A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  “Oh, I think I can manage that, Meriq.” Jae’nt said laughing.

  “And if we cannot work out how to do that, I am sure my consort will be able to educate us!” Tariq added.

  Meriq smiled. “Yes. I imagine he will.” He turned to me and I could see that his eyes were beginning to cloud over. My heart began pounding against my chest, my eyes started to burn and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. Blind panic began to overtake me. Meriq’s life was slipping away before me and I was powerless. Meriq patted my hand. “We are all powerless in the presence of The Reaver,” he said as if sensing my thoughts. “I will always be with you continuing to love you in your memories as you will love me. But, ‘b’zaddi, a memory cannot hold you in its arms or love you back. So, you must promise me that you will not close your eyes or your heart to the possibility of new love.” He reached into his robe. “There is one more thing, Dthor.”

  “Anything, Meriq. Name it.”

  He pressed the shiv into my hand. “Avenge the Titans. Take the First Sword and finish the bastard who caused all of this. Destroy him and his slavers, every part of him and all who work with him. Leave . . . nothing . . . of him. Promise . . . me.”

  “I promise, shovaqi. I promise.”

  I could not tell if he had heard me or not for eyes closed slowly, his breathing simply stopped and it seemed that my own breath stopped with his for it was only when Jae’nt spoke that I heaved in a huge shuddering breath.

  I sat with our friends for quite some time just looking at the frail, pallid body in the bed. Until that moment I had never realised just how small he was. I had never seen him as a boy until then. Just eighteen cycles—a boy, certainly by the reckoning of some. But he had the heart of a dragon and a mind as sharp as a Morlan battle razor.

  I became aware of Jae’nt kneeling beside me. He put his hand on mine. “By Zoar, I miss him already.”

  “We all do,” Faedron said bitterly. He turned to Kylos, his face full of anger, his voice hoarse with fury. “You killed Zarin far too quickly.”

  Kylos shrugged. “He had Jalin by the throat. What was I supposed to do? Negotiate? I think not.”

  “This is not the time for such talk,” Markos said sternly “Let us give the Lord Consort time alone. We will be in the antechamber Dth . . .”

  “Aid’n.” I cut across the king quickly

  “What?” Jae’nt asked.

  “Aid’n,” I said again, “My name is now Aid’n. Meriq shall be the last person ever to call me by my first name. It is never to be spoken again.”

  Jae’nt gave a deferential nod and left.

  †

  CHAPTER 46

  NEW LIGHT

  Ayinvinu màkin

  MERIQ’S COMMITAL to the flame was brief, he had not wanted eulogies or “flannel” as he put it. The White Guard Elite and the Kyr-Garrin were the only mourners—and a few individuals to whom Meriq had sent personal invitations. That way, he told me he could be sure that only those who meant what they said to me before or after the cremation were being truthful and sincere.

  We processed quite quickly from the palace to the main square, yet by the time we reached the pyre Meriq’s bier was littered with tokens and parting gifts both from the men and women of the Kyr-Garrin and from the Royal Guard and general army, and as the bearers set the litter on the pyre I cut off my captain’s braid at my collar, coiled it and placed it in his hands.

  We all stood for a moment with our heads bowed, each of us calling to mind something we remembered of the man before us. Then, one by one we set our torches against the kindling moving back as the flames took hold.

  Meriq’s bones were collected before the ashes were even cold and I had the body breakers splinter the long bones so that the shards could be distributed to his mourners as he had instructed. I had taken a long lock of his hair and had Polo wire it and braid along my hairline in a side plait for me. The shard of bone I held I would have polished and set in the hilt of The First Blade that I had subsequently named for my consort as Kyrintamar, Wizard’s Justice. It seemed fitting that what had been an assassin’s blade and had now become an instrument of retribution should bear something of Meriq in its name.

  When I arrived for breakfast it was to find that Iannos had set two places at table. My gut clenched on itself briefly. Iannos had obviously heard me enter for he appeared moments later carrying a tray also set for two. He stopped in mid-stride, suddenly flustered as he realised what he had done.

  “My Lord Consort,” he stammered, “I am so . . .” but he did not finish he just set the tray aside and made to clear the setting.

  “No. Leave it,” I told him. “I should like to imagine he will be joining me—at least for a little while.” I could see the young man was completely bereft. “Serve us both, Iannos, just as you have always done.”

  I sat staring at the platter of meat and the Morlan spice cakes Meriq had been so fond of and then began to eat. I set down my fork suddenly. “You know, Meriq,” I said through a mouthful of fried egg, “I always thought that you would die by blowing yourself up with one of your damned inventions. I never imagined it would be in a manner so . . .”

  “Courageous?” Markos said from the doorway.

  “Stupid.” I said starting slightly. I had not heard the Morlan enter and no-one had announced him. “And wasteful,” I added just for good measure.

  “His was always a life of sacrifice, was it not Dth . . . Aid’n? How then could his action be either stupid or wasteful?” He sat down in Meriq’s chair and began to eat.

  My hackles began to rise and then I was suddenly calm. The situation suddenly seemed completely right. Markos smiled at me as picked up one of the tiny spice cakes and popped it in his mouth. I found myself smiling back.

  “I had never looked at a man and loved him. I am a Morlan. I did not think I could—until I met Meriq,” Markos said as he poured us some ruby spike.

  I nodded. Meriq had that effect on people. And as I sat and broke fast with the Morlan king a sudden, sad realisation struck me. “We have both lost the man we loved, have we not, Markos?”

  “Indeed,” the king answered taking a slice of bread and dipping it in the yolk of the egg, “and I must admit that I resent the fact that you will have the kind of comforting memories that I will not.” He smiled again, mopping up the last of the egg with his bread. He took another of the cakes rising as he did so. “Thank you for the breakfast, Goldie.”

  “Thank you for your company, Barbarian.”

  Jae’nt watched sullenly as I moved around the apartment arranging the various boxes and trunks so that they could be easily moved to the transport wagons. The young king huffed as I placed my pack and saddle bags by the door. I shot him a challenging look. I had already and often explained to him that I was leaving to fulfil my promise to Meriq. I would go to where the sorcerer Caerlon was last seen, I would start my hunt and I would not stop until I had taken his head and placed it on a spike on Meriq’s resting place. In fact, I had stated this so often that Jae’nt’s badgering me to stay was becoming a grave annoyance.

  “Yes? What is it now, Iannos?” I snapped at the servant, though I did not mean to.

  “Lord Consort, Armourer Kort and Sergeant Maegor are asking to see you.”

  “What about?” I realised I was still being extremely short, but I did not seem able to break the mood.

  “They did not say, Lord Consort.”

  I growled impatiently. “Send them in.” I groaned inwardly, hoping that neither had come to try to add support to the king’s “request”.

  Kort came in first carrying a large holdall bag. Placing it on the ottoman and the foot of the bed he pulled it open and lifted out what looked like a chainmail shirt.

  “Ez’n-Kyr Meriq had me make this for you, Lord Consort.”

  I took the garment. It was not chain mail as I had first supposed, in fact I was not certain what it was for it was not much heavier than a winter-weight shirt and made up of small silver scales
that glinted blood red as they caught the light. Kort produced a pair of claw gauntlets and laceless bracers one with what appeared to be a blade that extended from the wrist to about a hand’s length beyond the elbow. There was pair of what Kort told me were “trousers” made in the same scaled design but from black plates that also had the odd red highlight when they caught the sun. A set of greaves and light boots completed the armour.

  “The Ez’n was adamant that I should bring these items to you on this day and that you were to don them before the noon.”

  I gave Jae’nt a mystified look. The king merely shrugged. “Who understands the ways and reasons of wizards?” he asked.

  Who indeed, I thought. I had lived with and fought beside the man for two cycles and was still nowhere even close to fathoming how his mind worked.

  Kicking off my sandals I stepped into the “trousers” and fastened them. There was pale reddish flash of light and I suddenly felt as if someone was running his hands over my legs and privates in a most intimate and inappropriate manner. The sensation faded almost as soon as I registered it, and I found that the trousers had somehow adjusted themselves to the contours and length of my legs. Despite the snugness of the fit the armour moved with me like a second skin. And where I had expected the metal to be cold against my legs it was not, despite the fact that the trousers were unlined.

  I picked up the scaled shirt and inspected it. Meriq had clearly designed it with combat in mind for it would fall to mid thigh when I put it on. The workmanship was spectacularly good, even for Kort who was an armourer of immense skill. It was lined with light felt and linen and once on glowed and flexed adjusting itself to my body moving and stretching as I did. The gloves and boots behaved likewise.

  “I wonder, Kort, do you know how I am supposed to wear greaves and bracers that have neither strap nor lace?”

  The Armourer shrugged. “I am sure the Ez’n has taken that into consideration, Lord Consort, for I confess I only fashioned the items. I have no idea what they are to do or how they are to do it.”

  I sat down and placed one of the greaves on my shin. Almost at once it shone with the same red glow and expanded until it had encased my lower leg completely. Startled I took hold of it and pulled. The piece opened and then clicked shut as I put it aside. I picked it up again wonder how in Zoar’s name I was to get it back on. The armour opened as if it had sensed my intention. I replaced it and then donned the other.

  The bracers responded in exactly the same way and when I flexed my right wrist to adjust the lay of the gauntlet there was a loud, sharp ‘click’ and what I had originally thought was a blade fanned out with startling speed to become a buckler. Flexing my wrist twice caused the buckler to return to its blade-like state.

  The final piece was a scaled sword belt that actually fastened with a buckle much to my relief. There was something vaguely disconcerting about clothing that appeared to be reading my intentions.

  “The Ez’n said for me to tell you that you must wear the First Blade on it.”

  No sooner had I clipped the shiv to the belt than it transformed immediately to its full size and it did not revert when I took it off.

  I turned around to ask Jae’nt his opinion of my new armour and the man jumped away from me. “Zoar’s teeth, Aid’n!” The king looked quite discomfited. “That was not there before you put it on. Look in the mirror!”

  Where before the scale shirt had been a plain red-silver now, in the centre of the chest a handspan below the collar line was the glyph Meriq had designed for us after our joining in boldly contrasting red gold. Meriq had obviously commissioned and enchanted the armour, but when?

  “Shortly before his . . . death,” Kort hesitated as if he could not bring himself to say the word. “He gave me the designs just after he was injured. He said he wanted to be sure that he could keep you safe—one way or another.” The man shifted uneasily.

  “Is there something you are not telling me Kort?”

  The old armourer stared at the floor. “The enchantment will protect in melee, Lord Consort, and carries some of the Kyr’s unique power to cause movement through thought. He told me, too, that it will repel some magical attacks, though he did not say which.”

  Kort’s demeanour struck me as altogether too anxious.

  “I will ask you once more, Kort. Is there something you are not telling me?” I felt bad for pressuring the man, but I could not shake the feeling that he was holding something back from me.

  “I-I cannot, Lord Consort,” the man stuttered, “I gave Lord Meriq my solemn word.”

  I relented then, excusing the man and signalling Jalin to let Maegor through. The sergeant was extremely agitated. It seemed that the cause of his upset was an inexplicable occurrence in the stables; neither Vyrnath nor Zorn was dead.

  The horse had been tacked up ready for his interment and Zorn had likewise been decked out in his battle harness. The normal three days had passed since Meriq died and, according to everything Maegor knew about the Ibid-djinn and the kal-tzarrak both should have died at dawn of the fourth day. Meriq had been dead for five.

  “I think you should come to the stables, Lord Consort—Dth . . . Aid’n.”

  Sure enough, just as Maegor had said both horse and dog were in the peak of health. Maegor shook his head, completely bewildered. “This simply should not be happening—the link between rider and steed, master and dog was both mundane and magical. I do not understand it.”

  Neither did I. Meriq had often spoken of the symbiotic link between him and Vyrnath, it was the reason the beast responded so well to him when he rode into a fray. I pushed open the stall door and went in ignoring Maegor’s warning that I should not approach the horse now that Meriq was gone. There was no telling what the creature might do. I fully expected the stallion to turn on me in some manner, but he just stood and looked at me for a moment then reared on me, just as Meriq had described when he recounted his experience in Morkopia. And when the ebony hooves came crashing to earth clouds of stable dust filled the air. The horse took a couple of steps forward and briefly rested his great white head on my shoulder before nudging me back towards the saddle. I mounted him and had scarcely slipped my foot into the stirrup when he circled tightly and lashed out with his hind legs smashing the stall door to splinters.

  We were out in the stable yard before I realised and galloping crazily down the wide avenue towards the main gates with Zorn at our back. Militiamen and civilians alike dived out of our path and shouted curses after us. I did not know whether I was in control of the animal or not and it was not until I actually tightened the reins and leaned back in the saddle that I actually began to believe that I was. Vyrnath slowed his pace as we approached the main gates and by the time we reached the moat he was moving at a more sedate trot. Confident that I had most of a measure on the horse I turned him around and rode back to the stables where Maegor was busily sweeping up the wreckage.

  “All well,” he gave a resigned sigh as I dismounted, “We needed more kindling for the barrack stove.”

  I laughed at his expression. “Glad we could oblige.” I handed the reins to Polo watching as the boy led Vyrnath into a new stall.

  “When are you leaving us, Lord Consort?”

  “Tomorrow at dawn,” I answered, “And from that moment I will no longer be the Lord Consort. I will be Aid’n Syrrith, soldier of fortune.”

  Maegor looked horrified. “You will become a mercenary?”

  “I will have to make a living as I hunt the sorcerer and his freaks of nature,” I told him.

  The man said nothing more, he just turned back to his sweeping and I returned to the palace.

  I went slowly and systematically through the rooms checking to make sure that I had left behind nothing that I would need on my journey. I stopped and sat for a moment on the window seat and gazed out over the city and the view that Meriq had enjoyed so much before . . . before. What would I do? I wondered. I had no idea where to start my search for the mage Caerlon and
his bhain-coedi. And as I had said to Maegor I would need to make a living. I had gold enough to last for a few lunations more if I stayed with Jae’nt and the Zetan army for I would have access to the Ez’n’s treasury until such time as a new viceroy was installed. I leaned heavily on the window cill. The idea of remaining was a real temptation, but I had made my promise and it would be kept.

  There was good hunting in the northern forests of Mederlana, so Meriq had told me. There were deer and bears, wolves and boar. I was not without skill as a hunter and I could use a bow with a reasonable skill—and doubtless this would improve with practise. I reasoned I was at least a good enough aim to take down a deer or two, and like most soldiers I could cure skins in the field. I knew there were numerous trading posts around the forest area and no doubt locals would pay a good price for boar meat and venison. So, I would hunt and trap and I would sell my sword to anyone with a just cause and gold enough to pay me as I looked for clues as to where the monster and his pets had gone.

  Sleep did not come easily that night. My dreams were fragmented and troubled with images of Meriq lying before me cold and grey. Then I would see the flames leaping and dancing as they carried him on his final journey. I struggled in the half-sleep one part of me desiring sleep above all else and the other part wanting to wake up properly so that I would not have to see my lover lying helpless in my arms coughing blood with a spear in his back.

  I awoke properly as the first blades of sunlight cut into the night. I opened my eyes to watch the darkness recede and the sunlight began to wash the room driving back the shadows and unpicking the last threads of my troubled dreams. I climbed out of bed, took a quick wash at the night stand and dressed, starting slightly as my armour moulded itself to me. I shivered slightly wondering how long it would be before the “living armour” felt natural to me. Perhaps it never would.