“And the imperium’s forces?” Shipp asked, intent on the task at hand.
“None in the south,” Daniel said. “The north we know. That leaves the bosom of their great mountain. Argath will not venture out in strength, not lest he has to. He still licks his wounds from his failed invasion of Dalia.”
“We fear no attack from the south-east,” Shipp declared, rubbing his chin. “To the south-west, we have much of our strength, and towers and lookouts watching the western waters, even if High Priestess Gloria feigns to move against us.
“If an attack would come, it would be to the north, and our foes know that is perilous. We command far too many ships.”
“And yet you counsel against open engagements!” Damian roared.
“I still would,” Shipp replied. “We have enough to protect our own, but if we battled any of the great kingdoms, and should another engage us, you would be back in the run-down tavern in Dale.”
“Establish a stronghold, then,” Daniel declared.
He felt every eye look to him. Damian grinned like a fool. Trey smiled deviously. Shipp, who Daniel could never remember showing emotion, grinned.
“Have we not talked of it before—in Lanan?” Daniel asked. “There is a high cliff overlooking the sea, and a smuggler’s city lies beneath—smugglers whose loyalty is ours, if the last bird I had told it true.”
“The south is ours for the nonce,” Shipp declared, looking towards the northern tip of the islands. “Isilia will not sail westward, and the Dalians will think twice if we have a stronghold.”
“The Overlord’s Seat I shall call it!” Damian called out, slamming his fists down on the table. “There we will raise our forces, tax every vessel venturing east or west, and stand in defiance! Once that wretched king is seduced by our lies and deceptions, and the pissants weaken, we will strike and make them subservient to us!”
Trey and Damian shouted, though Daniel blocked the pair out. He stared down at the map, his eyes stretching towards the old kingdom; there was little detail besides the capital of Trank, but the southern mountains, the endless fields, the running dells, they were home.
The home he would return to when all this ended.
He thought of Emily. The wind blowing through her hair, the fresh scent of flowers on her lips, and the doe eyes that melted his heart. You were taken from me, but the day will soon dawn when I take you back. I will not lose myself. I may be in the company of cutthroats, but I will show you that I am still the man you loved. The man you always wanted to be with.
“Damian.”
Davat stood at the door, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “It is made ready.”
Daniel felt Damian’s eyes upon him: like a monstrous sea serpent toying with the lesser fishes of the sea. “I thought it was beyond my concern?”
“What is a little white lie among friends?” Damian asked, rapping Daniel on the shoulder. “Come, dear friend, and you will know the answer to your first question: why I arrived so early.”
Daniel followed his friend to the lower decks of Ruination. His heart sunk with every step. He did not know what the overlord intended, but he did not think it boded well.
Naught ever did.
“You cared little for the southern wastes and tales of the God Stone?” Daniel asked.
“You untrustworthy sot!” Damian cried out, mirth lacing his every ululation. “Of course I cared. Heh, I sent you south for a reason. Yes, the Overlord’s Seat is a place I have long desired. I think mirroring my throne to the vaunted Lion’s Throne would be most appropriate too. I would not have my chair back to be a lion though, no, but twin lions, upon the side. Yes, that will do quite well.
“Ah but that be affairs of state, my friend, and though it is a means to power, it can be terribly boring. There is a simple matter that I care much more about: you, my friend, you. I came south for you.”
Daniel swallowed a lump in his throat. He put his mind to every step as he was lead below decks. The mutes did not even look at him as he passed.
He dared to look behind him slightly as Damian rattled on. There he noticed that more and more Crimson Swords joined the entourage. They each had helmets on, visors down. Faceless. Just like the mutes. Blind, obedient sheep.
“Are your swordsmen truly needed, my friend?” Daniel asked when Damian stopped talking.
“Heh, yes, you will see why they are needed, just ahead.”
Damian pushed a door open at the end of the stair. Daniel took a step into the cargo hold, and froze with one foot in. He lifted his boot: blood and bodily fluids stuck to the sole. Looking to the ground, he saw a trail of red and white leading deeper into the hold. In the distance—where the fluids puddled—stood a young woman, bound, shorn of all clothes, and her legs spread wide.
He felt a push from behind. Two Crimson Swords urged him on. He obeyed, looking straight at the young woman. She was so familiar, but he could not place her. She frowned, her face downcast, lids shut, but her hair was long and brown.
Daniel took one tremulous step after another, her visage becoming clearer: skinny, her skin glistening, almost pale. He stood a foot from her, and she opened her brown, doe eyes.
“L-Lord Baccan?”
“She recalls!” Daniel turned to Damian, who lounged against a pillar, laughing, and continued, “When I took her a fortnight past, she did not remember who you were. ‘Daniel Baccan,’ I said, ‘noble cunt, but alright for all that. Spoke much about you.’ She shook her head, only remembering a Lord Baccan.’”
“She remembers … my father,” Daniel said solemnly. “My father forbade that I see her. I defied him, but he turned her into a whore. Gave her no choice. Took her more times than I can count. She never, she never …”
“Explains the whore house, then,” Damian said, smiling. “Found her in Jakon. Pleased me well enough. I remembered her name and thought to bring her to you. Heh, but she is a whore. Earned good coin from the men.”
Emily, my Emily. Daniel took off his mail gloves and traced up and down her leg. There were cuts and bruises, but her skin was still so soft. “Emily, I have missed you. Do you remember Lover’s Path? The days we would run away from our families and get lost in the thin forest? It was not much of a hiding place—and we could not stay long—but I can recall no greater joy. Do you remember those days?”
Emily’s head barely moved. Her eye lids opened briefly, before closing again.
“I dreamed of you this past night,” he told her. “It was one of the latter days. A week before my father discovered you. My father went westward with the tax collectors. There were some villages who evaded the king’s tax. My father said it was his rightful duty—a duty that I would learn one day, but not yet. I cared naught for duty. I just wanted you. Do you remember? Do you remember when I showed up outside your door, so early in the morning? Do you?”
“I…,” she moaned weakly. “You never came for me there, my lord.”
His heart wrenched but he moved closer to her. His hands untying the bonds as he spoke. “I did. I came to you then. We needed the time together. You and I.” She collapsed into his arms, her body hanging weakly over him. “It does not matter now. I am here for you. Do you forgive me? I prayed every day that you would. Do you?”
Emily looked at him with half raised eyes. “There is naught to forgive, my lord. You showed me, you showed me the path. I am grateful, I am. My lord.”
Leaning against him, wrapped around him so gingerly, Daniel wanted to be happy, but every thread seemed to slip away. He knew something was wrong; the wrongness was inescapable. “Why do you call me my lord?”
“You told me to, my lord.”
No, I did not. You think that I … “What is my name, Emily? I will forgive the absence of the honorific, just this once.”
“Devan Baccan.”
Daniel nearly dropped her. He wanted to. He tightened his grip on her back; he felt her body crunch against his. “What did you say?!”
“The cunt think
s you are your father, Daniel!” Damian bellowed. “Heh, your father is a shite, but he can fuck a girl’s memory dry.”
Laughter echoed in the hold. Damian, Trey, Shipp, Davat, the Crimson Swords. Daniel felt their mockery in an onslaught; every sound like an arrow piercing a tower shield. And before him, helpless and limp, was Emily: the woman he loved, the woman he fought for, the woman he thought of every day. And she thought him his father—the man who abused her, fucked her, and turned her into a whore.
“I am not Devan Baccan,” he said to her softly, hoping that no one else heard a word. “I am Daniel Baccan, your protector.”
Emily shook her head. “No, that boy is dead. He would never consort with such vile men. He would never harm anyone. You are not Daniel. No. Daniel is dead.”
Daniel is dead. The words resonated in his mind, repeated over and over. Father, I thought there was some small bit of happiness left. You took it all. Even her.
The laughter continued to echo through the cargo hold. Over and over.
“Lord Devan, please,” Emily murmured. “Take me away from this.”
“You truly think … I am him?”
“You are him. Please, take me from this. Take me back home. Please.”
“There is no home, not anymore.”
“You are a mighty lord. There is always home.”
“No, there is naught left.”
Emily looked at him with confused eyes. Her skin was dry, but now rivulets of tears ran down. “I do not understand … why will you not …”
“I am sorry, Emily,” Daniel intoned.
“Please, you must, I need you to…”
Daniel moved his hands to the side of her face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs, feeling her soft hair, breathing in her scent.
Only there was no scent of flowers. No silken strands.
Only anguish.
“I am sorry, Emily.”
She looked up piteously and her smile crumbled: the remains of her skull broken in pieces among the blood and cum.
The laughter stopped. Daniel heard the sound of steel scraping against leather as he kicked Emily’s broken body away.
Damian gripped him by the shoulders. “There is naught left. Let the Corsair be born.”
Daniel broke free of Damian. The Crimson Swords inched closer, but Damian called them off.
Daniel stood above the ruin of Emily and drew his sword. He dropped it on the bloody ruin of his youth.
“Overlord,” he intoned, turning and facing them all, their steel still drawn. “The Corsair is all there ever was.”
The Hammer
Dusk
14 February 15130
Aerona peered over the port-side rail and watched her father’s reavers do their work.
The reavers seemed to flit in and out of the shadows, straying from the burning sails and the charred wood of the trading cog. The green cloaks of the Trechtian knights blossomed with red, seemingly unaware as they cried out in terror. The knight-captain still stood with arms crossed on the bridge of the ship, shouting orders, but it seemed to make no difference.
It never does, Aerona thought. The Trechtians do not fear my father. They think the seas their own. Some men never learn.
The knights who still lived began a retreat, though the knight-captain seemed to like that very little. The reavers did not stop their assault: they hamstrung the cowards and cut down those too big or old to outwit the shadows.
“Show yourselves, cursed mongrels!” the knight-captain shouted, seething. Aerona could not see his eyes very well, but she knew that as much fury as there was, doubt lay upon the precipice.
“Do you not have eyes to see?”
Aerona looked towards the middle deck, and though the man was cloaked all in black, she saw the grizzled face of her father, Robett Harkan. His hair was long, splaying over broad shoulders. He held his sword outright, and it looked like the flames licked off it. Several more of the reavers stood beside him, appearing like legions.
“I would know the name of a man before I slay him,” the knight-captain proclaimed, leaping from the bridge to join his cowardly knights. “I would not throw a nameless corpse before King Marcus.”
“Robett Harkan,” her father said matter-of-factly. “Do you not see this cog, or the warships that are sinking to the Deep Below? Do all fools wear such heavy motley?”
“You should watch your tongue, swine.”
“Or you shall do what, ser? Fall before us as you have done for the past hour? We seek only the cargo upon this vessel. Let us pass and we shall take it, and you may row your ship back to Trank in defeat.”
“This ship and all cargo upon it are King Marcus’ by law.”
The reavers seemed to laugh, and Aerona thought that her father allowed himself a brief smile before answering. “A man defends his own treasures. Where is this king of yours whom you swear fealty to?”
“You know where, cur.”
“So he is not here, lest you are this self-styled king? Your Majesty, put up your sword, or die upon the waves.”
“Slay them you louts!” the knight-captain screamed.
The knights did not move, though the knight-captain screamed and screamed. Aerona laughed. The men were no fools—only their captain.
“You see, ser, your men know a fruitless battle when they see it,” Robett proclaimed. “Surrender your steel and goods, and row back.”
“I shall slay you, wretched mongrel!”
The knight-captain hurdled forth, though Robett put up his own sword in parry. He waved off the reavers, and the knights looked on expectantly. Aerona swallowed a frog in her throat. She knew the warrior her father was, but that never made it easier.
The two men broke free of each other, and the knight-captain swung viciously at Robett, though her father seemed to deflect and side-step, sprinting around the errant knight. Robett had told Aerona countlessly that this was the way to defeat the heavily clad knights—for they are slow, and even the strongest of men tire after carrying so much weight.
“Is the reaver too cowardly to fight?!” the knight-captain screamed out, though he was bent over double and panting. “Do you know naught of honour?”
“Honour?” Robett seemed to say the word deliberately, as if chewing it. He flicked his wrists and traded his sword from hand to hand. “Does honour keep you warm, good knight? Does it feed your men and children? It is a false fruit upon which you sup. A tradition fed to you by men who starve themselves, thinking only of what they mean to others. I care not a whit for the thoughts of other men.”
“Honourless, honourless dog!” the knight-captain exclaimed. “I will not be put down by the likes of you.”
“That determination, ser, is beyond you.”
The knight-captain charged again, both hands on his sword. Robett raised his sword to parry, and the knight-captain bore down heavily. Suddenly, his steel seemed to cut through Robett’s, and Aerona gasped and closed her eyes. The realm seemed still, and she pried her lids open slowly. The knight-captain lay on the ground. Her father stood above, and four feet of steel stuck out the knight-captain’s neck.
Robett turned to the knights. “Who else among you believes their lives are worth King Marcus’ cargo?”
One by one, the knights jumped over the side, armour and all. Aerona could hear the reavers laughing. She breathed deep and looked down in pity at the flailing men. The Deep Below take them.
“Aerona! Come!” her father shouted. She leapt over the rail, crossed the gangplank, and walked the deck of the trading cog.
The reavers who were not laughing at the flailing, drowning knights began to light brands, and as she walked to her father, she saw the yellow and green corpses of the knights, and the blood-soaked rags of the deckhands.
Her father smiled and said, “Do you see why I would not allow you to take up the sword this night?”
Instinctively, Aerona reached for her steel, though there was naught but an empty scabbard. Remembering the corpses, she loo
ked to her father again and nodded. “I would have joined the dead.”
“You would have, or cost the lives of men who otherwise would not have fallen,” her father said. “A day will dawn when you will have the strength to fight among my reavers, but that day has not yet come. You have learned much in your fourteen seasons, and you will learn many more. Use that knowledge, Aerona. When the time comes, you shall need it.”
Aerona acquiesced, though she thought herself ready. She had bested some of the younger reavers in spars, whilst her father had looked on from a distance. He always beamed with pride, but she knew that not every man had given their all. She hated them for that.
“Shall we recover the cargo, Father?” Aerona asked, pointing past the corpse of the knight-captain. “The flames will not go unnoticed.”
“Time is fleeting,” her father agreed. “Jenning! Tatum! Brings the lads. The rest of you, loot what you can, but be ready to shove off when we return. I do not want to see a laggard on this deck.”
Jenning and Tatum shouted out orders. Aerona looked to her father and said, “Shall we?” He smiled in answer.
Her father opened the door that lead to the lower decks. Torches were lit beneath decks, though Aerona did not think it illuminated much. She saw bundles of skins and furs lining most of the walls and thought they were of lowly beasts like rabbits and coons.
She opened chests filled with gems and jewels, but none glittered and gleamed—it was all rough, coarse, and of little value. Of coins there were many, but it was mostly copper and silver, little gold. Her father opened casks and spit out what he drank.
“Not even the commons would drink this swine,” he said disgustedly. “The old kingdom does not know what to do with barley and wheat.”
“There is little here of value, Father,” she said, turning away from the cargo. “Furs and skins for blankets, and gems that would not adorn the pommels of the crudest make. Likely some lesser merchant paid a great deal for protection, such as it is.”
The Prelude to Darkness Page 27