In the stillness, the pounding of feet above decks echoed in her mind; the darkness was surrounding her, any thought of escape marred by steel. All that is left is to meet the tide, she thought.
Suddenly the God Stone stirred.
Withdrawing the crystallized stone from her satchel, she bathed in its piercing glow. The myriad voices echoed in her mind, unintelligible, but it blocked out all other noise. Then the Light seemed to cascade over her, a warmth in the cold.
“I do not understand you,” she said to the God Stone, and it pulsed slightly, as if in answer. “But I do not need to; I need only your strength.” It pulsed once again.
Smiling, she said, “An end to it all—and meaning to my father’s death.”
Holy Dalia
High Noon
17 September 14813
Justine saw the billows of smoke cresting the horizon.
Dale was still so far away—the land her city rested upon no more than shapeless grey and green forms. The smoke could have come from any small ports, thickets, or the city itself. Still, her heart leapt: Amerie warned that she was needed. Clenching her fists, she lamented her search for Amos. Dale was burning; the defenses had fallen; Lord Theodore had wrought the decisive blow.
“Fear not, Justine,” Mach Kaneer said indifferently, handing over a spyglass. He was garbed for battle in thick layers of chain, but he smiled as if on a late afternoon excursion. “The wind blows from the east; they have not reached the city yet.”
Her hands trembling, she grasped the spyglass and peered through. The smoke ran thickest towards the coast, cascading westward. Dark and twisted as it was, she hoped against hope that the mercenary was right, but she doubted it. “How can you be sure?”
“Instinct,” Mach replied, smug-faced and grinning like a fool. “I have burned enough to know it well.”
Justine tossed the spyglass back to Mach and leaned against the rail, her back to the smoke. She did not want to see it, not anymore. The lies of a mercenary were no comfort.
King Adrian would be stewing, awaiting the head of Lord Theodore that would never come. Mach’s strength was not what it once was, and Irwin Kole, if he was no fool, had fled. The imperium would stretch out its might before meeting Trecht in battle, and what then? I shall be buried along with all the others who fell in this vain quest. It was all for naught.
The God Stone permeated every thought, and she could not help but think her choices were not dissimilar to her father’s. Obsession consumed him, and so it has mastered my fate. Why did I not listen? Why did I chase Amos across the sea, past mountains, and to the heart of the desert? Will I, alone, watch it all fall apart?
The Reaver heaved, passing through the currents, and she gave no more heed to her thoughts. Such concerns would not help matters. Mach’s crew were above decks checking the rigging, shouting orders, and brandishing steel, as if they awaited the storm.
And I do not have the heart to tell them the storm has already come.
“Captain!”
Justine spied a young crewman with flaxen hair pushing through the crew, ascending to the bridge. He presented a small rolled parchment to Mach. “Word from the Goliath.”
Mach snatched the missive and dismissed the crewman. His eyes were alight as he read, and he grinned broadly before handing it to Justine. “All is not lost.”
Glaring at the mercenary, she did not know what jest it was, but she read the fast words.
Mach,
We have salvaged half the fleet. The bastards did not give chase, much as you said they would not. Stormbringer commands to the north-west of the islands; if the fucking trader makes trouble, he will find ruin at the bottom of the sea.
My Goliath lies northwards. We espied the smoke, but the Lady Justine needs not worry. The city still holds. A small port and the surrounding forest burns. There is time, but not much.
I await our orders.
-Finnigus Renner
Justine steeled herself, reading the words again and again. The mercenary captain, if he could be trusted, must have meant Kallen: a small but busy port, its westward road meandering through thick forests to Dale.
She turned to the smoke once more. The land was still distant; it could have come from Dale, but a wind did blow from the east. Do I dare hope, do I …
Thoughts trailing away, her hand grazed the satchel holding the God Stone. Mother, I do not trust this Finnigus Renner any more than I do Mach Kaneer, but if you are merciful and just, please see that they are not wrong.
Suddenly, she became aware of Mach’s curiosity. Handing the parchment back to the mercenary, she said, “And their orders?”
“To stay where they are,” Mach said, calling to a crewman. “Tell Finnigus to turn tail only if the imperium engages him. I will see no more of our ships lost today.” The crewman nodded his head and sped away.
“Naught to worry your little head off, as I did tell you,” Mach said, laughing. “Not long now, ‘til we see this hidden port of yours, eh?”
Justine nodded her head but did not answer. She looked westward, to where she knew Dale to be. It was naught but unremarkable cliffs to her eyes, but it was so much more: knights she had uprooted, warrior priests who believed in her, men and women who begged for succor.
All that Lord Theodore wanted to wash away for the God Stone.
The crystallized stone was silent, but she felt it threading through her, an ever-present reminder. Once this is done, I will see that it is no more than a fading memory.
The Reaver surged through the waves. The hour was not far after noon, lest the sun lied as much as the words of lords. So few left to trust, but then—
She glimpsed it: the hard rock face, cut and moulded by the few masons that fled the kingdom so long ago. Above, no smoke billowed, and the air smelled clean and salty. Mayhap they are not wrong. “Captain.”
“Eh?” the mercenary grunted, before leaning forth and laughing. “There it be!” He turned to Jorgius. “You see that harbour? Believe it now?”
“That I do, captain,” Jorgius bellowed back.
The stone dock stretched out into the sea, long and jagged. Tall spires of rock thrust up around it, the waves crashing into them and the sheer wall above. Beyond it, a rough-hewn staircase wound to the left, while a sloping path led into a deepening tunnel.
It has come, then, Justine thought solemnly whilst ignoring the prattling of the crew. The path would be long and lonely, but at its end knights and warrior priests would stand upon the battlements. The Mother’s gift shall defend Her children.
Mach grunted and called out orders. The sheer cliff filled Justine’s sight as the galley pulled into the harbour. She did not wait; she leapt over the rail and landed on the dock. Jorgius cried out, half-muffled, but she did not heed it.
“Not so fast, Justine!” Mach called out as he bounded down the gangplank. She waited, and ten of the crew followed in tow, covered head to foot in chainmail, halberds across their backs, swords and daggers sheathed along their waists. “I kept my promise, but I am thinking that I would want the bastard’s head for my own.”
“Mach, this does not concern you,” Justine said flatly. The mercenary had risked much, did more for her, but she still did not trust him.
“Hear that, boys? The lady knight thinks her dead be worth avenging, and ours not!” Mach shouted, and the men chuckled. “Poor thanks you have given for that suit of chain you now wear.”
“I am not ungrateful,” Justine hissed. The chain fit well, light and stolid; and she would be grateful for it before the sun set. “You have done what you pledged—allow me to do mine.”
“I lost half of my fleet to the bastard. We will have our due.” Mach withdrew his claymore, pointing the tip at Justine. “With or without your consent.”
Justine glared at the mercenary, but he would not back down; and she knew that unless she tore them apart with the Mother’s Light, her blood would spill into the sea.
She had little recourse. “Will you obey
my orders?”
“That I shall,” Mach replied, grinning ear to ear. “Lest you tell me to stay my sword when I have it by the bastard’s neck.”
That must be enough. It must be. “Come, then. Do not tarry.”
Justine turned and ran, making for the sloping tunnel. The heavy boots of the reavers filled her ears: a continual reminder that while strength carried, so did treachery and chance.
The tunnel swallowed her, but torches high upon the walls burned strongly, illuminating the earthen path. Insects crawled along the roof and worms burrowed into the walls, but she kept her eyes forward, past the darkness, beyond the torchlit path.
Minutes dragged on interminably. She could not know where she passed under, but hoped that the city squares would not be too distant. Lord Theodore will push his legions hard. I must be faster.
She picked up the pace.
Half an hour must have passed, and her legs ached; the weight of the chainmail seemed to press her towards the ground. She tried to ignore it, but it slowed her down some. Grunting, she pressed further, until—
Mach appeared at her side, his long legs pumping, but not a bead of sweat was upon his brow. “Do not overreach yourself.”
Justine wanted to strike him, but the mercenary had the right of it. She paced herself, and he matched it. “This is my home,” she said stubbornly, eyes forward.
“And I lost half of mine today.”
She wanted to shout that Mach was wrong, that he did not understand. But did he? The men who swore their swords to him, were they not so different to her knights, the warrior priests, the men and women she swore to defend? “I forgot myself.”
“We have all paid dearly,” Mach said gruffly. “More before this has all come to an end. That fucking king, the bastard lords, the cunts like the trader. Heh, seeing their blood flow will make it worth it.”
No blood is worth it, but my hand is forced, Justine thought, but refused to share it with the mercenary.
“Your city is long,” Mach said after a time. “How fucking long does this tunnel go?”
“Halt!” Justine shouted. The reavers jostled, confused, and she moved forward into a wall of darkness. Groping the wall, she tugged at a ropen ladder, then turned to the others. “There is but a single ladder. Do not ascend until I call to you. I suspect it is guarded.”
“Do not make me wait long, Justine.”
Justine climbed slowly, methodically. The ladder held her weight, but the darkness seemed to thicken. She lost count of the steps she took, then banged her head on an enclosing. Flinching, she hammered against it with a free hand, calling out.
Light flooded her sight as the enclosing was drawn back. Nocked arrows and spear heads welcomed her, and a familiar face, worn and craggy.
“Stand back!” Ser Brennon called out, extending a hand to Justine. “One, two, three!”
She clambered out amongst the foundations of the Faith’s cathedral. Looking about, she saw the walls stood tall and thick; men and women in chain and boiled leather patrolled the battlements, whilst labourers lugged crates and pushed barrows. Turning to Brennon, she said, “There are eleven mercenaries who come with me. They wait below.”
Brennon grimaced before offering a brief smile. “I do not like it, but it explains the time we were given. ‘Tis all the reason we still stand.”
“Do tell their captain that,” Justine offered before kneeling and calling out, “Mach! Ascend, one at a time, mind.” A rough, muffled voice hollered back.
Knowing that time was fleeting, she pulled Brennon aside. “What news? I know that Kallen has been taken and that Lord Theodore marches upon us.”
“They are near, Justine,” Brennon said quietly, as if afraid to give voice to the words. “They came from the north-east under the cover of the forest, burning as they go. Their catapults tarry, but there are horse, pike, sword, and archers aplenty. Far more than we have. I believe they mean to take the gate.”
“Without the catapults?” Justine asked as Mach pulled himself up. Brennon glanced worriedly, but Justine beckoned the mercenary over. “Lord Theodore is no fool.”
Brennon sized up the mercenary, and Mach simply smiled. The knight raised his voice a little. “That was our thought, too, but Amerie believes Lord Theodore means to goad us onto the field, put the fear of our walls breaking. She does not want to meet them.”
“Justine, your right hand has some bloody sense,” Mach said, crossing his burly arms. “But perhaps we should give the bastard lord what he wants.”
“And sow the field with our dead, Mach, was it?” Brennon asked, bristling. Justine had rarely known the knight to lose patience, but frustration laced his every word. “Whilst we hold the fortifications, they have little chance of taking it.”
“Why are knights so short-sighted?” Mach guffawed. “You think you can reach those catapults when they pull up? Send out waves now, thin their numbers, and when they arm their siege weapons, you may stand a chance at tearing them down.”
Justine knew that Mach had the right of it, even if admitting it tore her insides in knots. “Our archers?” she asked, and both men turned to her. “What bows have you outfitted them with?”
“Not enough long bows as we would have liked. Enough, mayhap—”
“Fucking fools,” Mach said suddenly. Most of his reavers stood behind him now. Not that Justine thought he needed them for his audacity. “You thin their numbers, or we are all fodder for grave worms.”
“You do not command, mercenary,” Brennon said, sneering. “Do not think you do.”
“She does,” Mach said, pointing to Justine. “She’ll have sense that you lack.”
“Take me to Amerie,” Justine said quickly before Brennon could say another word. He looked coiled, prepared to draw steel. “Now.”
“Follow me.”
Justine followed Brennon towards the outer wall. A handful of warrior priests patrolling the northern reaches offered brief glances, glaring all the while. Not at her, she knew, but at Mach and his reavers.
The God Stone stirred in her mind, and she felt the Light threading through her once more. Cacophonous voices rose at once, but following their words was a hapless mess. She turned and gazed at Mach, who seemed to revel at the onset of battle. I want to trust you, she thought, do not give me cause to open your throat.
Brennon never looked back, or if the glares affected him, he did not show it. Justine knew that the knight’s reservations would be shared by Amerie. It was a bridge that she would have to cross. Outnumbered, her closest friend had to understand that every advantage was needed.
The northern wall towered above her: twenty feet of mortared stone, and thick. Justine mounted the narrow stair, ascending the battlements. She saw that the gate was near, no more than a stone’s throw. Near it, with arms crossed, Amerie stood watching outward.
Justine stood beside her friend and looked out: the sun seemed dull as it glistened off the plate and steel of the monstrous host, stretching across the plain, advancing across the long green.
A blight upon the purity that she worked so hard to build.
“Do you remember, Justine, how beautiful it was in high summer?”
“It seems so long ago, Amerie,” Justine said solemnly. She remembered it all too well: the grassland was a dark verdant, stretching endlessly, curling over the roots of trees. “Even if it now seems so far in our past.”
Amerie embraced Justine, all the solemnity washing away. “It is good to see you returned, if not later than you swore.”
Justine returned the embrace, hugging her friend tightly. “I regret that, but we stand together, in the end.”
“Heh, all of us do.”
Amerie broke free at the sound of Mach’s voice and eyed him suspiciously. “And you are?”
“Mach Kaneer,” the mercenary boomed. “My fleet, out yonder, ensured you still stand today. No more can me ships do, so thought I would offer my sword.”
“I have heard tell of you from the lips of
Irwin Kole. Seems like he overstated the might of your fleet.”
Mach bristled and said, “I see your friendship, but not your sense. Do pray that I do not mistake you for Lord Theodore’s get.”
“Mind your tongue,” Amerie said, pushing Mach’s chest. He did not move, though the smile was slowly returning to his face. “And flee, like the rest of your men.”
The mercenary inclined his head towards Justine. “She says otherwise.”
“Justine?” Amerie’s gaze was hard and imperturbable; so much doubt was laced behind her eyes. “Did you?”
“Without Mach, I would not stand with you. They wish to do battle.”
“And Irwin Kole?” Amerie asked Mach.
“If that fucker shows his mug, my steel will be the last sight he sees.”
Amerie balled her fists, livid. “We had an accord!”
“So you did,” Mach replied, shrugging. “All the bastard cares about is himself. The fleet is mine, and I do not answer to the trader no longer.”
Amerie turned to Justine. “Are his words?”
“Mach is no saint, but he does not lie,” Justine answered, hard as it was to admit. “The trader can wait. Those legions will not halt their advance.”
“No, they shall not,” Amerie said, looking once more to the imperium’s host. “I decided that we stand and wait. This city is yours, Justine, and I await your commands.”
Justine withdrew the God Stone from the satchel. It pulsed and resonated, and she felt every eye turn towards her. The voices returned once more, thundering; she did not understand the words, but did not need to.
Holding the crystallized stone aloft, the bastard sword shimmered in her hand—Light resonating along the blade. Mother, she thought, hoping to cut through the voices raging in her head. Mother. I am your servant. Your sword to pierce the Darkness, your shield to ward your children. I am in need of your strength.
Silence and stillness reigned, but not from the realm. The voices ceased, and Justine heard her thoughts clearly. Then a strength flowed through her, washing away fatigue and weariness.
The Prelude to Darkness Page 19