A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  “Board up,” I answered. “When the time is right I will take care of the river and the ice.”

  I sat quietly on a tree stump a short distance from the jetty watching as the ferrymen busied themselves checking cable tension and supervising the loading and securing of the horses.

  The ferry was a sturdy looking contraption built from the hardwood trees of the southern forests near Kendir. It traversed the river via a system of four cables, two running through the hull just above the waterline and two external cables, one along the side of the vessel and the other overhead. The whole thing was propelled along the cables by a capstan which in turn was connected through a series of gears to the internal pulleys and by a system of chains and cogs to the overhead line. To all intents it looked as though it could make the crossing under the most adverse conditions, but, as the ferrymen said, a good strike by a sizeable piece of fast moving ice would doubtless scupper the vessel.

  When the men had completed their preparations they signalled to Dthor-Aid’n who in turn called to me. The troop boarded silently, each man in turn pausing to salute the idol of Kiapsis, god of rivers and streams in a bid, I supposed, to curry favour with the deity and ensure a safe crossing.

  “Do you actually have a plan to keep us safe, little wizard?” Dthor-Aid’n whispered as he escorted me on board.

  I gave the Captain a pert look. “If you are a religious man, soldier, I suggest you pray.”

  The captain returned an equally pert smile. “I would trust my life to you long before I would trust it to an idol, lad,” he told me and took up a place on one of the capstan points with the Lead Man.

  The swift current took us rapidly to the centre of the river, the angle of the ferry’s hull deflecting any debris in the icy floe. At centre stream the vessel turned broadside across the current causing it to tilt at an alarmingly precarious angle. The men let out startled shouts and the horses whinnied in alarm.

  The ferrymen jammed the capstan staves into the sockets and began to strain. The pillar began to turn and the pulleys and cables creaked as the mechanism struggled against the river. I turned my attention upstream and drew my wand. Not that the device had any innate power, it was mainly a dress piece, but the action seemed to give the ferrymen fresh heart.

  As the ferry began to move forward a large slab of ice appeared round the bend in the river. The Lead Man spotted it and rushed over to where I stood.

  “Mercy, Lord Wizard! We’ll be dashed and drownded. That we will!”

  I rounded on the man fiercely. “If you do not return to your post this instant that fate will befall you far more quickly than you can imagine for I will cast you to the river myself!”

  I turned my attention back upstream. The berg was approaching at incredible speed and I knew in that moment that if I was not strong enough to deflect it then our mission for Janir would end on this river.

  Closing my eyes I stretched out my thoughts. I could feel the edges of the icy rock pressing sharp and cold against the borders of my mind and as I exerted my will I could feel the current of the river fighting against me. I let out a heavy breath. This berg was just too heavy, the river was too strong. I gathered my strength and began to push with my mind. My feet began to slide on the wet decking. It was no good.

  “The first rule of combat, Meriq, when you are outmatched by size and weight is to use your opponent’s weight against him.” Aenar’s voice seemed to float up from my memory and suddenly I was with the veteran in the wrestling ring facing off one of the biggest recruits I had ever seen. “Grasp, pull and roll,” Aenar told me and so I did. The recruit went flying over me as if he was nothing more than a doll. I smiled to myself focussing once more on the approaching ice. “Push,” I muttered, “And if that doesn’t work, pull!”

  Slowly my thoughts wove around the ice using its weight and the current to pull it further out from the centre of the river and using the movement of my wand to trace the trajectory I wanted the berg to take.

  Suddenly from overhead there was a crack of thunder. A strand of the cable whistled past me, catching me a glancing blow on my shoulder and sending me sprawling. In the time it took me to regain my feet and my focus the ice was almost upon us.

  “We are destroyed!” the Lead Man cried out.

  “Not this day.” I answered and summoning as much strength as I could I gathered in the further edges of my thoughts and conjuring the shape of a giant axe in my mind’s eye I blasted the thoughts out with all the will I could muster.

  The surface of the river went completely flat as if it had stopped flowing, the approaching slab of ice reared up as if it had hit a rock and stood up on its end briefly before starting to topple towards us like a felled tree. There was a sudden explosion and the iceberg vanished in a haze of crystallised water and mist. Ice stones the size of a man’s fist pelted the deck shattering to fine snow as they struck and then the air was clear and the threat was gone, vanished as if it had never been.

  The moment of victory was short-lived as another ply of the cable cracked past me.

  “We are losing the overhead line,” one of the ferrymen shouted.

  “Then do not stand there gaping like dead fish, takes us ashore!” I shouted.

  The ferrymen braced themselves against the duckboards and leaned against the staves with all their strength. The soldiers too strode in and began to strain with the sailors. I grabbed a hand strap on the side rail and turned my mind to the pulleys overhead, weaving my thoughts around the wheels and forcing them to turn, twisting the ragged, damaged cable back on to itself so that it could pass through the pulley system and finally focussing all of my energy on forcing the gears to turn. My head was burning, my feet slid on the wet deck and then left it altogether as the flow of power pulled me into the air.

  “Meriq! Meriq!” Faedron’s voice sounded muffled and distant, “By the gods, grab him, someone!” Suddenly I could feel hands on me trying to pull me out of the air. “Pray harder!” I shouted. “Pray harder!”

  The roar of the river filled my ears drowned out occasionally by the groan of the timber and the shouted prayers of the ferrymen and soldiers as they struggled against the current. The pain in my head spread down my neck into my shoulder and along my arm and all I could hear was the rush of my blood in my ears and the roar of the river. Then all was silent and still save for the harsh panting breath of sailors and the steady rattle of the gears as the ferry drifted into the quieter waters of Zendra’s jetty.

  Slowly I felt my strength returning and I opened my eyes. I was lying on the one of the ferry’s benches with Dthor-Aid’n cradling my head in his lap. Karyn was gently bandaging a rather nasty looking wound on my right wrist. I gave Dthor-Aid’n a broad smile. “Are we there yet? I seem to have slept through the voyage.”

  “I have no clear idea of what you were doing, lad, but it was surely not sleeping.” The soldier set me on my feet steadying me as I swayed a little.

  As we disembarked silence enveloped the crowd that had gathered by the ferry lodge. Eyes followed as we passed and more than once did I remark furtive gestures against the evil eye. The ferrymen were gathered near the tollbooth with a small group of Zendrans.

  “I’m telling you,” the Lead Man was saying, “he shattered the berg with lightning from his eyes then he just spread his cloak and flew up off the deck and dragged us into the harbour. No word of a lie.”

  Well not much of a lie, I thought. I stalked over to where the men stood. “Fool!” I hissed at him, “Know you not when to thank the gods to whom you pray? It was Kiapsis your sailors’ patron who saved you from the flood, not I. Make your propitiations to Him.”

  I rejoined my companions, mounted up and turned the group towards the village proper, aware all the time of the Morlans staring at me. I turned to Markos, “Lightning from my eyes indeed,” I scoffed.

  The prince laughed, “Aye! Fear breeds some strange notions, Ez’n.”

  “Say what you will, lad,” Dthor-Aid’n said quietly as he
drew level with me, “but I know what we saw.” He reached over and took my injured hand in his. “And if it was the hand of a god that delivered us,” he paused, releasing my hand as Markos trotted past us, “tell me why it is yours that is bleeding.”

  We dismounted by a tavern called “The Burning Tree” and tethered the horses. Here we would replenish our supplies in readiness for the long ride ahead and gather what intelligence we could about the Black Army.

  “And maybe take a jar or two?” Aenar suggested hopefully.

  “If you can manage to lift one,” Kylos quipped dodging Aenar’s playful kick to his backside.

  “You little demon,” Aenar retorted laughing, “Trust me, you are not so well-grown that I shall not put you across my knee.”

  “‘B’zaddi, needs must that you should catch me first.” Kylos bowed low, holding the tavern door open. “Age before beauty.”

  Aenar gave the young man a disparaging look, cuffed him playfully then smiled. “Pearls before swine.”

  Dthor-Aid’n shot me an amused look. “That promises to be a most interesting fellowship, I feel.”

  Faedron bounced up beside us. “Well, I don’t care what Prince Markos says, it is beginning to show every signs of courtship. That archer is flirting or I am a Kendirith goatherd.”

  “You are far too white to be Kendirith, corporal,” Markos offered as he reached us, “and not clever enough to be a goatherd.”

  The tavern fare was plain but wholesome. Kaleb, in his usual dour manner complained that the meal was bland, while the others were simply grateful to be eating in the comfort of the indoors. And though staying overnight at the inn would have been a welcome respite from sleeping out, we could not afford the time. We could ill-afford the time we were taking for our ease, but given the recent excitement of the river crossing, I was not feeling overly inclined to drive either myself or the troop to move on.

  “How is your hand, lord wizard?” Karyn asked as she and Maegor joined us.

  “A credit to your skill, my lady,” I answered, “I have no pain at all.”

  “It is a Morlan remedy called Knitskin. It is made from a herb much valued by our soldiers for its ability to mend wounds rapidly and with little scarring.”

  “Remind me to get the recipe from you.” I said.

  The young woman nodded and made her way to the table where Orrin was seated with his back to the wall apparently watching every slight movement in the room. I scanned the tavern slowly, my gaze lingering here and there on the various Zendrans gathered by the bar and seated around the walls before it finally came to rest on Aenar and Kylos where they sat in a quiet corner near the stairwell.

  Again the archer had thrown his cape over Aenar’s leg and was resting his drink on the veteran’s knee while Aenar’s free hand lay behind the archer’s arm, draped over the young man’s upper thigh—a little too high, I noted, than might be considered decent by Morlan standards, not that Kylos seemed to mind or even to notice. And it seemed that I was not the only one observing the couple. Markos was watching keenly from his vantage point at the ingle, his fingers drumming on the hilt of his sword.

  It was only when I detected a sudden movement from the table occupied solely by Morlans that I realised it was Kaleb and not Kylos that Markos was watching.

  The man strode over to where Aenar and Kylos were seated drawing his dagger as he went. He stood before the couple his dagger pointing straight at Kylos’ chest. He glared at the archer. “Te sletach b’toth,” he spat at the young man’s feet.

  Aenar rose slowly, his hands well clear of his weapons. “I have no idea what you just said to my friend here, soldier, but I certainly do not care for your tone.”

  “He told me I was a filth-eating boy-whore,” Kylos said rising with his companion, his right hand hovering over one of the gold darts on his belt.

  Aenar stepped between the archer and the soldier sweeping the younger man behind him slightly with his shield arm. “Then I think you owe Kylos an apology for he is no such thing. He is my ‘b’zaddi.”

  The Provost’s use of Morlan seemed to outrage Kaleb even more and he snorted and spat at Aenar’s feet and repeated the insult. Before Kaleb could even think to move Aenar was on him and had seized him by the throat spinning him to face Kylos and immobilising his knife arm in one swift move. The tavern went as silent as a tomb.

  “I said apologise,” Aenar hissed digging his fingers into the side of the Morlan’s neck and threatening to cut the blood from his brain. “Quickly now, before you fall asleep.”

  Kaleb struggled as Aenar choked off his circulation. “Your pardon, Kylos,” he gasped.

  “There now, Kaleb” Aenar said amiably, patting the soldier’s cheek patronisingly, “that was not so difficult was it?” The soldier twisted his adversary sending him to his knees, suddenly ferocious in a way I had never seen him. “Now, you sack of horse shit, just so we understand each other, if you so much as look at Kylos or speak to him again in a way that I do not like I will break your miserable neck. You have my promise. Are we clear?”

  Kaleb nodded, climbed to his feet rubbing his throat. He turned to his companions and sneered. “Well now, at least we know we have someone willing to shovel out our slethya.”

  “Shit,” Kylos translated giving a dismissive shrug, then shouted a warning as Aenar made to regain his seat.

  The Provost spun around with such speed that Kaleb had barely time to start the knife blow that would have taken Aenar in the back of the neck. A gold dart flew past the Provost’s head taking Kaleb in his knife arm. The man’s weapon had scarcely hit the floor before Aenar seized his adversary’s jaw and the back of his head.

  “Aenar! No!” My voice sounded a heartbeat too late. The crack of breaking bone seemed to fill the tavern and hang in the air like a shout in a temple.

  The Provost tossed the man aside like a broken toy and stalked up to the remaining Morlans his face white as bleached bone in the wake of his rage. “Pledge made, promise kept,” he growled. “Do any others among you have anything you would like to say to Kylos or to me?”

  Markos pushed himself away from the mantelpiece. “I do.” He said drawing his dagger. “And it is this. Kaleb has disgraced us all with his disrespect of his brother-in-arms and his act of cowardice. The Provost Aenar has redressed that dishonour and avenged it. None may make claim that it is otherwise. Is that clear?” He glared around the gathering pausing at each man until he looked away. Only Karyn met the prince’s eyes unwaveringly. “Good, then it is settled.” He pointed to Kaleb’s body. “Now remove that slevyak from my sight and dispose of it in the river. He shall find no honour in the Hall of Heroes and his name will never again be spoken in our midst.” He spat on the corpse and kicked it. “Te-scordath. We forget you.” He said coldly. Turning his attention to Kylos he called him over. “You and I will speak of this later when we are away from this place.”

  The Morlans followed Markos’ lead to a man, each one kicking and spitting on the corpse before they dragged it unceremoniously by the feet towards the river. Once the Morlans had removed Kaleb’s body I took Aenar aside. “Let me make it clear to you Aenar. It is only because you acted in self-defence that you have not been summarily beheaded for murder. Rest assured that, friend or not, if you behave in such a manner again I will kill you myself. You are a solider under my command be certain that you do not forget yourself again.”

  Aenar dropped on one knee. “You have my pledge, Meriq. I hope in time you will forgive me.”

  I raised the soldier up leaning close so that only he could hear me when I spoke again, “I have already forgiven you, Aenar. It is my trust and respect that you must regain.”

  The man nodded and then made his way back to where Kylos was seated.

  “You seem disturbed, my lord.” Markos stated as we passed the Zendran barbican and moved out on to the greater plains.

  “Yes. I am.—Aenar did not have to kill that man.”

  “Your pardon, Ez’n, but I fear y
ou are mistaken,” Markos answered. “It was a matter self preservation and of honour. Your provost took up the defence of a Morlan insulted by a Morlan. A Morlan, I should remind you, who had called him ‘b’zaddi,—beloved brother.”

  “We have need of every fighter we have.” I retorted angrily.

  “We do not need a man who will put his personal considerations before the mission. As I have said before Ez’n, we are an army built on discipline. The k’veth, the coward,” Markos translated, “breached that discipline, broke our most revered code by attacking a fellow soldier from behind. He has paid and paid dearly for it at the hands of a man not even a Morlan.” Markos answered.

  That was as maybe, but such conduct was not what I expected from either my friends or my personal guard. I expected my men to conduct themselves with dignity and restraint and I wasted no words in acquainting Markos with the fact. The prince smirked at me, a response I held completely unacceptable from a soldier who had put himself under my command. I understood that, to a point, Morlans had informal relationships within their chains of command, but I did not.

  “I do not mean to offer offence, Ez’n. But clearly you have not begun to grasp the significant effect that this incident has had on my men.”

  “The Provost’s actions have put the whole dynamics of our mixed troop at risk,” I told Markos crossly. “And for what?” I demanded. “I will not tolerate members of the White Guard airing their resentments over unrequited love—in whatever form it takes.”

  Markos smiled. “We are all more than able to see that there is love blooming between the Provost and my younger brother, Ez’n. However much and in whatever manner Provost Aenar may desire Kylos he has shown that he respects our ways and will put his life in peril to protect the integrity of the young man he desires but with whom he may never consummate. He has shown he will respect what Kylos is as a Morlan, even if it means he must deny himself. My men understand and respect such sentiment. You will see, Ez’n, it will consolidate your authority over the men—mine and yours.”