A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  “You were right,” Markos said as he pulled Jae’nt to his feet, “he does throw like a Morkopian wrestler.”

  I stared around at the destruction. “Was this—me?”

  “Well it was something that looked like you,” Aenar replied flexing his shoulder and grimacing.

  “I was in a vision,” I mumbled, “Illios, I think. The owl . . .”

  “Devil bird,” Faedron hissed drawing his sword and striding forward.

  “No! Faedron put up your sword. He is a karvahl, a familiar. I believe the God has sent him. Leave him be.”

  Faedron eyed the bird darkly, hesitated briefly and then returned his weapon to its scabbard.

  “What time is it?” I asked suddenly aware that it was light.

  “Mid morning,” Dthor answered passing me a tankard of water. “Jalin raised the alarm when he found you entranced as he brought you some tea. We came as soon as we got word. You have been questing for the best part of eight sectas so far as we can determine.”

  “Is there something else?” I asked as the captain glanced towards the door of my office.

  “You have a visitor, Ez’n.” he said darkly.

  “Oh? Who?”

  “The Seer.”

  “Sirazj?” I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What on earth could he want?”

  “I do not know, lad,” Dthor said as my friends took their leave. “But be careful. That fat slug is not to be trusted.”

  Sirazj was seated in my anteroom when I entered. He was slow to rise, a fact I preferred to attribute more to his weight than to insolence. He bowed as low as his bulk would allow, addressing me formally in the manner of the Seers’ Guild.

  “Thank you, guard. You may leave us now,” Sirazj said imperiously. Dthor did not move.

  “I will leave when the Ez’n commands and not one heartbeat sooner,” he replied.

  “Your minion is surly,” Sirazj observed sitting before I did. I let the slight pass as I was anxious to have the man get to the point of his visit so that I could get him out of my rooms. “What I have to say is not for the ears of a common soldier.”

  “Lord Sirazj, Captain Dthor-Aid’n is not a common soldier, he is an exceptional soldier and my most trusted guard.”

  The Seer smiled obsequiously. “I am sure he has many redeeming qualities, Ez’n-Kyr, and a number of fascinating attributes.”

  “And I am sure that you did not wait over three lunations past my inauguration as Ez’n to pay me a visit so that you could admire the Captain of the White Guard and his attributes.” I retorted suddenly growing impatient with the man.

  The Seer flushed slightly and I caught sight of Dthor’s covert grin from the corner of my eye.

  “No Ez’n, you are quite right.” He turned again to the captain. “I said you may go. I do not appreciate your defiance, soldier.”

  “Since I am not yours to command, I am not defying you.”

  “You may leave me with the Ez’n, soldier. Or do you think of me as some kind of threat?”

  “Of course not, Lord Sirazj,” Dthor replied, “I do not think anything of you at all.” The soldier’s disdain for the Seer was so scantly masked that I almost laughed.

  “I am not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner,” Sirazj said irately.

  “Perhaps then you should visit more frequently when I am guarding the Ez’n,” Dthor suggested genially.

  “Captain,” I said when I had recovered my composure sufficiently. “I think I will be safe with Lord Sirazj. Please wait outside.” I turned my attention to the Seer. “And now, Lord Sirazj, may we get to the point of your visit.

  Sirazj smoothed his long black robe across his legs and folded his pudgy hands in his lap. He had come with a vision of warning for me. It was not his way, so he told me, to look into the lives of men unless he was specifically approached; this was the Prime Directive of his Guild. “But this vision came unbidden, Ez’n-Kyr.”

  I signalled the man to go on. He had seen me in Illios, burned alive at the hands of a Cassandrian. “His hair is gold as the sun and he has the face of a celestial genie. But trust me, Ez’n-Kyr he is a brutal and accomplished assassin. You must beware.” He turned his black beady-eyed stared on me in such a way that I felt my guts shrivel. “If you value your life, young one, you should counsel the kings to honour the Old Ways.”

  There was a sudden rush of air and the owl glided in through the study window alighting on the tray stand to the Seer’s left where it stood leaning towards the man as if it intended to peck out his eyes. It shrugged its great wings almost as if it meant to slap him making the man start away. With a shriek it launched itself from the stand and flew to my desk where it strutted around for a few moments scratching at the various tracts and scrolls before it found the Treaty case and pecked at it before flying to the back of my chair where in perched and proceeded to stare once more at my visitor.

  As I rose the owl jumped on to my shoulder almost as if it was warning the Seer to keep his distance. I had scarcely thanked the man for the information before he was taking his leave and hurrying for the door, his eyes hardly leaving the black owl on my shoulder.

  “Could you actually have been any more insolent to Sirazj,” I asked as Dthor re-entered the room.

  “Oh most definitely, t’pahq.” he answered, “I hope I did not cause you embarrassment.”

  “By expressing your contempt for the King’s Seer?” I ventured sarcastically. “Oh. Perish the thought!”

  “Expressing my contempt, Ez’n?” Dthor said surprised, “I apologise most sincerely. I was attempting to conceal it.”

  “Then please humour me and try a little harder next time.”

  The soldier smiled at me. “As my lord commands.”

  We talked then of the warning Sirazj had delivered. There was an air of concern about the man as he spoke, but even as I recounted the interview to Dthor I had an eerie uneasy feeling.

  “I think he was attempting to curse you, Ez’n.”

  “How on earth would a Seer do that?”

  “By writing on a page of your life that is yet blank. My mother is a Seer, she told me that some of those gifted with The Sight are able to do this. Keep true to your own Sight, lad and you will stay safe.”

  As Dthor finished speaking the image of the pillaging soldiers flashed across my mind followed almost at once by the image of the boy. Suddenly I knew what the blank space was for.

  †

  CHAPTER 23

  TREATY COMPLETE

  THE KINGS and assembled generals sat in silence while I read out the amendment to the Treaty. There would be no looting, no pillage and there would most certainly be no taking of battle-prizes in the form of slaves or companions. Any who surrendered would be left in peace and no soldier was to lift his sword to civilians. There was a brief silence followed by a sudden outburst from the commanders.

  The objections were much as I had expected and came mostly from the Zetans. It was a Zetan soldier’s right, the commanders argued, to take battle-prizes and to claim companions or slaves from the vanquished. It had always been thus.

  “The men will not stand for it.” Garrick asserted rising to take the floor. Shouts of support echoed around the assembly.

  Janir said nothing. He simply raised an eyebrow at me. I slammed the copper treaty case down on the conference table with such force that I dented it. Garrick took a step back and I noticed that even the stoic King Keelan jumped slightly.

  “The soldiers will do as they are ordered, Commander Garrick. Those who do not will answer to me. And so will the officers who fail to ensure that these restrictions are meticulously observed.” I drummed my fingers on the handgrip of my wand just to give my words more weight. I caught Janir smiling out of the corner of my eye, his expression resolving as I glanced at him. “This campaign is no longer about wealth and possessions; it is no longer an invasion. It is a crusade; a war of attrition. We face a menace that not only threatens our lands, but also threatens our very
world. You have all seen the effects of the black slime. It poisons anything it touches. We must stop this menace before it gains purchase in our land and renders it uninhabitable.”

  There was a silence interrupted only occasionally by the odd embarrassed cough and the scrape of chairs as the generals fidgeted. After a while Keelan rose to address the gathering. His men, he asserted, would follow the clause to the letter. It was not the Morlan way to rape, loot or pillage. His men were not habituated to the taking of people as prizes so there would be no issues arising from the constraint.

  When Keelan had finished speaking Janir rose to make his closing speech. He was halfway through it when Balten stood. “Your pardon, but I have a question—father.”

  “Speak it.” The king sat down, his eyes never leaving those of Eilen who had been sitting next to Balten for the whole meeting with her eyes fixed firmly on the table before her. Now she looked straight at her husband and smiled.

  “If this Black Legion is wearing magical armour and carrying enchanted weaponry, how are we supposed to fight it? We will not all have the advantage of the little wizard’s army to rush in and save the day for us, and I for one would much rather rely on my own sword than on waiting for a boy and his mixed breed troop to sneak up on the enemy and attack from behind.”

  There was a mutter of discontent from the generals. Janir inclined his head towards me. I rose, drawing my wand and setting it on the table before me. A sudden tense silence fell on the assembly. Balten shuffled slightly.

  It was as the Crown Prince said that the Black Legion had enchanted armour, and they had arcane weaponry the like of which had never been seen before. “But had you waited for the king to finish his closing speech, Prince Balten, he would have told you that I and the White Guard have been working for the last two settans on producing some specialised weaponry and armour of our own.” I gestured towards the outer chamber where I knew Dthor and a couple of the others would be waiting with the prototype equipment. “But before you leave, Crown Prince,” I called as the war council began to move, “you will do me the courtesy firstly of withdrawing your snide jibe about the Kyr-Garrin and secondly you will apologise to me for your disrespectful attitude.”

  Balten glanced from me to his father. The king merely gestured his support and turned his face away. The Crown Prince glowered as all eyes turned towards him. Seeing that there was not one supportive expression amongst the gathered commanders Balten merely bowed in deference and tendered his apology.

  In the outer chamber Dthor and Maegor had set up two battle dummies one in full Black Legion armour and the second in our customised battlewear. At the edge of the salle Aenar and Kylos stood to attention awaiting my command.

  I turned to Prince Balten offering him first strike at the black armour since he was so keen to rely on his own prowess as a swordsman. After raining several blows on the black carapace he finally conceded that his weapon was as useless as I had said.

  I drew my crystal scimitar holding up for the generals to see, cautioning them not to even touch the blade as I carried it to each of them in turn.

  “And you say this glass blade can stand against steel?” Balten scoffed.

  He swung his sword towards me letting out a gasp as I parried his blow severing his blade and handspan from the crossguard. “You may thank Provost Aenar for the accuracy of my blade work,” I told the Prince. “But for his excellent training I probably would have cut off your arm.”

  I fixed the Crown Prince with a look that only narrowly missed being a glare and held up the blade. “This is neither a ceremonial nor decorative piece,” I told the War Council. “It is a powerful and deadly weapon.” I stabbed the blade into the flagstones watching the faces of the generals as yellow fire spat from the masonry. Drawing it from the stone I re-sheathed it and turned my attention back to Balten. “I should very much like to see your sword do that, your highness.”

  Walking over to Dthor I took a second, heavier crystal blade from him, turned swiftly and brought the weapon down on the chitinous carapace of the Black Legion. The breastplate sparked slightly but otherwise remained inert.

  “Perhaps, then, you would care to explain how a light leather jerkin will offer any protection against a blade that cuts Zetan steel.” Balten said archly.

  I threw off my cloak to show the jerkin I was wearing and handed Balten the glowing gladius. “Perhaps you would like to test it, highness.”

  With strength borne only from anger or hatred Balten brought the sword down on my shoulder with such force that had it been a conventional blade he would have cleaved me from neck to groin. The force of the blow knocked me off balance but the blade itself shattered with a piercing shriek leaving Balten gaping as the handgrip crumbled to dust in his hand. I signalled Dthor to give the prince another blade.

  “In case you think I did something to save my life, Prince Balten, perhaps you would like to try it on the sparring dummy.”

  The Prince declined, passing the blade instead to Korlaq. The Morlan lunged forward thrusting the blade into the dummy’s chest. There was a crack like breaking ice and the blade disintegrated in a cloud of bright golden dust. Korlaq looked at the crumbling handgrip and gave me a look that could almost have been admiration.

  I directed the Council’s attention to the black armour. Just as the blade had its weakness, so too did the armour. The generals listened and watched intently as Dthor and Maegor demonstrated the futility of conventional weapons and when they had finished I signalled Kylos forward.

  “Lieutenant. If you would be so kind.”

  Kylos gave me a short, formal salute and launched one of his darts. The generals let out a startled gasp as the breastplate exploded in a cloud of soot.

  “So what magic is this?” The queen’s voice echoed across the hall with the clear acoustics of silver tapping fine china.

  “A mixture of chemistry and alchemy, I believe, your highness.” I turned slightly taking a spool of gold wire from Aenar as he stepped into the arena and placing it in front of the two kings. “But as my page, Jalin, is fond of reminding me all magic has its price. I require gold.”

  The queen rose. “This is an outrage. You would extort your king?”

  I ignored the outburst with carefully calculated deliberateness. “King Janir,” I said quietly, “In order for this armour to resist the crystal it needs to incorporate gold. Kylos’ darts are dipped in gold and one of his darts dipped as it is and coated with a specially developed venom will destroy the armour and kill the Legionnaire wearing it in a matter of moments. If you were to dip a Slinger’s bullets in gold it would smash the armour easily. I did it with a handful of gold coins in Delos.” I turned to Maegor and Aenar. “Gentlemen. To arms.”

  Aenar drew a crystal sword and Maegor his gladius. The sergeant’s first blow shattered the Provost’s blade, his second destroyed Aenar’s breastplate and a third smashed his bracers.

  “The gold, my queen, is not for me.” I said icily, “but to ensure the safety and wellbeing of our soldiers and to assist in our victory over a plague of barbarity that threatens our very existence.”

  My calculations indicated that we would need roughly a quarter of the Royal Treasury to produce the wire and the plating needed to equip our soldiers, perhaps a little more if we were to plate the Morlans’ chest spikes. Their battle harnesses, bracers and boots were already plated in gold dipped bronze and tests with the Morlans in the Kyr-Garrin had yielded more than adequate results in terms of the suitability of their battle wear in resisting the deadly crystals.

  The queen flushed slightly and sat down amidst the swelling of reproachful muttering from the militia. She clearly realised that she had shot fearfully wild of her intended mark and had no intention of being subject to further censure.

  With the Council finally at an end Janir dismissed his Chiefs of Staff calling me and my companions back as we made ready to leave.

  “I hope you do not think that your recent private celebrations will mean you a
re excused from the banquet this evening.” The king said with a slight smile.

  “Perish the thought, Sire,” I replied, “why I have spoken of nothing else all morning.”

  “Then I look forward to seeing you, Ez’n, and the men of the Kyr-Garrin later.”

  The banquet was an exhausting gauntlet of eating and listening to speeches—much as I had expected really. Janir spoke of the forthcoming march into Mederlana and the battle that awaited us there. A couple of the Senators, Kourbis among them, paid compliment to Janir’s wisdom and foresight while yet others chose to foresee a great and glorious victory as the outcome of our campaign.

  “And of course the Governors would not be too unhappy if they increased their wealth into the bargain,” Maegor commented under his breath. Faedron nudged him in the ribs.

  I merely smiled. Regardless of what I had said in War Council, I had every confidence that certain of the governors would seize every opportunity to increase their wealth and influence as would some of the Morlan commanders—regardless of what their king might command.

  But by far the most interesting and telling speech was Keelan’s for when he rose it was to pay tribute to his ally King Janir and to give honour to the men of the Kyr-Garrin, though his opening remarks were cleverly misleading.

  He was dismayed, he said, when both of his sons announced their intention to join the White Guard. Such a change in allegiance could only be seen as transferring their loyalty to the viceroy of a foreign power. The rattle of disapproving tongues was stilled and the monarch escaped the approaching censure with an adeptness possessed only by a skilled leader

  “But of course,” he said dismissively, “such thoughts would only ever be harboured by those ignorant of the sagacity and integrity of my offspring. I have always been impressed by the fact that my sons show great discernment and wisdom in their choice of war brothers and the noble way they have managed to integrate the traditions of our host, King Janir, and our own.” He paused ostensibly to take a drink for his goblet, but I noticed him looking at Korlaq over the rim of the chalice as he drank. “All of them,” he concluded looking directly at Aenar. “And one must not forget the man who leads them, their t’pahq.” He raised his glass to me and then to the men to propose his toast to the Kyr-Garrin.