The Darkness of Glengowyn (10 page)

A minion spotted them and turned to attack, only to be cut down by a human soldier before she could speak. The human stared at them a moment, and then was distracted by more minions.

“We’re in as much trouble from the humans out here, aren’t we?” she shouted to be heard above the cacophony.

“Yes. We need to find Ulric.”

Their path was blocked by three minions, all of them with a blank, dead look on their faces. The lack of emotion didn’t take away from the wicked-looking edges on their blades. They attacked en masse, and Einar met them, sword raised. Nuala put her back to a wall and kept an eye on the fighting behind them, ready to use those last two arrows.

She jumped when a hand grabbed her wrist, but recognition of that touch sank in before she even faced Einar. He tugged her farther up the street, passing the three minions he’d killed so quickly.

They ducked into doorways to let individual fights slide past and edged around what they could. When minions attacked them directly, Einar dispatched them. Only one or two humans made an attempt to reach them, but each time they were turned away by minions. Since Nuala didn’t want to risk having to kill a Sinnale, she was grateful the battle chaos prevented any humans from getting to them.

As they neared the border, the fighting grew thicker, heavier. The volley of arrows more dangerous. They kept to cover, but several missiles clattered near their feet. Nuala clenched her jaw tight to keep from screeching in surprise. The battle grew too thick to navigate, and Einar was forced to engage more enemies, beating a swath through the swarms of bodies.

She covered his back, keeping close enough to follow but far enough away to prevent hindering him. She used her last two arrows efficiently to end a charge by three minions. Then she turned to the knife, slicing a threat when anyone got too close. But Einar was a force in battle, unlike anything most of these humans had seen. It was all they could do to avoid his blade.

Unfortunately, the current of the fighting pulled him too far away, and suddenly she was alone and surrounded by dead-eyed minions. The stench of rot that clung to them wafted toward her. At the edge of the circle, humans continued to pick their former city mates off one by one, but the four that focused on Nuala approached without pause.

She raised the knife, preparing to defend herself. Above the screams and clashes of metal, she heard her name bellowed. Beyond the approaching four, she saw bodies actually flying through the air to slam into brick walls. Einar. Becoming the warrior so feared by elves and goblins.

The four closing in on her didn’t realize the Darkness was coming for them.

Two of them vanished so quickly from in front of her she didn’t even see Einar take them. One moment they were there, the next they were gone. The remaining two continued forward as if they didn’t notice the others had disappeared. The nearer they got, the stronger that faint hint of decay that emanated from them grew. The scent had surrounded her as they’d worked through the crowds, but now she seemed to home in on it, a primal part of her recognizing the meaning and gagging at the thought of the twisted magics that caused that smell.

From the surrounding madness, Einar appeared. He plucked up one of the remaining two attackers and launched him into the nearest group of fighters, sending all of them into a crumpled heap of bodies—Sinnale and minion alike.

Nuala gasped. She hadn’t seen Einar like this in centuries. And then only once, because she’d been so carefully kept back behind the front lines. A small group of goblins had tried to infiltrate their camp, purely by chance stumbling across her tent. The elf warrior who came to her rescue was like nothing Nuala had ever seen. Cold, focused madness, speed and a kind of anger that cut down all in its path.

When the goblins had been slaughtered, singlehandedly, and Einar stood barely breathing heavily in the aftermath with blood dripping from his sword and body, his reputation as the Darkness was sealed for all time. Those who’d witnessed the destruction he’d wrought would never forget that sight.

Nuala never had. Seeing him in that same state of cold rage now spiked her pulse and sent a new kind of fear through her. Fear for him and what this might do to him. She knew this would cost him, cost his soul. She was probably the only one who did. Yet she was awed by the sight, the beauty of something so deadly, so powerful…protecting her.

The fourth minion was a bloody splotch on a nearby building before he fully turned to face the danger. Einar roared and those near him fled, both human and minion. The sound even made the hairs on Nuala’s nape rise. Though the fighting continued, it moved away from them, leaving them in a circle of calm emptiness.

He faced her and she watched him physically work to control himself, to return to a more natural state. His eyes were black. Blood ran in rivulets across his face and body. The thought that some of that might be his sent her to his side. No other elf would approach him like this. But she knew he’d never hurt her.

“Are you wounded?” she asked, examining him with her eyes and hands without waiting for his answer.

“Nothing of consequence.”

“This is mostly their blood then.” She confirmed that with her cursory exam. “Good.”

Her comment seemed to surprise him, though she wasn’t sure why, and the last of the battle madness eased from his eyes.

“You aren’t hurt?” he said, his voice rough.

“Of course not. You didn’t give them time to get close. Thank you. I’m not that good with the knife.” She touched his cheek. “I’m sorry for this, though.”

Before he could answer, a scream of attack rose up to invade their circle of solitude. Einar spun to face the threat, pushing her behind him. But before the minion closed, an arrow thwacked into his chest, directly through his heart. He hit the ground face first, sword still raised above his head. The fall broke the arrow and the puff of a dying spell reached out to tap at Nuala’s magic.

An elf arrow. She looked toward the alley from which the arrow had flown just as another elf approached them from farther up the street. Not a traitor this time, though. Nuala’s shoulders relaxed.

“Ulric.”

Her cousin greeted them with a sharp nod, and he and Einar grasped wrists in a soldier’s solute.

“You’re well, both of you? Injuries?”

“Nothing significant. We must get her to the safety of the border.” Einar wasted no time with pleasantries.

From the alleyway Nuala had been half watching, a Sinnale woman approached, her bow in hand but without an arrow nocked in place. She was a striking woman, with short brown hair, sharp features and deep brown eyes.

Einar looked at her in surprise then said to Ulric, “You allowed her into battle? I thought…”

Ulric rolled his eyes and the woman smirked. “I had very little say in keeping her away. Stubborn woman.”

The woman introduced herself to Nuala. “I’m Layla Brightarrow. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you in person, Nuala of Glengowyn. Your cousin has sung your praises.”

“Ulric’s mate.” Nuala understood the surprise. Ulric was so protective of his mate, Nuala hadn’t even met her yet, though the woman had been to Glengowyn several times to negotiate for weapons. Obviously, Nuala had drawn the wrong conclusions—she’d assumed by Ulric’s protectiveness that Layla wasn’t much of a soldier. But this thin, tall woman held the bow like it was part of her, and she didn’t look at all shaken by the chaos.

“I understood you’d given up fighting,” Nuala said to cover her surprise, “in favor of weapons trade.”

Layla glanced at Ulric and shrugged. “I have. I can do without this death and killing. But you represent our chance to end this war once and for all. I’d hardly stay safe while you were in danger.”

The human’s declaration made Nuala feel both pleased and little hurt, though she wasn’t sure why the hurt.

“Besides,” Layla finished with another half smile, “I couldn’t wait to meet a relative of Ulric’s that he actually likes.”

Ulric scowled and sniffed as if this was a subject he’d rather not discuss. Nuala couldn’t blame him. They’d both been baffled and hurt by Althir’s turning traitor to join the Sorcerers. She still had trouble believing it of him. Althir was many things—vain, too charming, arrogant, rude, impossible and jealous of Ulric—but she’d have sworn he was loyal to Glengowyn above all else.

Einar brought the small group back to the issue at hand. “We need to make for the border. The queen…”

“Has already confirmed who you are. Though after…” Ulric waved his hand at the smashed and bloody heaps of bodies Einar had left in his wake. “After witnessing the Darkness in action again, there could hardly be doubt.”

“The queen is here?” Nuala asked, a tickle of dread curling in her stomach.

“She returned to Glengowyn just after the battle got underway.”

“Then how?” Nuala glanced between herself and Einar. How could the queen have confirmed their identity for Ulric before even seeing them?

“The owls,” Einar answered, surprising her.

“Ah.” Between the presence of the owls earlier to confirm Einar was near and witnessing the release of the Darkness just now, it would be hard for Ulric to doubt him. And if Einar claimed she was Nuala, no one would argue the point. Though her cousin might have been fooled by a Sorcerer’s spell, Einar would never be when it came to her. The queen would know that.

“The queen also sent out a
reaching
to make sure there were no glamour spells in the center of the owls’ attack,” Ulric continued. “She sensed only you and Nuala.”

So the queen had been comfortable confirming their identity, sight unseen. Part of Nuala was more than a little relieved, but an edge of anxiety, waiting for the confrontation with the sovereigns to finally come, kept her from relaxing.

The sounds of conflict, though farther way, were starting to quiet.

“Come,” Ulric said. “The border is just beyond that block. There’s a line of soldiers waiting to defend our backs. But…” He glanced off toward the sound of retreating battle. “But I think we’ve beaten them back for the night. The sight of you in all your battle anger probably terrified even the minions.”

Einar didn’t comment. He just took Nuala’s arm and followed Ulric and Layla to the border. He didn’t return his sword to his scabbard, and she didn’t put away her knife, until they were well behind the safety of the Sinnale line. Even then, when Layla dropped her bow over her head to lie across her back, Nuala waited for Einar to ease his guard before she allowed herself to do the same.

As morning light spilled into the city streets, the exhaustion of the last few days finally took its toll. She leaned against Einar as they walked farther into safe territory. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close.

Soft pink sunlight colored the air and painted the bricks and cobbles, making everything look cleaner, fresher than it would in bright sun. Nuala loved sunrise. There was a stillness, a quiet to it that usually settled her mind.

But even exhausted, even passing alive and well through her favorite time of day, a low level of tension tightened Nuala’s stomach.

They’d avoided having to face the queen and reveal their fall. For now. But it loomed ahead of them. They wouldn’t be able to break the bonding between them now. Nor could they hide it from the queen and king. While she found a small sense of peace having survived the night, with Einar strong at her side, she knew they were far from done with their final fight.

Chapter Ten

After brief introductions to some of the Sinnale council members, including Layla’s parents, Nuala and Einar were shown rooms in which to rest and bathe, and promised to be directed to the armory later that afternoon. Nuala had work to do now that she was safely within Sinnale-held territory—at the very center of their defenses. But her magic took energy and she needed rest and food first.

Though they were given separate rooms, Einar knocked on her door not long after Ulric left to get their breakfast. She’d just finished washing off the dirt, sweat and blood of the last two days, and had slipped into a clean tunic and a loose skirt.

When she let him in, he didn’t say anything at first, just paced around her room. He’d taken the time to clean up as well, washing away the dried blood that had caused the council members to hesitate and back away from him when Ulric presented him. She had no doubt that all the legends of the Darkness of Glengowyn were running through their heads as they bowed to him. Einar, for his part, remained quiet, distant and respectful, never showing any emotion one way or the other.

She watched him stalk around her room and wondered if their reactions bothered him or if he preferred for people to think him that bloodthirsty and cold. He looked noble and controlled now, in clean trousers, tunic and vest. His short hair was damp, and whatever soap they’d provided for him surrounded him in a clean, earthy scent. She noticed, though, that he hadn’t let down his guard in the safer surroundings. He’d strapped his sword around his waist before joining her.

Her room, small but very clean, looked smaller still with him in it. But the space was comfortable after their previous surroundings. The wash basin had been filled with fresh water. Clean, lightly scented towels were stacked under the basin stand. A blue ceramic heater in one corner was stocked with kindling, flint and wood, should she get cold. The bed was high and comfortably made up with thick blankets and several pillows. A small wooden wardrobe sat in the corner opposite the heater. Inside, she’d found several changes of clothes, all freshly laundered, some of them her own from the supply wagons that had traveled with her party from Glengowyn. The tunic and skirt she’d been able to don after bathing were hers, and having her own clothing was a comfort.