The Prelude to Darkness

by Brenden Christopher Gardner

  “Name?” Damian screwed his face up. “No, I will not take a name. I will take a title.”

  There was only one title fit for Damian Dannars. Daniel knew it back in the tavern in Dale.

  “Overlord.”

  Torn Apart

  Falling Light

  27 June 15117

  Daniel pulled Emily closer, smiling all the while.

  He breathed in her scent, treasuring every moment. He thought of Emily. Dreamed of Emily. He wanted Emily completely.

  He had her now, if only for a short time.

  Maples and oaks extended their boughs above, and couples passing down the cobbled roads looked to themselves, but on occasion he felt leering, curious eyes. He did not care. The rustling leaves, the cool air, that did not matter.

  Emily, she mattered.

  He looked into those brown, doe eyes full of light and life. She looked back, smiling. He knew that he must look the fool, but it did not matter.

  Only Emily mattered.

  “How long do we have, do you think?” she asked, resting her head on his shoulder. Her long brown hair draped down his side, and it felt like silken strands. “I want this moment to last forever.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “As long as we want to make it.”

  She sighed. “While my father could not care less, yours will know that you are away ere long.”

  Lord Devan Baccan had grown more disapproving of late. Daniel shouted back and forth with his father, all on account of the tutors glaring remonstrances of his studies. He knew that was a problem for another day—his father had left for the western reaches the morning prior. It was half the reason why he chose this day.

  Time, he knew, was fleeting.

  “My father is away. You need not concern yourself with him.”

  “He is never far from my concern,” Emily replied. Daniel could feel her fingers tightening against his back. “You are not a man who can easily hide what he is feeling. Am I so reprehensible to your father?”

  The words felt so haunting and harrowing. He felt her eyes upon him, pleading and begging. He did not want to hide it from her, not anymore. “I am his heir, and you are—”

  “A daughter of a scullion, I know,” she replied morosely. “I thought that did not matter to you.”

  “It does not Emily, not for a moment. To my father, to his friends at court, it seems to matter. If only I could convince him otherwise.”

  “One day we shall, Daniel. I am sorry to have brought it up. I just want to enjoy the hours I have with you.”

  So do I, he thought; though in the back of his mind he knew that all this, Emily, it was a fantasy that his birth would never allow. The days that his father journeyed west was drawing less and less, and even if it were otherwise, the old man was always so inquisitive.

  Yet, it was the only time he felt whole: so wonderful, so pleasing, so peaceful. I cannot give it up. I will not.

  “Will your absence not go unnoticed?” Daniel asked, wanting to put his mind on other matters. “I do not want to be a cause of pain for you.”

  “You never are,” Emily replied. “Do not worry yourself with it.”

  “Mayhap.” He smiled, and she giggled. “Though I will ne’er stop worrying for you. I think of little else.”

  “Oh you must let me breathe, my lord!” she said with a terribly straight face. “Whatever will I do if you concern yourself with my every step?”

  “Who says I shall let you take a step?”

  Emily turned red, and Daniel thought he did too.

  There was no better feeling.

  Time passed intermittently. He saw the sun rise higher on the horizon, the cool breeze calmed, and the rich wool began to stick to his skin. Emily never moved; she only raised her head to kiss him, and he leaned down, enjoying her every taste.

  “Have you ever thought of running away?” she asked suddenly. “Not to the west. East. Leave the kingdom?”

  The thought had not occurred to him, not once. “They are savages out east.”

  “Did your father tell you that?”

  “No, my tutors. The exodus three hundred seasons past, it broke the kingdom. Some merchants were dissatisfied with the frugal gold the king allowed for them, while others accused him of godlessness. The king would hear naught of it, and they burned the streets in open defiance of the crown, until the knights were dispatched to sort them out. Sadly, it did not stop. There were too many of them. They butchered the knights, Emily, until men loyal to the crown came and sent them scurrying across the sea, but not before they looted vaults and treasuries. Why else have successive kings waged war e’er since? Some of our treasures we have recovered, but not all. You would join with such recklessness?”

  “I would—so I could be with you.”

  “No walls would shelter us from crimson tides.”

  “No walls, but you would,” Emily said, tracing a finger down his leg. “My friend and I, we may have snuck onto your estate. We watched you from afar in the training yard. Even against men, you do more than hold your own. There is no man that could harm us whilst you grip a sword.”

  Looking down into her brown, doe eyes Daniel wanted to scold her, but she disarmed his frustrations. She always did. “You should not have done that. If my father—”

  “He did not, nor will he ever. I do not fear him, nor should you.”

  It is not fear, it is—

  Daniel heard a booming, echoing sound. He swivelled his head to and fro but could see naught along Lover’s Path. Emily still pressed against him, breathing peacefully.

  The booming, echoing sound came again.

  “Captain! Captain!”

  Daniel sat up and opened his eyes. The peaceful serenity was gone, replaced by the smell of sea and salt. He threw off the covers and stood up from the pallet. “Come in.”

  A skinny deckhand walked into the cabin. Daniel did not recognize the lad, nor did he think he ever would. The man would be of no use in battle—too frail, too weak; there was no point to familiarizing with such useless sots. “I trust you have a reason for rousing me?”

  “Uh, yes, yes, captain!” the deckhand said, looking Daniel straight in the eye. That much was good. “You asked to send word when the Ruination was in sight, and captain—”

  “Do you take me for a fool, son?” The deckhand shook with terror. “We are not to meet Damian for weeks if the weather holds, and the weather has not been holding!”

  “As you say, captain,” the deckhand stumbled the words out. “Yet, captain, the men spied the black sails upon a massive dromond. Who else could it be?”

  “Get out. I will see to this ship you sighted. Out!”

  The deckhand scurried out quickly.

  Damian, Daniel thought, balling his fist. It was the overlord, he did not doubt, but what brought the sot this far south, this early, was troubling.

  Daniel walked to the stone basin and splashed his face with water. Gazing into the looking glass, he thought he looked like death. He put his small clothes on, and his worn boiled leather on top of that. Reaching for his sword belt, Emily’s words flashed through his mind.

  There is no man that could harm us whilst you grip a sword.

  “How wrong you were, Emily,” he muttered, exiting the cabin.

  Feet pounded upon the deck of his own vessel, Black Tide. The men were stripped to the waist, pulling at the rigging. Walking to the bridge of the galley, he saw that his first mate, Randall Gyrn, issuing final instructions to the navigator.

  “Where is the bloody Ruination, Randall?”

  “Starboard, upon the edge of the morning mists,” the broad-shouldered first mate replied whilst pushing strands of blond hair out of his eyes. “’Tis the overlord. I made sure of that before I woke you.”

  Daniel leaned against the rail and gazed across the sea. An immense ship was there, he could not doubt that: five decks at least, with massive masts supporting immense sails. He thought it could have been the flagship of any of the great kingd
oms, but so close to the islands, he doubted that. Peering closer, he thought he spied a maiden upon the prow, skewered by a long sword. “That is the overlord.”

  “Weeks before we had expected him, captain,” Randall replied while rubbing his long nose. “It is well that the southern reaches of the wasteland were so, well, not bountiful, but we learned much. If it were otherwise, we would have incurred his wrath.”

  If you were but at the table, Randall, you would know that Damian excises his wrath for sport. He did not give word to his thoughts.

  “Captain, if I may?”

  Randall stared back at Daniel with inquisitive, eager eyes. The man was no slouch with a blade, but he had no spine. Oft Daniel thought that Damian made a gift of the man for punishment, though besides Shipp, there was not a reaver who had a keener mind for strategy.

  Still, Daniel did not care for him. “Out with it.”

  “Will it begin?”

  It. Daniel knew what the man meant. They all did. The lies to King Marcus Marcanas flowed freely, the Dalian and Isilian lands were rife with panic, and the ports burned or needed repair. There was no greater opportunity for the king to move his sworn swords and take the accursed treasure from the White Walls, if it was more than myth.

  Yet the king did not stir.

  “No,” Daniel replied strongly. “Damian would not sail his flagship this far south for that. Ravens would carry that news, or long ships, if Damian did not trust the birds. More, the southern ports would lay barren, and you know as well as I that they do not.”

  “Then,” Randall stared off into the distance, as if afraid to utter the words, “then why has he come?”

  “See that all is made ready, Randall,” Daniel replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I will not have him wait on us.”

  The first mate bobbed his head and shouted orders.

  The Black Tide came to a halt, save for the swaying of the sea. Daniel did not stop looking outward; the Ruination was growing larger and larger with each passing breath.

  I cannot abide weak men, but that shite’s fears are not unwarranted. All these years, and I do not know the overlord’s mind.

  What is it that you want, Damian?

  As the Ruination crept closer and closer, his own men seemingly lost their voices. He only heard the pattering of feet and the grunts of labour. They were not told, but they know. They know he draws near. Their overlord.

  Turning his head, the navigator’s hands shook upon the great wheel. “Needs I replace you ere we set off?”

  “No captain!” the navigator replied with some tenacity, but not nearly enough. “It is the uncertainty, ‘tis all.”

  “Guard your fears of the overlord or otherwise.”

  The navigator nodded his head and gripped the wheel hard.

  Randall must vet these men better, Daniel thought, walking down to the deck.

  The two ships steadied on the water, and the blank-faced mutes from the Ruination lowered the gangplank. Damian walked at the head, garbed in chainmail and boiled leather, his crimson cloak swirling in the wind. Three others followed behind, two that Daniel recognized as Trey and Shipp, but the other—a tall, grim-faced man—seemed new.

  Daniel did not like that.

  “Daniel fucking Baccan!” Damian shouted, embracing him. “It has been too long! Heh, your birds told me much, but I would hear news from your lips, and you shall hear more from mine, if you can stomach it.”

  “Who is that man who walks behind you?” Daniel pointed at the man he did not recognize and did not trust. “I have not seen his like before.”

  “Heh, you must learn manners,” Damian laughed. “I thought you would have learned that much. Davat. A mercenary of little renown. You should have seen his skill with a blade a few months past. The shite took down a score of my men and bloodied me if you will believe it.” He pointed to a small scar across his forehead. “The mark will be healed soon. Only man since you to make me bleed. Thought he would better serve us than in the Deep Below. See that I am not wrong!”

  Davat inclined his head slowly, his face still expressionless.

  And when it seems the battle has gone wayward, he will be the first to turn on us, Daniel thought, but spoke to what concerned him most: “What brings you so far south?”

  “To affairs, then!” Damian shouted, waving his three companions back towards the Ruination. “We will discuss matters privily. Your men can at least keep your ship afloat while you are away, no?”

  Daniel nodded to Randall, who kept his eyes steady and level. Then, following Damian, Daniel boarded the immense dromond.

  The mutes did not look toward him, not for a moment. He glanced some of their faces, and they were pale and gaunt, as if the walking dead worked the dromond. Crimson Swords stood at the ready by the rail, fingers tip-tapping the hilts of their blades.

  They seemed to expect battle.

  “You look ready for war, Damian.”

  Damian smiled and laughed. “I am always ready, even if Shipp tells me I am far too whimsical. Heh, you think the man is ignorant of all our reavings!”

  “War is more than a battle,” Shipp said sternly. “Do not forget that.”

  “Such nonsense he utters,” Damian replied. “Not that it means much, heh. I would put his head on a spike, if he was not so cursedly useful.”

  “Has the king moved, then?” Daniel asked.

  “Not here,” Damian scolded. “They may be mutes, but the more useful of them are not illiterate.”

  Daniel looked to his right. If the mutes discerned aught, they were silent about it. Damian. He is paranoid as ever.

  He took a slim stairway down to the captain’s cabin. It was at least three times the size of his own on the Black Tide. Tall windows stretched endlessly on the far side. The floor was littered with half open chests spilling jewels, barrels stuffed with rolled up parchments, and along the western walls were rows of casks, no doubt filled with ale. An immense bed was shoved against the far wall, with gilded posts holding up long red drapes.

  Shipp, Trey, and Damian made for an immense oak table in the centre, where a stretched map with wooden figures lay upon it. Daniel joined them and saw the deployment of the fleets and legions of the great kingdoms; though he was surprised to see the breadth of Damian’s fleet. If he read it rightly, it was strong enough to challenge the vaunted royal fleet.

  “Our reach is much greater than what it was,” Daniel murmured.

  “Heh, we have not been idle, Daniel,” Damian announced proudly. “We can challenge any one of the cursed fleets now, even the Trechtian royal fleet. Heh, what would our fathers say to that?”

  Daniel did not think his father ever thought much of him. Nor would the sot now, if he knew. “They would not believe their eyes.”

  “Nor will they when we take Trank!”

  “Damian,” Shipp said sternly. “That is a fantasy, even if affairs fly our way.”

  “Yes, yes,” Damian mumbled. “So you do like to tell me, fucking cunt.”

  “Overlord,” Davat intoned, still near the cabin door. “I would see to that other matter now.”

  “Yes, off with you,” Damian commanded. “We have much to discuss.”

  Daniel turned to Damian. He did not know how or why, but he needed to know the matter. “What is he seeing to?”

  “You need not concern yourself with Davat,” Damian said, pointing to the map. “We must needs know of what you learned. I tire of these feints. I want to bleed these fucking cunts.”

  “Does it truly matter, my overlord?” Trey said, crossing his arms. “The Isilians never amounted a great fleet. They are inconsequential.”

  “A foe with a sword in hand are never inconsequential,” Shipp put in quickly. “Lest you forget, we are surrounded by foes upon all sides.”

  “Do you think—”

  “I was summoned here to talk, not listen to your prattle on Trey,” Daniel interrupted, frustrated with the whole charade. Trey flinched, and Shipp looked onward, cold and ca
lculating. Damian smiled. “Know your place.”

  “Heh, I told you boys, the Corsair has balls!” Damian shouted. “More than I can say for most of the captains who serve loyally. Spineless whelps.”

  Trey shifted his feet but stayed quiet.

  “Well, out with it, Daniel.”

  Daniel looked down on the map. The Corsair moniker grated him, but he dared not show it. Instead, he focused on the map. “There are no shipyards to the south, as all men know. There are ports, small, and used mostly for small trade up and down the coastline. Many and more care not to traverse the wastelands; and I do not blame them for it.

  “The villages are poor, surviving on barren land and shallow fishing. The imperator seldom gazes on the southern reaches, and the people are lucky to catch a glimpse of the Black Guard, but the families are old— nearly all dating back to the exodus.

  “Their elders talked often about this endless winter, and the spring to come. I spurned books in my youth, but I heard tell more than once that the wasteland was not always so barren. Green fields once stretched endlessly, and the Isilians grew all sorts of plants and vegetables, relying less on the ore from their mountain ranges. Still, it has not returned, and they hope.”

  “This better have a point,” Trey said, crossing his arms.

  “It does,” Daniel replied curtly. “Pray that I do not show you the point of my steel.”

  “Hah!” Damian bellowed. “On with it, much as I would like to see that.”

  “There was but one elder who dared speak of this, and I trusted his eyes,” Daniel said, pointing to the southern tip of the waste. “He spoke of an ancient vault housing a crystalline rock of pure, dark beauty. I sent men to find its entrance, but whether it was buried or wasted away, we could find naught of it.”

  “Does that not match the description of the God Stone?” Shipp asked.

  “That was my thought,” Daniel answered. “T’was why I searched for it. May be this ancient vault still exists, hidden, and if we can find some trace of it—”

  “That kingly shite will want the wasteland!” Damian bellowed. “Heh, this will do well, I do say. Once these affairs conclude, I would have you search it out. Find some breadcrumbs. Eventually the king will not ignore these tantalizing fruits much longer.”