a brilliant land. He knew it was evening there—else he could not have born the light—but it was an evening land above all light and beauty conceivable. Before the gate stood a man. His eyes captured Seth—joyful eyes with a promise of eternal adventure—but the man pointed him back. Someone called him from someplace he’d been long ago.

  The call was faint, but not to be denied, his duty pulled at him.

  A searing fire shot through Seth's chest.

  “He's breathing,” said a voice nearby.

  So that's what that was.

  He took a shallower breath with less pain. His head felt heavy and strange.

  He opened his eyes; nothing he saw made sense. His vision whirled, spun then settled on a face with eyes like ...

  “Jyrmak.” He breathed again, and the rest of his surroundings fell into place.

  He lay in a crude lean to. The rough branches overhead moved with shadows from a flickering fire in front of the shelter. Kane and Marshall inspected him as Jyrmak lifted a steaming cup to Seth's lips. He sipped the herbal broth, bitter at first, but with a clean aftertaste. His head felt better for it.

  He remembered the shadow. “Jyrmak, What happened?”

  Jyrmak frowned. “I don't know what you did, but it moved you out of the shielding hedge, you almost died. What is the last thing you remember?”

  “I was fighting the icewyrm. I needed heat, so I called on power to heat the spearhead.” He remembered the surge of dark rage he'd tasted before he repeated the demand from the covenant promise. Jyrmak looked at him with sorrowful eyes. “Something else happened. What?”

  “I called heat to defend us,” Seth protested.

  “Oh?” said Jyrmak, his voice soft. “Is that all you did?”

  “I was angry.”

  Jymak poked at the fire with a stick. “What sort of angry?”

  Seth sighed. “The seeing-red kind,” he whispered.

  “Seth; you abused the covenant. The power came for you, but if you call on power without pure intent, it may still come, but you put yourself in danger. Next time I may not be available to intercede.”

  Seth drifted back towards sleep.

  ~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~

  Sun shone warm on Seth's face.

  He opened his eyes and looked about on a world that sparkled with dew and spider webs. Thrushes and finches chattered, flitting about gathering material for their summer homes. Spring had come to stay at last. He stretched, enjoying the simple pleasure of muscles awakening and blood rushing through his veins.

  When he crawled out from the pile of cloaks that covered him, Marshall, Jyrmak, and Kane were eating breakfast. Across the meadow, Kane's stallion grazed. In his mind Seth saw Chanra running like wind across the moon. With a sigh, he rose to face the day.

  A bowl of hot, cracked wheat with goat's milk and honey rested on a stone. The wheat had been in the saddlebags. The rest, he guessed, was courtesy of Jyrmak.

  “It's good to see you two.” Seth said. “I thought, we might be long parted, and I wished I’d said goodbye.”

  From above his head a familiar raspy voice croaked, “Is he insulting me, or can't he count to three?”

  “A thousand pardons, Fletch,” Seth said. “But what do you expect if you hide behind all those leaves?”

  “I'm sorry, Seth, our time is short,” broke in Jyrmak. “The situation at the keep is precarious. Marshall and I have been away too long already. We must get back.”

  Seth nodded reluctant agreement.

  “Farewell, Seth,” said Marshall. “Keep your guard up.”

  Seth hugged them. “Farewell. Jyrmak, you’ll find my signet ring in your room, along with a statement saying you are both stewards of my regency.”

  “Who witnessed it?” asked Marshall.

  “The cook and the stable hand,” Seth said, his lips twitching in a tiny smile.

  Jyrmak nodded. “Be careful, Seth. I hope I needn't tell you now to be careful how you call on covenant power. I only know your new friend, by his dubious reputation and a night of conversation, but I don't think you could find a better traveling partner.”

  Marshall whistled for his horse, and in a moment it trotted from the shade of the forest followed by Jyrmak's grey gelding. They mounted and galloped westward, turning to wave as they crested the hill.

  Seth and Kane busied themselves for a moment gathering gear then Seth turned to Kane.

  “You told Jyrmak you would travel with me. Did he tell you what's ahead?”

  “I don't think he knows what's ahead,” Kane said. “Except that you were running away from danger into danger and you seek to bring down the order of the Dark Hand. But I—my family—also has scores against the Hand. I would not pass up a chance to even them,” he said with a bitter twist to his mouth.

  Seth hesitated, he wanted to find out more, but a companion who’d proven trustworthy was welcome, and Jyrmak had implied that he’d vouch for him. He wouldn't ask what Kane's score was—yet. He could use the help—not only to watch his back. Yesterday’s ordeal had left him weak.

  Now they needed a destination; west would take him back toward the castle and certain detection. However, Ibuchan, a large port city, lay eight day's ride northeast along the coast; from there they might
go south across the sea. Pirates were thick along the coastal waters, and merchants were always looking for men with swords when they took ship. Further west were the Whistling Mountains. Beyond those, the land had never been mapped. Seth knew it only from Jyrmak's lessons and spotty legends.

  Seth looked to the north. Rocky hills stretched into the distance. Ideas and plans, old and new, ran through his head turning as usual to Wyatt's probable whereabouts.... Wyatt would try to take the biggest risk on himself.

  But then what? Seth squeezed his eyes shut. He would have to listen to his heart. A breeze stirred against his face, and he opened his eyes again. Kane was saddled and waiting. He held out a hand and Seth swung up behind him.

  “Where away?” said the bard.

  “I've always wanted to see dragons.”

  “Ah, So their cold cousin was not enough for you to get the idea? Well, as long as we are seeing them from the outside. I've never fancied seeing the inside of a dragon.”

  Seth laughed. “I promise not to accept any dinner invitations.”

  Chapter 6 (Sunrise Path)

  The early leaves of the wide-spaced trees painted the rolling foothills on the northern outskirts of the Barony of Perth with spring's first green. From an overlook, Seth's eyes ran west to the jagged peaks of the Whistling Mountains then south to the walls of Ibuchan peeking through the harbor mist. The plains below rippled as the east wind chased the shadows of wispy clouds into the distance.

  Kane had suggested a pass through the hills—one Seth had never seen in the maps of his father's library. He hoped it would give them a quiet passage to Dragonsmere.

  Their course took them through a ravine and a series of switchbacks. At dusk, they came to a crossroad where the trees huddled together and neither path led in the right direction. They gathered firewood and camped on the level ground north of the crossroad. Old campfire burns marked the forest floor, but none were recent.

  As night came on, a mist rose, diffusing the moonlight. Seth volunteered for first watch. He needed to think. He added wood to the fire every hour, but kept the flame low. It was easier to stay awake with a fire to tend. His mind drifted to the gateway he’d seen when he’d perched on death’s doorstep. The path he’d taken there still troubled him.