The Prelude to Darkness

by Brenden Christopher Gardner

  “To me it does. If you are to be in the company of my daughter, then—“

  “I will give you advice, and I suggest you take it,” Daniel interrupted, and he spoke loud enough so that Aerona would hear. “Damian may have brought you to our cause, but he does not trust you, not a whit. He will sniff for your weakness and hold it against you. In time he will turn you into what he desires of you. Obey him blindly and without question—it may save what you hold dear.”

  “I can protect my daughter without your counsel,” Robett growled. “You still have not answered my question.”

  You will do well, Robett Harkan, providing you do not reach overmuch. “Lord Daniel Baccan, if it is so important to you.”

  “Heh,” Robett remarked; the mocking laugh sounded so unnatural. “Disgraced sons of Trechtian nobility leads us in this? Fortune spits on us.”

  “That whore has spit on me my whole life.”

  The captain kept pace but remained silent, though Aerona fidgeted from behind. Daniel turned to face her and saw consternation and rage crease her youthful face. He knew that Damian would not leave that unchallenged if it remained; the fact that she was still a child would matter not. Daniel cared little for another Lalton, but Robett was needed in the days ahead. The three heads are important.

  The other man walked close to Aerona, glaring all the while. Daniel wanted to know who the man was—what made the brute tick. “You have naught to say?”

  “Not to the likes of you,” the man replied.

  “Tatum, the Corsair is our guest,” Robett said strongly.

  Tatum inclined his head respectfully, but did not utter another word.

  He does not care for this arrangement, Daniel thought, though he has spine. He will serve well in time.

  The sound of gulls and the swaying of water broke his thoughts. The Hammer stood steady in the distance, moored in the broken-down port. She looked like a war galley, though slightly larger than most, much like his own Black Tide. There were three tall masts and an assortment of smaller ones. He counted three decks and a single row of oars. Men stripped to the waist milled about the poop deck, and a lanky man pointed towards him.

  “Jenning?” he asked Robett.

  “Aye, I shall go first and do the talking.”

  He let Robett walk ahead, whilst Tatum brought up the rear, closely following Aerona. A gangplank was lowered, and as Daniel climbed onboard the ship, resentment laced every word that Jenning spoke.

  “Him? Here?! Our ship?! After all of that, captain, you would—“

  Robett cut the pock-faced man off. “Do you forget your place Jenning? Would you like to count gold in the Deep Below?”

  “No, captain,” Jenning replied obediently.

  “We are now in the service of Overlord Damian Dannars. This man is Lord Daniel Baccan, otherwise known as the Corsair. We make for the central island, to the city of Lanan.”

  The deckhands muttered amongst themselves.

  “Prepare to sail, now!” Robett boomed, and the men quickly resumed their work.

  Daniel was pleased. Not a man among the crew had lingering eyes for him, not even Jenning; though the wretch was looking to and fro, as if searching for some task to take him away from the deck.

  Looking about and studying the men at their work, Daniel recalled a meeting some six months ago with the captain of the Dragonfly. Her captain was soft-spoken and calculating—he reminded Daniel very much of Shipp—and among all the nonsensical things the captain uttered, one fruitful declaration stood out: “I have no doubt that the overlord and you and all who advise you have a grasp on your endeavour, but if it is war that is a-brewin’, you shall want to find the Hammer. She can be tricksy to find, see that it not true—the Appraiser though, he will know where she be. No other man I would rather brave fire and blood with than her captain, Robett Harkan.”

  The men take after their captain: disciplined, single-minded. There will be no mutiny, whatever we ask—provided their captain is as strong as the old geezer claimed. “Damian will be pleased, Robett,” Daniel offered.

  “We will serve, all of us,” Robett replied. “Tatum, take him to Garan.”

  “I would accompany the Corsair, if that is to your liking, Father,” Aerona said with hands on her hips.

  “You know it would not be, Aerona,” Robett said sharply, though after a brief glance his graveness faded. “Do as you will.”

  It was a short walk to the bridge of the ship, and Aerona’s inquisitive glares were hard to ignore; Daniel half expected her to assail him with questions and concerns, but they never came. Not yet, but they will.

  The navigator, Garan, was a man long in years—his gnarled hands gripped the old wood of the steering wheel hard, as if he expected to lose it. Soothing words from Tatum did not seem to still his mood.

  “I do know these waters. I do not need no thrall to tell me which way to sail.”

  Daniel found it hard not to sigh. “Do you know what manner of men work the overlord’s dromond, Ruination?” he asked, smiling at the willful old man.

  “Do not see why I would care.”

  “Mutes. The overlord did not care for those who talk overmuch.”

  The scowl etched on Garan’s face lingered for a moment before fading to a mirthless frown. His eyes dropped, as if he preferred to dance with the creatures of the Deep Below. “Where would we be a-sailin’?”

  “Eastward. ‘Tis the northern tip of the central island. You will see juts of rock from a cave mouth. Aye, it is treacherous, but if you serve well, I will not be inclined to spike your old flesh through it.”

  Garan did not lift his eyes from the decks. “Aye, eastward.”

  The ship swayed and turned, and Tatum walked back the way they came. Aerona tugged on Daniel’s arm, pointing to the port-side rail, away from old navigator.

  Grudgingly, Daniel followed the lass. He wanted little to do with her, but thought that she would not take no for an answer.

  “Do not mind Garan,” she said softly, staring out at the churning sea. “There are many years under those old eyes—most he spent upon the deck of his own ship. He speaks that way even to Father. Garan is cranky but harmless—you did not have to threaten him like that.”

  There are a great many things I have had to do, and will again. “Every man—and woman—must obey the will of the overlord without complaint. I would prefer not to spill more life’s blood than I must.”

  “The overlord’s—or yours?”

  “You are bold for a girl,” he said laughing. “I shall give you that. I would keep that tongue behind your teeth, leastways when Damian is near.”

  “My father will protect me,” she said stubbornly. “I do not fear your overlord the way you do.”

  The words cut to his marrow. He tried to keep it down, resisting the urge to strike the little shite. Pact or no pact, he knew the crew would not take lightly any harm to the girl: it would be bloody then, and in the streets of Lanan. “Mind your tongue.”

  “Or you will do what?” she said, turning and facing him. She leaned back and tugged at the side of her cloak, revealing her blade. “I am not my father, and I am not you—I am simply a little girl and all. Yet for that I know how to fight. I know how to goad men. You are rather easy, Corsair.”

  None of this was worth it. “Is that all you have to say to me? Keep your peace if all you mean to do is taunt.”

  Aerona giggled. “Father always told me to know the men who serve you—who and what they are and what you mean to them. We are in this together, Lord Daniel Baccan, and I would know who you are.”

  Who I am? he thought, gripping the rail. I was to be a knight once. Now that is so far gone. Naught but an exile, punished for the affront of my birth. Now that is all gone, like a fading dream. I am the Corsair: a reaver, a smuggler, a cutthroat.

  “You would be better off not knowing.”

  The girl giggled again—her mirth was like a squealing hog. “You are worse than Father when I am trying to pry a secre
t from him!” Her smile faded, and she screwed up her face. “I know more of this realm than you might think, Lord Daniel Baccan. I have been on this ship for most of my childhood—I watched as my father and his men boarded ships. I know what it is like when men draw steel, and what they do when the battle has ended. There is a darkness about you, no less than my father’s, or what mine will be, when I come of age.”

  You know naught of my darkness—the all-consuming abyss that it is. “You speak of more than you know.”

  “Try me, my lord!”

  Shrugging his shoulders, he asked, “And what is it that you see, Aerona?”

  “I see a wounded man who guards his heart. You know what you are, even if it shames you—you fear to love, for fear of losing it again. Or have I pegged you wrong?”

  Closer to the mark than you know. “You are inquisitive for a girl.”

  “I am inquisitive because I must be,” she said whilst rapping his arm. “I am not yet as strong as men, so I must needs rely on my guile. It will not always be that way, though.”

  “Leave me be.”

  The child smiled and took her leave.

  The sea rolled on noisily. Daniel watched the passing islands and named all the hidden ports along the northern coastline. They would be empty, though years ago he would have joined a score of others within its damp walls: bartering at tables with merchants and negotiating fees with mercenaries and cutthroats.

  Not anymore. Damian had changed all of that.

  Robett Harkan was one of the last captains who had evaded the overlord. The last great captain, Daniel reminded himself. There were others upon the seas—mostly smugglers, small merchant vessels, and the odd reaver. None who deserved notice, and none who would bring the attention of the great kingdoms.

  The islands served under the overlord’s reign.

  The waters turned rougher, and looking to the prow, Daniel saw the cliffs of the island rise in the distance. It was a cacophony of water against rock, crashing again and again. “Keep to the western rocks,” he reminded Garan. “Go near any of the larger formations and you will be swimming to Damian’s judgment.”

  “Aye,” the navigator replied dismissively.

  Daniel shrugged his shoulders and descended to the poop deck. Aerona waited with her father, looking to the prow as the immense cavern swallowed the ship.

  “And unto the maw we fly,” Robett recited. “There are ruins of many ships here.”

  “Not since we took Lanan for our port of call,” Daniel said.

  Robett turned sharply, clearly surprised. Aerona simply stared into the darkness.

  “Do you fear the maw, Robett?” Daniel asked, crossing his arms. “Your daughter does not.”

  “No,” Robett said, putting an arm around Aerona. “‘Tis not the maw that frightens me.”

  Words were left unsaid. Words that Daniel knew all too well. ‘Tis the monster inside.

  Docking at the eastern-most dock, he leapt down first, the dock swaying beneath his feet. Robett awaited the gangplank and gave orders that only Aerona would come with him—the rest to remain at the ready.

  Great stalactites jutted from the ceiling, and Daniel instructed the pair to watch their heads. At the rear of the cavern was a long stair with a pair of Crimson Swords standing guard at the bottom. Daniel nodded his head and they stood down, though their eyes seemed to appraise every movement.

  “Black and crimson are his colours, is it?” Robett asked halfway up the stair.

  “He has always taken to those colours,” Daniel replied. “Black for the night which we strike, crimson for the fire and blood we leave in our wake. ‘Tis colours that the great kingdoms will bathe in, in the days to come.”

  “They would fit me well,” Aerona said, though Robett rapped her arm right after.

  Daniel continued to lead them to the second floor of the Overlord’s Seat. He walked through a high-ceilinged hall; side rooms stuffed with bookshelves appeared on the left and right, and Crimson Swords walked to and fro. Coming to a large chamber halfway through the hall, high windows let in the sun of late afternoon, and Damian stood with Davat, Trey, and Shipp, pouring over a war map.

  “Good, you shites have finally arrived,” Damian remarked. “Come, come. We have matters to discuss.”

  Daniel stood on the southern end of the table, opposite of Damian. Robett and Aerona stood to Damian’s left, pouring over the overlord’s fleets, the enemy’s ships, and the knights and legions they commanded.

  “Do you expect me to believe that the others are so weak?” Robett asked, though never raising his eyes from the map. “Smugglers and flesh traders rose so high, amassed so much strength?”

  “The history of the realm eludes you, Robett Harkan?” Shipp asked.

  “Who might you be?”

  “Shipp. Damian’s tactician. I assure you, we hold tremendous strength and advantage, leastways at sea.”

  “Then why have you waited?”

  “Those bastards bled us enough through their cursed reigns!” Damian shouted and pointed a finger at Robett. “Why would I expend my own men—and my own ships—when they will gut each other like pigs?”

  Sensing the next question, Daniel spoke up. “Robett, the king that Damian and I once served has an all-consuming obsession: a relic of bygone years called the God Stone. Whether it is the king, priests in the holy land, or noble shites in the waste, they all believe it can be found, but where it is, that is where they differ.

  “I was dispatched by the king many years ago to search for sign of this relic. Every turn of the moon I sent back ravens to where it may be found, and there is but one message I have yet to send, and the king will find it too seductive to ignore.”

  Doubt seemed to creep across Robett’s face. “You will tell them the Dalians or the Isilians have it—and can offer definitive proof?”

  “Heh, it is why you are here now,” Damian declared, crossing his arms. “You have a small crew to be sure, but all men have heard your name. I will need your strength when the realm is broken, and we put a blade to the throat of these cursed monarchs.”

  “And if you are wrong,” Robett began, pausing to look at his daughter. “And they turn their fleets ‘gainst us?”

  “They do not know where we are,” Shipp explained. “It has been years since any vessel crossed our waters without escort. We take them far north or south. They do not espy the islands.”

  “I have freely sailed along the waters for years.”

  “You have been allowed to,” Trey declared. “All other ships have been boarded, taken, and burned. Heh, they have fed our coffers well enough. Useless sots.”

  Robett raised his eyes from the war table. “Where is this God Stone, then?”

  Damian laughed. “Cathedral of Bloody Light.”

  “There is a new high priestess, is there not?”

  “Yes,” Shipp replied, rubbing the beard on his chin. “High Priestess Gloria was slain not a year past—the culprit has yet to be found, or so they say. The Faith moved forward and elected a young scholar—an orphan, truth be told. Lutessa. Our whisperers affirmed this, though we are barred from the White Walls.”

  Damian bore a sly smile on his lips. “The whispers will only embolden our cause.”

  “And the Isilians?” Robett asked.

  “There is no love amongst the great kingdoms,” Shipp admitted. “The imperium still recovers from their fool invasion not two years past. Yet the Black Storm is not a young man anymore, and he has taken advisors who are ambitious, including one who once served us.”

  “Andrew fucking Dunctap,” Damian recalled. “Big as a mountain that one was. I had the blacksmiths fashion him an immense claymore that he called Doom. Nearly shat myself when I first saw him wield it.”

  “And now he serves the imperium?” Robett asked.

  Daniel could not help but laugh. “Oh so faithfully, bent on vengeance against us. We drove him out.”

  “Are you all mad?”

  Damian slammed
down on the war table. “Watch your tongue, Robett. You are headstrong, but do not be stupid. Andrew is a brute—always wants to solve problems by bloodying his foes. He knows we will not come to the imperium’s aid, and weakened as they are, they cannot stand against Trecht.”

  “They will join with the Dalians,” Shipp said. “Then we pick the scraps.”

  Robett continued to stare at the table. Aerona smiled slightly. Daniel thought that Aerona was much more ambitious than her father. Much more.

  Suddenly footfalls pounded from behind. Daniel turned and looked upon a Crimson Sword with his visor raised; his eyes darted about to and fro, and he shuffled his feet nervously. The man is pale as a ghost.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Davat demanded, storming towards the man. “None were to be admitted here.”

  “Sails have been sighted to the west.”

  Daniel felt his heart sink in his chest. So much secrecy was wrought in the islands. Damian’s plan relied so much on that veil. If someone has found us …

  “The fucking west?!” Damian exclaimed, pushing through to the messenger. “What colours do they fly?”

  “White, overlord. White.”

  Sers Jacob and Johnathan. Order of Light.

  Damian spun around, pointing at Shipp. “I want all ships on the fucking sea. Sink the fuckers.”

  “Overlord, we do not know if they—“

  “Shut your fucking mouth. They have found us. Every ship on the fucking sea!”

  Daniel did not wait any longer. He sprinted down the hall and descended the stairs. The alarum bell was deafening as it echoed throughout the castle. The city of Lanan would be alive, every man and woman answering the overlord’s call.

  Reaching the hidden port, he climbed aboard his own three-decked war galley, the Black Tide. His tall and lithe first mate, Jaremy Dahk, awaited on the poop deck.

  “What is happening, captain?”

  “Dalian sails to the west. Every ship is being called. Off to the bridge. Wait for the signs from Ruination. Obey them utterly.”

  “Yes, captain,” Jaremy replied, running off while shouting orders.

  It was not long until Daniel felt his own vessel push out towards the sea. Deep below decks he heard the oar master pound the drums. Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum. The sun was red on the horizon, and in the distance, he saw the sails.