A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2) Read online

  A Blackbird in Darkness

  Book Two of the Blackbird Series

  Freda Warrington

  www.fredawarrington.com

  A BLACKBIRD IN DARKNESS

  Copyright © 1986, 1992, 2004, 2008, 2015 Freda Warrington

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Freda Warrington

  Bloodwine Books 2015

  This book is dedicated to John R Parker and Carolyn Caughey

  About the Blackbird Series

  There are five novels so far in this weird and wonderful sword-and-sorcery epic, now available for the first time in Kindle. To be read in the following order:

  Book One: A Blackbird in Silver

  Book Two: A Blackbird in Darkness

  Book Three: A Blackbird in Amber

  Book Four: A Blackbird in Twilight

  Book Five: Darker than the Storm

  Books One and Two form a pair that tell a complete story, while Books Three and Four, also a pair, comprise the sequel. Darker than the Storm is a separate but connected novel about Prince Ashurek that takes place between Books Two and Three, so it could be read in the middle if you prefer. Further information in the Author’s Note at the end.

  Some reviews of Freda Warrington’s work

  Freda Warrington is the author of twenty-one novels of fantasy, alternative history, gothic vampire romance, and the supernatural. Elfland won the Romantic Times Award for Best Fantasy Novel (2009), Dracula the Undead won the Dracula Society’s Award for Best Gothic Novel (1997), and Midsummer Night was among the American Library Association’s Top Ten Fantasy Novels of 2010. Here are some reactions to her various books:

  “By far the best mainstream fantasy I’ve read this year.” – Waterstone’s Magazine

  “She writes expertly and her characterisation is complex and convincing.” – Starburst

  “A glittering treasure trove and a stunning read.” – Tanith Lee

  “Storytelling that takes you where you don’t expect to go, and that exquisite sense of wonder that makes the heart of this old reader sing.” – Charles de Lint

  “The plot is complex, often shifting unexpectedly, and leaves you wondering what’ll happen next. That you also worry about the characters is a mark of Warrington’s fine writing.” – SFX

  IF YOU ENJOY THIS BOOK, PLEASE WRITE A REVIEW!

  More books, news and author information:

  www.fredawarrington.com

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication and Reviews

  A Blackbird in Darkness

  Expanded Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Freda Warrington

  Sample Chapter of A Blackbird in Amber

  About The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III

  About the Blood Wine Sequence

  A BLACKBIRD IN DARKNESS

  Chapter One. The Quest of the Serpent

  As far as the eye could see, the Blue Plane H’tebhmella stretched in all directions. It was flat, but shimmered with a myriad aquatic blues, like a facet of an infinite sapphire. Islands and spires of crystal rose everywhere out of the shining water, some clad in iridescent vegetation and some displaying the simple beauty of unadorned rock. Above stretched a clear, pale sky. It was always cloudless, for it was not a true sky as such, but at times its gentle amethyst light would deepen to a rich blue twilight, responding to the mystical rhythms of the Plane’s existence.

  The Blue Plane was the only place that offered refuge from the Serpent-dominated world. Because it existed in a separate dimension from Earth, the terrible Serpent M’gulfn could not touch it, and here the three travellers who had set out on a Quest to destroy M’gulfn were resting and waiting.

  The three seemed unlikely companions. Estarinel was a gentle young man from the once-peaceful island of Forluin, Medrian, a small, white-faced Alaakian woman who maintained a shell of grim secrecy about herself. Ashurek was the tall, dark-skinned Prince of Gorethria whose evil deeds – though long renounced – had made him a dreaded figure throughout the world. They had first met at the House of Rede, the dwelling of the sage Eldor, that lay on the rocky continent at the South Pole. From there, they had boarded a ship that should have sped them straight to the Blue Plane.

  The Serpent, however, had no wish that the mission against it should succeed. The journey to H’tebhmella proved arduous and complex, several times thwarted by agents of the Worm who sought to destroy them or bend them to its will. Only at the last moment, when death seemed inevitable, had they escaped to the Blue Plane. Now, even as they recovered amidst the healing beauty of H’tebhmella, there was no avoiding the knowledge that this peace could not last. Soon they would have to return to Earth and continue the Quest.

  Perhaps not for a few days, though, and Estarinel, having not seen Forluin for a year and knowing that he was unlikely to survive the Quest, craved one last glimpse of his country.

  ‘I told you that Arlenmia could not have made the Serpent attack Forluin a second time,’ Medrian said. ‘Can’t you believe me?’

  ‘Yes, I believe you,’ Estarinel answered. ‘It’s not that. It’s… a feeling. I must see Forluin as it really is; not the lying, distorted visions that Arlenmia showed me, but the reality.’

  He and Medrian were walking together along the shore of a shimmering lake. Great horses, blue-green like sea-washed boulders, swam languidly in the water. Just inland stood a graceful line of trees with trunks of indigo and leaves like flakes of lapis lazuli. Shy, unearthly animals raised their heads to watch the two humans pass by.

  ‘Well, as the Lady of H’tebhmella has permitted it, I suppose it is safe,’ Medrian said quietly.

  ‘And you will come with me?’ he asked.

  When she looked at him, the pain and longing in her eyes, as always, made him long to wrap his arms round her and kiss her misery away. But if he so much as took her hand, she would pull free, as if his concern only made the pain worse.

  She did so now, saying shortly, ‘Yes, I want to. But don’t press me, or I may change my mind.’ And she turned her back on him and walked away through the trees. Estarinel watched her go, feeling troubled. All through the first stage of their journey she had been withdrawn, cold and enigmatic, her behaviour at times contradictory and inexplicable. His own reason for wanting to slay the Serpent M’gulfn was clear enough: it had attacked and devastated his beloved country. And Ashurek’s reasons, although more complex, were also known: he had come to understand, through his love for the sorceress Silvren, that the Worm was the root of the monstrous cycle of events in which he had been ensnared. Only by killing M’gulfn could the evil be ended, and it was Ashurek’s only chance of freeing Silvren from her imprisonment in the Dark Regions.

  Yet, from the beginning, Medrian had refused to tell Estarinel and Ashurek anything about herself. The most they knew was that she was from Alaak, a small island belonging to the Gorethrian Empire. The Alaakians loathed their
Gorethrian oppressors, so Ashurek had never trusted her. Shared misadventures had bonded the three together and Ashurek’s hostility towards her had lessened, but still her motivation remained a mystery, and his suspicion of her was only submerged, never lost.

  Perhaps Estarinel, by contrast, was too trusting. Medrian had at times actually warned him not to rely on or confide in her, lest she betray him in some way. But behind her emotionless, even callous exterior, he knew she was undergoing some internal torment for which she could find neither relief nor comfort. And his concern for her had gradually become love; love that he could not show, because she would only recoil, beseeching him not to question her, not to show her affection.

  Here on H’tebhmella, where they said it was impossible to be unhappy, she was still as cold, as locked away in her misery. Yet she was also subtly different: the sinister, dark quality she possessed had faded into a spiritual abstraction, a contradictory mixture of hopelessness and unconquerable determination.

  Estarinel, Medrian and Ashurek had been on the Blue Plane for three days. Without their timely rescue from the dreadful Castle of Gastada, they would certainly have died, but already the healing aura of H’tebhmella had restored them to health, cleansing illness and closing wounds. The memories remained, but it all seemed far in the past, incapable of touching them in this distant domain of blue crystal.

  On the day they had arrived, the Lady of the Blue Plane had spoken to them at length about the existence of the Earth and Planes, and how the Serpent had come into being. She had told them that although the creature was virtually invincible, if it did not die, disaster awaited the Earth and universe. The Guardians – neutral beings who tried to balance the energies of the cosmos – were preparing a weapon known as the Silver Staff to be wielded against M’gulfn, but even so, the Serpent would only be vulnerable as long as it did not regain its third eye: the Egg-Stone that Ashurek had found and lost.

  Certainly there was no chance of the Egg-Stone being recovered, for it had fallen deep into the molten heart of a volcano. But there were other unanswered questions: Miril, the strange bird-like creature from whom Ashurek had stolen the Egg-Stone, had warned that unless he found her again, the world was doomed. And it was also said that the Serpent possessed a host, an unknown human into whom its living essence could flee if its body was attacked. That, above all, made it indestructible. Yet even the Lady herself seemed to have no answer to these mysteries.

  And even if we find the Silver Staff, and Miril and the rest don’t matter, we are still fallible humans, Estarinel thought grimly. How can we hope to face the Arctic weather, let alone the Serpent’s cunning and power?

  He found that as his body returned to health, his mind became increasingly restless. He was more apprehensive now than he had been at any other stage of the Quest; it was easier to bear all this dreadful knowledge when he was ill and in despair. Now it seemed that however much he twisted thoughts and possibilities in his head, it only made their situation seem worse and worse.

  Ashurek had said he felt that they were not acting of their own volition at all, but being manipulated by invisible powers. The more he considered this, the more Estarinel could believe it. The suggestion filled him with frustration that was too vague to become anger, although he felt the truth of it in everything. Eldor had withheld knowledge from them. Even the Lady had not said as much as she could, and Ashurek might be keeping certain things hidden. As for Medrian – Estarinel shook his head. In his darker moments, he felt something was indeed manipulating the Quest, thrusting three humans into an impossible situation with the minimum of help or advice, as if they were puppets, and Ashurek and Medrian reluctantly in league with the heartless puppeteer.

  I only came to help my own people, to try to save Forluin from destruction, he thought. How did it all become so complicated? When he thought of the beautiful island he had left behind, the gentle and loving people who had been undeservedly ravaged by the grey Worm, his confusion and unhappiness twisted ever more tightly within him. It was hard to grasp how savage and uncaring the world outside Forluin was. He wondered if he could withstand this awful realisation for long enough to continue the Quest.

  ‘Estarinel!’ The sudden call made him start and look round.

  Approaching him along the shore was a tall woman with shining chestnut hair and humorous eyes. She carried herself proudly and her face was bright with cheerful courage. Lost in thought, for a moment he could not think who she was. Then he remembered.

  ‘Hello, Calorn,’ he greeted her, forcing a smile. She was the warrior assigned by the H’tebhmellians to help in the next stage of the Quest.

  ‘I thought that as we’ll be travelling together soon, it would be as well if we got to know each other,’ she explained with a friendly grin. ‘But you seem troubled. If you’d rather not talk now…’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I would be glad of your company.’

  ‘Good. Let us find somewhere to sit.’ They walked along the shore until it curved round and rose into a knoll of crystal-blue rock. Estarinel looked around for Medrian, but she was out of sight. He did not notice Calorn’s gaze on him as they seated themselves on the knoll.

  She was wondering if he had changed much since starting the Quest; she imagined that he must have been less thin, perhaps younger-looking, and without the haunted darkness in his eyes. He still had the clear, beautiful features of a Forluinishman, but there were certain ineradicable lines and scars on his face now, and his black wavy hair had grown very long, giving him a wild appearance. It was a look both of determination and despair.

  ‘Estarinel, you seem so downhearted. Hasn’t H’tebhmella brought you healing? Aren’t you happy here?’

  ‘Too happy,’ he sighed. ‘Perhaps that’s the problem. From the time the Serpent attacked my land and all through our journey, I’ve never really had time to think. Now I can’t stop thinking.’

  ‘Would it help to tell me?’ Calorn asked. He hesitated, but then he saw the friendliness in her clear amber eyes and he knew he could trust her.

  ‘I don’t know, Calorn. It’s the beauty of this place, and knowing what is happening to Earth and what we must face when we set off again. And I’ve made a decision to visit Forluin before we go, and I don’t know if it’s right. Then this waiting for news of the Silver Staff is terrible, and there’s so much we don’t know…’ He was silent for a moment, staring across the lake at a crag of aquamarine-hued rock. ‘But what troubles me most of all is Medrian.’

  ‘Why? She seems so self-possessed.’

  ‘She seems so… but there is something wrong with her, something terribly wrong, and she can’t or won’t tell us what it is.’ He shook his head and smiled half-heartedly. ‘I’m sorry, Calorn, I shouldn’t burden you with this. There’s nothing anyone can do.’

  ‘H’tebhmella could bring you peace of mind, if you’d let it,’ Calorn suggested gently.

  ‘I daren’t,’ he replied. ‘I’d lose all heart to carry on, if I let myself forget.’ Just then he saw a small boat drifting across the lake. In it were Medrian and the Lady of H’tebhmella. He watched the vessel until it was lost to sight, wondering where they were going and what Medrian was telling the Lady that she could not tell him. ‘Well, and what of you, Calorn?’ he said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘You heard all about us when we arrived, but I still don’t know anything about you.’

  She pulled a face. ‘There’s nothing to know, really. I’m just a warrior who’s been assigned to help you in the Quest.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to be even more secretive than Medrian,’ he persisted, and the genuine interest in his gentle eyes got the better of her.

  ‘Well, if you insist… I come from a world that some call Ikonus, a lovely green world,’ she began. ‘I was always restless for travel and knowledge, even as a child; the feeling drove me to the greatest place of learning in the world, the School of Sorcery. I didn’t study sorcery itself – too esoteric for me! – but the more basic arts, soldi
ery and the Ways between worlds. But a disaster befell Ikonus–’

  She faltered and Estarinel said, ‘If it’s painful, don’t…’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I was only thinking, it is a long story and strangely interconnected with events in your world; I hadn’t realised it until now. You see, Silvren and Arlenmia were at the School of Sorcery at the same time as me.’

  ‘Silvren and Arlenmia?’ Estarinel echoed, incredulous.

  Calorn paused, then said, ‘I’ll tell you more later, because I think Ashurek would also be interested. For now, I’ll say only that it was Arlenmia who brought ruin to my world.’

  Estarinel stared at her, stunned. ‘I can believe it,’ he muttered. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, Ikonus was dying, or at least very sick – but when I offered my services to the Sorcerers, to help heal the damage, I was told there was nothing I could do. In one way I was angry; in another, oddly relieved. I used the knowledge I did have to leave Ikonus and explore other worlds. I’ve never been back. I made a decision that even if I couldn’t help my own world, at least I could try to help others against people like Arlenmia.’ She smiled. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? After years of travelling and fighting, I eventually arrived on H’tebhmella, and gave my service to them. I suppose I am a mercenary of sorts,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘My reward is being able to believe that I’m fighting for the right side. I know how important your Quest is. I believe the Lady told you that my task – because of my knowledge of the Ways between worlds – is to guide you to the path into the domain of the Silver Staff. It’s vital that I don’t fail you.’

  Estarinel looked at Calorn for several moments before replying. He suddenly saw her in a new light: a woman who had turned her back on her own ruined world without bitterness, and gone forth with cheerful courage to fight other people’s battles. Would I be capable of the same thing in her place? he thought. If Forluin is doomed, can I leave her behind and forget?