Page 1 of Lord of the Darkness

Prologue

1815

In the long twilight of summer, a well-dressed girl hurried up the hill towards the tree which spread its branches over the small cliff above the Darkmire River. The ravine below was short, soon ended where the river moved from between its sides to flow through gentler country the other side of the ford, but the view from beneath that tree was the best for miles around.

She frowned as she approached, seeing no sign of anyone waiting for her, touched in that moment by a sense of deep foreboding.

Well back from the path, in the shadows of the dense copse of trees to one side, a man stood, watching her, his expression expectant, and oddly gleeful.

She reached the top, and looked around, obviously puzzled, then stepped closer to the edge of the cliff, looking down, cautiously.

Her half scream echoed back to her from the ravine, and she lifted her hand to her mouth. She stayed there, frozen in place, for long moments, then turned and ran back down the path, and along towards the ford. Caught on the rocks there, she saw what at first seemed a bundle of old clothing – but was not, she knew, for she recognised those garments, instantly – and the dark hair of the man who still wore them, even as he lay, half in the water, his face down, with the current pulling his hair about him.

He did not move, and she knew then that her worst fears had been realised, that all of her remaining hopes had been snuffed out, as had his life. How could he have fallen? Had he knocked his head, becoming insensible, and drowned before he had recovered his awareness?

She could not know – as she could not know if she might have prevented this, had she arrived sooner, as she had been meant to do. Guilt assailed her as she reached out a shaking hand to touch him, the chill of his unbreathing body seeping into her heart and soul, leaving her with only loneliness and despair for company.

Sobs racked her then, deep, body shaking sobs, and she let herself mourn, knowing that, once she went back and informed her father of this misadventure, he would refuse to allow her to express her grief, as he had refused to allow them their love. But she would mourn inside, she would turn from all other men, as she already had started to, and live on memory alone.

In the copse of trees, light blue eyes caught the last of the setting sun, a flash of colour echoed by something just below them, something held in a pale hand, and whispered words drifted on the breeze.

“If I may not have you, then none shall – by your choice or your father’s.”