Chapter One #2
This signaled the end of the ritual. The fire died down and the robed figures broke their formation. Some removed their robes, talking softly with their compatriots. A few of the followers made furtive glances at Tolliver’s body—a graphic warning against betraying their leader.
Nobody was paying any attention to the amulet lying on the blood-soaked rock.
Darcy took a deep breath, endeavoring to slow his racing heart.
The events he had observed in the clearing were far more dangerous and disturbing than Richard had feared when he had first heard rumors of the group.
Darcy would need to convey this information to the Assessor’s Agency immediately; a threat of this size would need to be handled by Director Cranston in consultation with the Council for Enchantment.
But if Darcy could obtain the amulet, the director might glean some clues about the necromancer’s activities—perhaps even his identity. It would also prevent the blackguard from creating more wights.
Darcy swathed himself in shadows and crept into the clearing, watching the mancers talk and even joke.
If he had not just observed them participating in a dark magic ritual and murder, he would have thought they were meeting at White’s Gentleman’s Club.
The necromancer was completely surrounded by sycophantic followers.
He and many of the other mancers kept their masks on, so Darcy could not identify them.
Their voices were loud enough to cover any noises Darcy made.
Staying low to the ground, he raced to the tall rock and grabbed the amulet.
Unfortunately, Fletchley happened to be glancing in that direction.
He could not see Darcy, covered in shadows, but he glimpsed the amulet moving through the air until Darcy slung it around his neck and concealed it again.
“The amulet! Where is the amulet? Someone is stealing it!” Fletchley shouted.
Abandoning all thoughts of silence, Darcy crashed through the underbrush at the far edge of the clearing. Shadows continued to conceal him, but the sounds of his passage would allow them to pursue him.
He ran for the river and the trees and brambles lining its banks.
Crashes and shouts suggested his pursuers were not far behind.
Apparently one of the pursuers was an illuminomancer, who pulled light from the moon to illuminate the whole area.
It did nothing to pierce Darcy’s shadows, but it allowed the pursuers to follow the path of broken twigs and crushed vegetation in his wake.
Perhaps he should have thought of an escape route before impulsively grabbing the amulet. The horror of Tolliver’s death had shaken Darcy more than he had realized.
Up ahead, a tangle of vegetation marked the bank of the River Lea.
He had the vague idea that he might be able to escape into the river.
He did not know if he was a strong enough swimmer to reach the other bank, but perhaps he could let the current pull him downstream from his pursuers.
It was a desperate hope, but Darcy was rather desperate.
He was not far from the river when he tripped over a fallen branch.
Damnation! His ankle twisted and he hit his head painfully on a tree root.
Momentarily, everything went black. No! I cannot lose consciousness now.
It would mean my death. He forced his eyes open and struggled to a sitting position.
But he had lost control of the concealing shadows when he fell.
“There he is!” With a cry of triumph, one of his pursuers, a tall blond man, leaped upon him and landed a punch on Darcy’s jaw. He grabbed for the amulet at Darcy’s neck, and Darcy kneed him in the stomach, causing him to fall back.
Fletchley had caught up to them. As Darcy staggered to a standing position, he grabbed Darcy’s shirt. “Give us the amulet, and maybe you will live.”
Darcy thought of Tolliver’s screams. “No.”
Fletchley pulled down additional light, shining it directly in his face. “Darcy!”
“Darcy?” the blond said. “From Pemberley? Why is he here?”
Fletchley uttered an oath. “He works for the Assessor’s Agency. The leader told me.” Darcy wondered how their leader knew such a closely guarded secret.
“The leader definitely doesn’t want him carrying stories to them,” the blond man said, pulling out a knife.
Darcy drew down shadows, but his attackers were close and had the advantage of Fletchley’s illumination.
They clearly knew where he was. Darcy backed away, but the blond man closed the distance immediately, slashing out randomly with his knife.
Pain slicing across Darcy’s ribs told him the blade had found its mark.
Darcy briefly considered fighting, but he was unarmed. Moreover, additional pursuers were on their way to join his attackers. His only hope was to escape.
He gasped in pain as the knife grazed his thigh, but he managed to pull the shadows around him as he ran for the river, his injured ankle protesting each step.
He dared not glance behind him, but his pursuers were so near he could hear their breathing. His only advantage was that the shadows rendered him almost invisible. He dodged around the trunk of a tree and there was the river.
Without hesitation, he dove for the water, aiming to be as far out into the Lea as was possible.
The splash was tremendous, and the shock of cold water made him gasp. It might be summer, but the water was hardly temperate. He stayed under as long as he could, breaking the surface as quietly as possible and then exposing only his head.
Splashes told him that his two pursuers had followed him into the water.
Darcy pulled shadows to conceal his head, using only the barest movement to keep himself afloat as the current pulled him downstream.
The two men called to each other as Fletchley illuminated wide swathes of the river.
But his light could not penetrate Darcy’s shadows.
The current was sluggish, but the river was moving him away from their position.
Finally Fletchley said, “This is impossible. He could be halfway to London.”
“I doubt it,” the blond man said. “I got a couple of good cuts in. He’s probably sinking to the bottom.”
Darcy longed to dispute this assertion, but he was not sure the man was wrong.
His head throbbed where he had hit the tree root.
When he touched the area gingerly with his fingers, it was bigger than an egg.
That could not be good. And he could only imagine how much of his blood was flowing into the river from the two knife wounds.
If he were a betting man, Darcy would not give good odds on his survival at the moment.
“And if he lives?” Fletchley asked.
“He has to come ashore some time, and Fitzwilliam Darcy is hardly inconspicuous. We will find him.”
Fletchley gave a harsh bark of laughter. “True enough.”
Darcy was already many yards away when the men splashed noisily for the riverbank. That danger past, he turned his attention to not drowning—certainly the greatest concern at the moment, he thought muzzily. Possible head contusions and knife wounds would have to wait.
Or perhaps they would not. He closed his eyes against a world that was spinning for reasons that had nothing to do with being in the river. He had no inclination to swim for the bank and was not even sure where it was.
All in all, he thought, these would be excellent conditions in which to drown. He even wondered if that would be such a bad thing. He was so tired; death sounded rather peaceful.
No. I must tell the director of the danger posed by the necromancer and his followers. And I cannot leave Georgiana alone.
When did duty become the only thing of value in my life?
Philosophizing later. Survival now.
Perhaps he could float…But he needed something to help keep him from sinking.
He managed to crack open his eyes and searched the nearby area using the limited light provided by the moon.
Ah. There was a sturdy-looking log bobbing on the surface.
He made his way toward it. Darcy was usually a powerful swimmer, but each stroke was agony as it pulled on the cut across his ribs.
When he reached the log, he wrapped both arms around the top and rested his head on his arms. Perhaps that will be proof against drowning. If not…well, I did my best.
Was he imagining a whirlpool or was that the darkness sucking him down?