A handful of merchants, lords and ladies, and councillors milled about in the corners of the hold, huddled and whispering. Few raised their eyes from the treasures and conversation, but the couple who did quickly hid their faces soon after.
Andrew had grown accustomed to it. From the inner council to the menial miners, few welcomed him to the imperium, and many, he was told glowingly from Lady Melany, expressed distrust in their cups.
They knew that he had torched their shipyards, stolen their cargo, and raped their women.
So long ago. He grunted, passing by a larger group of nobles whispering furtively. And never again shall I serve Damian, even if every noble demands my head in vengeance.
Andrew came to towering pillars of stone that lined a northward path, ending at two great doors of oak, warded by the Black Guard. Sworn to the life of the imperator, they had not failed, not once. Andrew nodded to his men, and they admitted him.
He stood in the darkened chamber lit only by guttering torches. Curved benches wrought of marble stretched outward, facing the immense Mountain: near forty feet in height, an ornate throne was carved upon its precipice, with two recesses upon either side. He stood in awe as he always did. He rarely ascended the steps; his place was at the foot of the Mountain with Doom drawn, guarding the imperator's life, where no man or woman dared offer defiance.
Andrew shouldered through the blackened marble benches and around the outer width of the Mountain. Another Black Guard stood at the rear of the chamber, opening the door to the imperator's study.
Every wall was covered with tall bookshelves stuffed to the brim with leather-bound tomes. What treatises they were mattered very little to Andrew; that was for learned men like the Avrills, and no concern of his. In front of the rear book shelf was a long desk stacked with parchments, and the tall, wiry frame of Imperator Argath Diomedes sat with hands clasped. He had chosen long black robes with a scarlet trim. His narrow, stern eyes locked upon the four nobles who sat in simple chairs in front of him. The slender Lord Zachary Avin, bedecked in a plain doublet of grey and brown trousers, slumped forward, tapping his long fingers on the arm of his chair. Lords Anthony Kinot and Conlath Benet leaned near each other, whispering, their clean pressed and colourful doublets seemed close to bursting against their burgeoning fat. Lastly, Lady Melany Ducat stared to the side as if reading off every book title one by one; her pink face and flowing red dress attracted no eye.
They know better, Andrew thought. Her list of slain has grown long indeed.
“My Black Wrath,” the imperator intoned solemnly without averting his gaze from the others. All but Lady Melany turned to look upon Andrew briefly, before shifting their gaze once more to their sovereign. “Mayhap you will see the lies that my councillors cannot. Stand by my side.”
“The words I bring you are not lies, my imperator,” Melany said curtly, without so much as drawing her gaze from the tomes. “If the news I bring disappoints you, mayhap it is time to slit the throats of the dolts who sing such songs?”
Andrew withdrew Doom and thrust it into the wood. The fattened lords quivered.
Imperator Argath smiled. “Lords Anthony and Conlath, does the Black Wrath still frighten you so?”
The two lords flushed, though Anthony bumbled out an answer. “It, it was from when we broke our fast. Our chef cannot cook eggs well.”
“Find a new chef.”
“At once, my imperator.” Conlath said quickly, rising from his chair. “If you--
“Sit down.”
“My imperator.”
Andrew smiled at the fools. Their families were old, and their wealth near immeasurable. It is the only reason the imperator tolerates them. We cannot afford infighting, even if insurgents would be crushed. Damian. He is our foe.
“Sixteen months past,” Imperator Argath began, “I set Lord Commander Rafael Azail to the seas above the northern islands. Lady Melany’s birds reported that High Priestess Lutessa set her own fleets there, on false promises of coin and stolen goods: years of plundered Dalian wealth, to be sure. The Dalians were there, but so was the Ruination, Black Tide, and the Hammer.” The imperator paused and breathed deeply. “Every advantage we gained was lost. The Storm returned with only a handful of galleys, the rest sunk to the sea by the overlord and his crew of fools in motley.” Imperator Argath stilled his words, and all the nobles save for Melany leaned in, waiting with bated breath. Then a hardness emerged in the imperator’s speech. “At long last they emerged. Yet no one can tell me where that fleet is. Instead, every shipyard we build is burned to the ground. Towns and villages along the coast are burned. We give chase. We pay off these mercenary captains. And still no one can tell me where that fleet is!”
The councillors sat in silence, and even the mistress of whisperers averted her gaze from the tomes and folded her hands in her lap, staring at them.
“Your imperator demands answers,” Andrew declared, and he gazed at every councillor in turn. They were all cowards and cravens, burying their eyes ever deeper into their laps. “All the birds, all the wealth, all the means, and you cannot find this fleet?”
“You have not offered much either, Black Wrath.”
Andrew bored into Zachary, who still gazed downward. “Raise your eyes when you speak to me.”
The imperial treasurer slowly did. His eyes were dead and cold, and his lips trembled. “Were you not amongst Damian’s crew?”
Aye, I served him, Andrew thought, remembering. I served on Shipp’s galley. There I listened and learned, but my old captain is no fool. He frowned and buried the memory. “That was long ago. Damian did not stray from the islands, aye, but he did not stay in one place long, nor did he build walls.”
“This I know,” Imperator Argath said, waving a hand dismissively. “Nor does it rain fire down upon this fleet we cannot find. I expected more.”
“Mayhap we should give the overlord what he wants?” Melany said smiling, her right leg crossed over her left. “Black Wrath, surely you know what he desires most of all?”
Andrew grimaced. More than once her birds had come too close, searching for what he was, what he truly knew. Only the imperator knew the extent of it. “Dominion, mistress.”
“Oh, we do know that,” Melany replied, supressing a brief giggle. The other councillors were still afraid, but she was not. “Yet I have always thought your arrival suspect, Black Wrath. Doubtless you have served the imperium well, but a man with your strength, hmm, the overlord would not relinquish it lightly, lest you came to know of what he truly wanted, and you refused to give it up.”
Tightening his grip on the hilt of Doom, Andrew stared at the mistress of whisperers. She did not flinch for even a moment; her eyes narrowed, and the slightest hint of a smile spread across her lips.
“What does he truly want, Black Wrath?”
When the imperator spoke, only a fool did not answer. “The overlord has always longed for a treasure from your predecessors, my imperator. Seldom has he spoken of it, but he claims it to be a crystalline stone, said to hold the strength of gods and daemons. No more than fables, as my imperator knows.”
“The pretense of a war long ago,” Zachary mused, resting his chin on his knuckles. “Trecht of old divided over the lure of such a treasure, though many have denied it since. That schism lead to the founding of the Dalian theocracy and our own imperium. A dark history, whence Lord Theodore Rusels faltered against Dalia’s Indomitable, who perished chasing after such a crystalline stone. Why would the overlord not seek the troves of the Faith?”
“And you think he has not?” Andrew grunted at the imperial treasurer, who bowed his head once more. “They called us pirates and smugglers, but we were always reavers. The Dalian coasts burned night after night. We slaughtered. We raped. We pillaged. And we questioned. If such a treasure is in their possession, it is in the depths of their Cathedral of Light. Not even that addled fool of an overlord is bold enough to sack Dale.”
“And now he does the same to our land,
” Imperator Argath intoned, his cold eyes impassive. “If such a treasure was ever in our possession, it no longer is, and no treatise would stem this tide. I care not for the past. I would turn the overlord’s greed against him.”
“Convince him that it is in our possession?” Conlath remarked, rubbing his fat hands together as if a cooked bird sat before him. “My imperator, your wisdom transcends the ages.”
“I have need of your wealth, not your wit,” Imperator Argath said solemnly. The lord sat back, slumping, and the imperator affixed his gaze to the imperial treasurer. “I know our fleet can do little more than guard our coasts, but what of our legions?”
Zachary steepled his hands together and answered. “The yields from the mountains have been generous, and our smiths smelt and forge day and night, my imperator. Lord Commander Rafael Azail reported at the last turn of the moon that the Sentinels of Umbrage number the thousands. If these reavers beached our lands, I daresay they would leave them bloodied.”
Damian will not allow his legions further than the port towns, Andrew thought, whilst staring at the satisfied grin across the imperial treasurer’s face. The imperator knows that too.
“I want a full account of these treasures of old,” Imperator Argath intoned. “The overlord must believe our lies. I trust, Lady Melany, that your bird’s songs will reach the wretch’s table?”
“If they do not, my imperator,” the mistress of whisperers began with only half opened eyes, “then I shall find those who will serenade the overlord.”
“All of you may leave.”
Lords Anthony and Kinot rose quickly, nearly knocked over their chairs with anxious bows. Lord Zachary inclined his head slightly before leaving the study. Lady Melany lingered.
“Dare I tell you again?” the imperator asked, his eyes affixed on the mistress of whispers.
She covered her mouth, masking a brief smile. “I have further news.”
And news that she does not mind that I hear, Andrew thought. He tightened his grip on Doom, trying to read the mistress of whispers. That slender, half-hidden smile could be what she gave to suitors, a reward to birds before she slit their throats, or appreciation to her cook for a succulent meal.
She held her secrets too well.
“Out with it,” Imperator Argath demanded.
“The Marcanas family has been, hmm, argumentative of late,” Melany began, talking more to the bookshelves than to the imperator. “King Marcus often raves in council, demanding that it is by divine right that the great kingdoms fall under his rule, as it once was under the reign of King Adrian. Whence the Indomitable rose, for the less learned of us.”
Andrew grunted. He knew her venom was for him.
“He has not the strength for that,” the imperator declared, his tone hardening. “No more than we can enslave the faithful sheep.”
The mistress of whispers turned from the books, her eyes widening. “Not all in that council share that opinion. I am told that Prince Adreyu insists that it can be done. Is there not truth to it, my imperator? Have our fleets not been burned, much like the Dalians? Do we not despise the fools in white and reavers both? I fear that Trecht may act upon it, and if Dalia falls to them, can we stand against the old kingdom to the north and the overlord to the south?”
There lay a doubt, a misgiving, in Lady Melany’s voice, and she slumped forward with hands folded.
She fears the end, Andrew mused to himself, surprised at the lack of confidence the mistress exuded. More, she fears the Black Storm is not what he once was.
“The strength of the Mountain shall never fall,” the imperator replied. If the news worried him, he did not show it. “The overlord holds dominion over the sea, but he cannot breach our cities, nor stand against Trecht’s might. As for Prince Adreyu, the mountains will break him. He is no more than a reckless marauder.”
The mistress of whispers rose suddenly and brushed down the folds in her red dress. “I shall attend to my birds, my imperator.” She left.
Moments passed in silence, near endless. Andrew looked briefly to the imperator, whose eyes were closed and brow strained.
“The woman is not convinced,” Imperator Argath said solemnly, then pushed his chair back and thumbed through the stacks behind him, before withdrawing a bulky tome bound in red leather. “Nor am I. Prince Adreyu is a monster, but he is no fool, nor is your former master. Mount Cimmerii has warded my people for centuries, but as Lord Theodore learned long ago, strength is not always enough. Guile, Black Wrath, that is what we are in need of.”
Imperator Argath fell to silence as he leafed through the pages of the tome. Andrew knew that Damian and his captains had more than enough guile: the overlord arrived in Dale a beggar, and he now commanded the strongest fleet on the seas, even if he was mad. The imperator himself had a wisdom about him, but was it enough? Shipp always had the overlord a few steps ahead of the great kingdoms. Does he still? Is this what Damian wants? Andrew shook his head. It was vain to peer into the minds of better men. The Black Storm had not faltered yet.
“There is a passage I wish for you to read, Black Wrath.” The imperator put the tome on the desk, pointing to a selection midway down the page.
Andrew grunted and sheathed Doom. Leaning over the desk, he read.
There is a matter that has always troubled me, and moreso because Lord Arthur Diomedes never answered it plainly: the cause behind the dissolution of council and King Adrian’s sudden love for executions in the square. Mayhap it was because the lord had not the influence that he was used to, and the reminder of it grated against him. I think that ultimately unlikely: I believe that Lord Arthur is protecting our sovereign, and that there is a nobleman who has supplanted the council, who now has the ear of the king. Why Lord Arthur consents to such an arrangement escapes me, but it is another layer of mystery behind the schism that has crippled our great kingdom.
“Politics of your ancestors,” Andrew said bluntly. Such matters never interested him, and he did not know what the imperator wanted him to glean from it. “What does it matter to our plight?”
Imperator Argath laughed. He never laughed. “I have given no thought over the years to fabled treasures, these crystalline stones that wrought such influence in the courts of kings, that drove men near to madness. Yet the more I read the histories, the more I believe it is more than men who bring change unto our realm.”
Andrew did not know what to think. The overlord was consumed by the lure of these treasures, but was the imperator like that now? No, he is stronger than that. He is the Black Storm. His strength, his steel, and his will are harder than the mountains. “Read less.”
“That is the advice for fools,” the imperator said, closing the tome and sliding it back onto the shelf. “Yet I know, lest you reveal yourself as a daemon that the Dalians fear so much, that my court is much unlike King Adrian’s, and mayhap King Marcus’. The overlord, though, do you not see the Corsair akin to my long dead ancestor?”
“The Corsair hides much.” Andrew admitted that to the imperator before, and doing so again brought up the accursed memories of treachery that he would rather do without. “He has not been driven to madness, not yet. He wants little more than the overlord’s blood. I did not learn that from a book.”
“You know the man—or did. The Corsair made a pact with you, my Black Wrath, though the scars still have not faded, have they?”
Memories of the poison lingered in Andrew’s mind. He wanted to stretch his fingers across them once more, as if that would hide them. Instead, he shook his head. “I defied the overlord. It is a reminder.”
“So they are, Black Wrath,” Imperator Argath said, before sitting down in his seat again. He leaned an elbow lazily upon the desk. “You have not hid the pact with the Corsair from me, nor have I ever gainsaid your loyalty. I assured Lady Melany there is naught to fear, though those words were hollow, as you well know. I would play into the hands of King Marcus and Prince Adreyu, but I will not wage war on two fronts. ‘Tis the
hour that you reveal yourself to the Corsair: tell him what he needs to hear, then let the storm take them.”
Time after time Andrew insisted that the Corsair could not be trusted. The pact was forged with Damian’s right hand, yes, but Daniel still watched as Andrew was poisoned by Turmoil, and thrown over the side.
They are all mad.
“Black Wrath.”
The imperator stared solemnly at him, the mirth that his sovereign once showed was no more than a memory. Imperator Argath’s hand was outstretched, his fingers tapping the wood.
“The Corsair cannot be trusted,” Andrew insisted.
“You owe him your life.”
“I owe you my life, my imperator. ‘Twas Lord Commander Rafael Azail who found me, and your healers who purged the poison from my blood. If it is a command—”
“It is,” Imperator Argath said strongly, and stood and turned to the far bookshelf. “The Corsair will plunge his sword through Damian’s heart and give you whatever it is he took from us, or you will slit his throat, and I will once again show that shite the wrath of the Black Storm.”
“The crystalline stone is a fable, it—”
The imperator had turned suddenly, and his cold, blue eyes bored into Andrew. “You dare defy me?”
“No, my imperator.” Words were useless. The Corsair did bring a treasure back from the waste, but it was not a crystalline stone, Andrew was sure of it. Yet Damian coveted it all the same, and a darkness consumed the overlord ever since. A darkness that seemed stretch across the imperator now. “The overlord or the Corsair will meet the Deep Below.”
Imperator Argath returned to the bookshelf, running his index finger along the spines. There would be no further discourse. Andrew took his leave, knowing that he would have to break the pact upon the deck of the Black Tide.
The Prelude to Darkness Page 31