The Dark Disciple (The Daybreak Saga Book 2)

by Dan Neil

  “Yes. He also broke Axl Evander out of the Lockout on the day of his execution. They were both last tracked on a northward path.”

  Keia snapped to attention. Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard anything about Axl’s execution. That, at least, gave her some heart.

  Raya raised her hand, a stern frown on her face.

  “You need not raise your hands,” Oliver said softly.

  She nodded. “So, Gaheris is the King’s Adviser on Magic now, right?”

  He nodded. “That is correct.”

  “Who’s going to be the new King’s Keeper of Secrets?” she asked.

  Oliver clasped his hands behind his back. “Lord Mar Mercer has been named by King Symon. He is visiting from Northstead and has agreed to take over all of Gaheris’s old duties. I am confident that he will perform admirably.”

  One of the veterans asked, “Will our new leader ever be joining us?”

  Giving a shake of his head, Oliver replied, “Doubtful—Gaheris is a busy man, as he likes to say. I will now be completely in charge of all training. Everything will continue as normally as possible. I will do my best to make the transition less difficult than it has to be, considering what it is.”

  Devin asked the next question. “What happens to us if Gaheris shuts down the division?”

  Oliver grimaced. “Some of you may be absorbed into other divisions. Truth be told, I think it more likely that Gaheris simply dismisses us all. We will work together and do everything we can to prevent that from happening.”

  Keia was still staring at the ground. She heard every word, but was still processing the brutal new reality. Her entire body felt empty, as if all her anger for Gaheris and burning questions for Myrddin canceled each other out. All that was left was guilt and loneliness.

  He must have realized that I was a lost cause and bailed. I wonder how long he’s been planning this—planning to leave me behind. Just like everyone does, eventually.

  Chapter 16

  Oathsworn

  Day 141 of the Season of Aion, 1020 YAR

  Scipion sat in the middle of the crowded camp of the Oathsworn, the name of King Logan’s host. He huddled close to a fire as soldiers ran about on urgent business. It was perfectly organized chaos. Scipion took note of everything unfolding around him.

  It’s been over a month now, and we’ve heard nothing from the Lost Prince. We’re just marching with the rearguard.

  The Scorpion Knight was not pleased, despite the rescue. Luck was not a reliable mistress, and that scared him. He kept admonishing himself for his foolishness.

  I knew Anton Day was nearby, and I acted recklessly. Let’s just hope that the Lost Prince’s scouts don’t befall the same fate. Poor Vonn…

  The scout was just a boy. The other scouts had been only boys, and they were killed, too. Scipion had failed them—all of them.

  From behind, a voice said, “Scipion Gannala. The second, if I’m correct?”

  Scipion scrambled to attention and turned to see the king with his Valkhar, Zel Rybeck.

  Logan elaborated, “I remember a Scipion Gannala, but he was older then than you are now.”

  The Scorpion Knight bent the knee. “My king.”

  Waving Scipion’s decorum aside, the king replied, “There’s no need for that now. Walk with me.”

  Scipion took the king’s side as they walked through the bustling camp. King Logan watched as his men each scurried to do their part in his massive war machine. His smile was hollow, betraying inner remorse.

  “Forgive the wait. There have been too many matters requiring my attention, but I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” the king said. Scipion noticed deep bags under Logan’s eyes. “Your father served my father, in the days before.”

  Scipion said, “He fought for Balar Barradi even as Bhothar broke down the walls to the king’s keep. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

  “He served faithfully.” King Logan nodded. “I am sure, so will you. These lands have many enemies. Speaking of which, I heard you killed one of the Day brothers.”

  “Yes, Jomar. The youngest. It was no great accomplishment—we just ambushed him.”

  Logan nodded. His eyes were distant and empty as he said, “Anton is smart, and Julius is pious, if you can call serving that dark god of theirs pious. Jomar was the fool of the group. You left the worst of them alive. Still, it’s a miracle that you were able to kill one of them with as few men as you have.”

  “Not many, but they fight valiantly. You will find them useful, I am sure.”

  “I can always use more Valkhars in my forces. I have a lot of talkers on my side—never enough fighters,” King Logan lamented. He was somber. Scipion wondered who the prince was before the Sack of Sophegion.

  The king continued, “Yfrayne the Black Heart marches west, and New Dawn moves south to evade them. What would you have me do, Scipion?”

  “I would not presume to have you do anything.”

  “Your father was a great Valkhar to King Balar,” Logan began. “But your mother, she was smart. She used to tutor me, you know. She would sit me down and tell me stories from history, explaining battles and treaties alike. Your father, I’m sure you are aware, was not a very bright man. I want to see if you’re more like your father or your mother. Either way, I could use you, but if you take after your mother, I would value your counsel more than your blade.”

  Scipion thought for a moment. “If it were me, I would want to find Anton Day as soon as possible.”

  “Why him? Why not Julius?”

  “Julius Day commands a smaller force. Anton commands a larger one, though not as large as yours, I believe. In the long term, I believe you would need more men to challenge the Black Heart—to destroy New Dawn would bring many of the common folk to your side. And of the remaining brothers, Anton is the most hated.”

  A bitter spark flickered in Logan’s eyes. “An untrained army of thousands is still outmatched by the Black Heart’s mercenaries.”

  “In the hands of the right commander, even the untrained might stand a chance.”

  “And are you the right commander, Scipion?”

  Scipion was taken aback. “I do not think so.”

  “If you had ten thousand men, how would you go about fighting the Black Heart?”

  “That depends.” Scipion tilted his head. “How many archers, spearmen, and Valkhars make up my host? What are my supplies? Am I entrenched, or can I entrench myself? How many horses do I have—and the enemy, for that matter? What is the terrain like? What time of day? How much do I know about his forces—their supplies, the amount of sleep, the distance of their last march?”

  Logan smiled. “The right commander must consider those very things. I was never fond of battle. When we returned in Sophegion, word traveled quickly about the son of Scipion—the Scorpion Knight they called you, a brilliant and valiant warrior.”

  Ignoring the compliment, Scipion said, “Battles are fluid things. You must know yourself and your enemy. That is why killing Anton is critical; he is New Dawn’s brains. Cities might pledge their support with him gone.”

  “Yes, they might,” Logan said. “But they might not.”

  “Everyone hates Bhothar, and they hate New Dawn and these other groups who prey on them. If we give them an alternative, I believe most will fight for it—so long as we show them we can win. There are also other options. The Gaion could lend their fighters. Even Bhothar dared not touch them. They’re still intact, and their mages could turn the tide. The Warrior’s Guild would also work for you, for the right price.”

  “I tried the Warrior’s Guild already.” Logan tightened his frown. “That bastard Florio, he only wants gold and glory. He’d rather sit in his halls and drink with his soldiers than help his king reclaim the lands which are rightfully his.”

  Scipion hesitated.


  “You want to ask something?” Logan said. “Go ahead. You can speak to me in full honesty, Scipion.”

  “How did you escape from Sophegion?”

  “I didn’t, really,” Logan said with sadness in his voice. “When the sack began, my mother hid me away in one of the passages within the King’s Keep. The last thing she ever said to me was to be quiet. So, I did. Still, I saw what they did to her—what the Black Heart did to her. I’ve never forgotten. It still plays out before me every night.”

  He shivered upon speaking of his mother’s fate.

  “You just stayed there?”

  “Yes. Bhothar did not know of the secret passages within. The architect and the plans were both lost to his bombing campaign; so, I was undetectable. I hunted rats for two months, scavenged whatever I could until they left. After that, I escaped, and it wasn’t long before I met Zel Rybeck here. Then, we traveled—from Madros Major all the way to the Temple at the Isle of the Gods, out on the Forbidden Lake in Grythos.”

  “The Temple of the Old Masters?” Scipion asked, astonished. “You went there and survived?”

  “Barely,” King Logan said. “Traps and dark magic litter that place, along with foul creatures.”

  “How did you come to start the Oathsworn?” Scipion asked. “I should think if Lord Mornwas—”

  “We do not call that bastard by an honorary name,” King Logan said. “We do not call him what Bhothar declared as his title, or we give him power. No, he is Yfrayne the Black Heart. He is a fiend cloaked in human skin—a monster who has earned a stake through its heart.”

  “Forgive me, my king,” Scipion said. “If the Black Heart heard about you, I should think he would want you eliminated.”

  “He did not hear about me,” Logan continued as calm once more settled about him. “I made sure of that. I posed as a commoner to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. Eventually, Valkhars began to gather to our cause—then others. We managed to cripple the Northern Slaver’s Guild in battle, thanks to Zel Rybeck here. The people of Xurubia flocked to us after that.”

  “The same will happen here if we kill the Day brothers,” Scipion assured. “The people hate and fear them. They would rise up of their own accord if they could. At least, I hear that often.”

  “Fear is a powerful tool for men such as our enemies,” Logan said. “We will proceed with caution. The war for Madros Relia’s soul is far from over.”

  “I would like nothing more than to help you win that war. No matter what you ask, my sword is yours.” He walked a few steps in front of King Logan and knelt before him. “I would pledge my services to you from now until I am dismissed or dead.”

  King Logan’s eyes widened. A smile almost crept onto his lips. “You already pledged yourself to my cause, did you not?”

  “Yes, but not officially. I would like to do that now.”

  The king nodded and drew his sword, made from Grythos Steel. The edge rang with a metallic resonance as it was unsheathed and lightly placed on Scipion’s shoulder.

  “Then, in the name of King Logan Barradi, of the line Barradi of Alnatria, I, the King of Madros Relia from the Western Cape to the Far East Crescent, Protector of the Mother’s Gift, hereby accept you, and all others who pledged alongside you, into my service. Scipion Gannala II, you may rise, and when you do, you will be sworn to an oath of blood: an oath to fight until your last day for your king.”

  Scipion’s chest stuck out a bit when he stood. “Thank you, my king.”

  “There is no need. I need men like you—thinkers. I have a special mission for you, Scipion.”

  “Anything.”

  Logan said in a low voice, “I am going to assign you a number of my men. You’ll take them and your forces and kill Anton Day. I want you to be my commander, Scipion. But first, you must show me that you are worthy of command. When your friend Matalo heals, you should take him with you. Bring me the head of that man, and I will promote you to my war council so that you may assist in destroying the Black Heart, the Bhothar, and any who stand in the way of the One True King.”

  “I will not fail you, King Logan,” Scipion said, eternally grateful for this opportunity. His whole life, he believed he was fighting for a lost cause. Now, the Madros Relia he hoped for no longer seemed so out of reach. Warmth emanated from his chest.

  Logan gave a curt nod, his lips curving into a half-smile. “I am sure you won’t. My host is marching east, to Elduston. The governor there, Lord Ngozi, is sympathetic to our cause. From there, we march north to Sophegion and confront the Black Heart. But by that time, you’ll have crushed Anton Day’s forces and regrouped with us.”

  “How do you plan on defeating him?”

  King Logan smiled confidently, though there was still sadness in his eyes. “That is for me to know. All things in due time, Scipion. For now, find Anton Day. Raise as many as you can. Show me how seriously you take your oaths.”

  —

  “You really are a complete fool,” Lady Anasia said as she tended Matalo’s wounds. They had mostly healed by now. “I don’t think I’ve met a man as reckless, and unthinking, as you.”

  Matalo smiled. “You’ve said that every day for a month now.”

  “And it’s still just as true. You brought this on yourself. You almost brought worse on all of us.”

  Matalo choked out a laugh. “Maybe I am a little lucky—never thought so before.”

  Lady Anasia gave him a stern glare. “Reckless, foolish, and lucky—I suppose that those are not the worst things to be. You’re an idiot, but a noble one.”

  “I’m lucky that you’re a healer.”

  “I was going to apply to be one of the Gaion before the invasion.” Lady Anasia’s eyes glowed. “I was so young then. I thought nothing could go wrong. I had everything planned out.”

  Matalo’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling. “Something can always go wrong. I didn’t know that back then, either. But something can always go right, too. I think I’d forgotten that over the past few years. Life is funny.”

  “I don’t know if funny is the word I would use to describe it. You and Scipion both need to start thinking things through. You won’t save anyone marching off and getting yourselves killed,” she chided.

  “I know.” Matalo shuddered to think how close they came to the end in Green Creek. Banishing the thought, he said, “They must have a better network of spies than we thought. I didn’t think word of Jomar’s death would spread so quickly.”

  Anasia shrugged. “People like them own these lands. You can’t get away from them; I’ve spent my whole life trying. The hateful die, but never hatred.”

  Matalo stared at the roof of the tent as she went about her work. “Where are you from, anyway? I’m placing your accent as—Elduston?”

  Lady Anasia paused before answering, “I’m from the west, in Bafana.” Her hands resumed tending to his wounds. “My family moved just outside Madros Minor before Bhothar’s invasion; they were just commoners, nobodies. Most of them died when he laid siege to the Madros Settlements, but I escaped. The rest left to liberate Madros Relia and never returned.”

  “You must have been just a girl.” Matalo struggled to sit up, but Lady Anasia placed a hand on his bare chest and pushed him back down.

  “I was twelve then, and now, it’s been almost ten years. I’m in my twenties, supposed to be the prime of my life, stuck amid a civil war.”

  “It won’t be like this forever,” Matalo vowed. “Scipion and I are going to change it.”

  “Many men say that.” Lady Anasia frowned. “Then they ride off into the sunset, daring to oppose the enemies, feeling assured of their victory. They never win.”

  “If enough people say it, someone will return someday.”

  Her eyes rolled. “You are too optimistic for your own good. Where are you from?”

  “I come from Sophegio
n, in Alnatria,” he replied. “I lived there until I was fifteen, and then I escaped with Scipion during the sack. I can still smell the blood and fire—and the screams—they never left me.”

  “Do you know if your parents are alive?”

  “I don’t even know who my parents are,” he replied grimly. “I don’t remember anything about them. They died in some war between Alnatria and Bafana. I was taken into the service of the Gannala family to serve as Scipion’s Kalua when he was made a Valkhar. Apparently, Scipion the Elder owed my mother a life debt.”

  She tenderly wrapped a bandage around his head. “They’re like your family.”

  He placed a hand over his heart and said, “Scipion is my brother. Perhaps not by blood or by name, but we are brothers, nonetheless. The things we’ve been through—we wouldn’t have survived without each other. I would have charged recklessly into some battle, and he would have starved from indecision.”

  “You think you two make a good team?” Lady Anasia mocked. “You didn’t last time.”

  Matalo did not respond. He knew she was right. They endangered the settlement, and their worst fears were realized before King Logan rescued them. They were luckier than most who were captured by Anton Day.

  Matalo blurted out, “What will you do now that Green Creek has been…”

  She stayed silent, sadness filling her eyes from being reminded of her village’s fate.

  “Forgive me if I’ve upset you, my lady. I meant no—”

  “I’m not your lady.” She took a deep breath. “No, it’s fine. I must accept the truth. We were vulnerable.” She leaned back. “I started Green Creek in the hopes of staying far from the conflict. I imagined it as a sanctuary, a refuge from the seeds sown in this land. It was foolish of me to even dream I could escape from all this.”

  Matalo’s eyes steeled with determination. “There’s nothing foolish about any of that! The world only becomes a better place if people do something. Nothing changes or improves on its own. The people of Madros Relia need sanctuary more than ever.”

  “Maybe the world isn’t meant to improve.”