The Prelude to Darkness

by Brenden Christopher Gardner

  “You overreach, Lord Daniel Baccan.”

  It was as if thunder peeled from above: boots pounded the deck and shouts echoed. Andrew knew what had happened: Damian drew Turmoil.

  “He is not that mad, is he?”

  Andrew turned to Aerona, who seemed to shrink against the starboard wall. Her hand rested on the pommel of her sword, but her hand shook. Whatever strength she feigned, she knew what those sounds were. What Damian meant to do.

  “He is,” Andrew replied, crossing his arms. “Are you not stronger than this? Are you a craven?”

  Aerona straightened, her brow furrowed. Holding her nose up, she sat back down and listened, her fingers tap-tapping the pommel of her sword.

  “I should have cut you down years ago!” a voice screamed through the cacophony, Damian, Andrew knew. “You are a disobedient cur. A dog that should be put down. I shall not suffer an uprising on account of you.”

  “Then what stays your hand, Damian?” Daniel shouted back, though faint and muffled to Andrew’s ears. “Shall we see where your men’s loyalties lie? To the overlord or to the Corsair?”

  The cacophony above stilled, and then the overlord spoke, “What stays my hand is how right you are, you bastard.”

  “He is not mad,” Aerona said softly, a fleeting grin spreading across her face.

  “No, he still is,” Andrew insisted, shaking his head. “Damian is no fool. Unless the imperium joins with Dalia, the overlord’s strength will fall against Prince Adreyu.”

  “My father says that—”

  Aerona cut herself off; the muffled voices returned.

  “I want your Black Tide in the north,” Damian shouted. “I shall not take a no for an answer. The Hammer will take your place on these waters. Robett Harkan needs prove his mettle, and he has sunk Trechtian ships, far more than you, Corsair. He will imitate their fleets well enough. Heh, our man has made a mess of this affair, but even he cannot help but serve that bait on a platter before the imperator. All of the great kingdoms shall war once again.”

  How little you know, Damian, if you think I can convince my imperator of anything, Andrew thought as the words of the overlord sunk in. And more the fool that you are that you cannot see through our deception.

  “As you command, Overlord,” the Corsair shouted in return.

  The cacophony still cascaded down the tube, but Andrew sat back in reflection. The Hammer and Robett Harkan. I know the name but not the face. The last of the reavers to join with the overlord, and only a year past. Melany’s birds reported him cunning and devious. I have to turn him, somehow, before this comes to a head.

  “Big man.”

  He looked up to see that Aerona sat beside him, eyes wide and a broad smile. “How are you so happy?”

  “We will not be thrown to the Deep Below, for one. Damian is leaving.”

  Andrew was not so sure. “How do you know?”

  “It is quiet. Your imperator may be named the Black Storm, but the overlord is far more a storm when he is about.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Then our time is at an end, I must return to the Widow’s Wail.”

  Aerona laughed. “At least you are not all such boors when it comes to naming your ships, but I have a thought. The Corsair would not approve, of course, but he does not need to know.”

  “What makes you think I trust you?”

  “So you are no fool. I do not trust you either.” Aerona laughed. “Yet that does not mean we cannot help each other.”

  “You cannot help me.” Andrew pushed the whelping aside, and she laughed as she tumbled. “You are mad.”

  “And you are not afraid to flaunt your strength,” Aerona said, rising to her feet. “Yet for all that you have, did you think you were the only one who saw Damian covet that treasure?”

  “You are blind.”

  “Blind? I thought the poison roiled through your arm, not your eyes. Yet I saw a chunk of ruby for what it was—did you?”

  Andrew could not believe what he heard. This girl had discerned that much, or was she told it by the Corsair? “What of it?”

  “My father has read all the fables, heard the legends recounted, as have I,” she began, her smile nearly splitting her face in two. “No more than boasts, mayhap, but one does begin to wonder when the drunks in every tavern speak the same tale of crystalline stones. You did not think that I would not piece these matters together?”

  Another fool who takes a flight of fancy. “I have no interest in fables.”

  “But does your imperator?”

  Andrew closed his eyes and thought back to his last meeting with Imperator Argath. The Black Storm believed the legends, convinced himself that they were real. More than aught else, he demanded that it was brought back to the imperium.

  “He may,” Andrew admitted. “But that does not reveal where it is.”

  “Oh, even the Corsair knows where it is, even it he is too afraid to open the door.”

  She knows too much. “He claims he cannot open the door.”

  “You should not believe every word you hear,” Aerona said, clasping hands behind her back and standing on her tip-toes, as if that would give her more height and influence. “That was one of many lies the Corsair has uttered. I know how to open it.”

  The madness was spreading, from the overlord to his captains and to any fool with a sword. “And why should I believe you?”

  “We want the same thing, my father and I, and you. We are willing to give you this treasure, if it means your imperium shall seek out and slaughter the overlord.”

  “And your father?”

  “Robett Harkan. Who, as the overlord just commanded, shall hold the sea by the shores of your imperium. I do think we can come to an accord.”

  A new pact, Andrew thought, and if my imperator is not wrong, an end to the overlord.

  Vindication

  Dusk

  9 August 15131

  Andrew slumped against a splintered tree and picked at the cooked mackerel.

  “Is it overcooked?”

  Aerona Harkan sat opposite the fire, ripping chunks off her own plate and gorging on it. Her long flowing brown hair was pulled back, and she still wore boiled leather.

  I feel the fool for this chain instead of my plate, Andrew thought. She will regret her choice if this venture comes to blows. “I do not have a hunger,” he scoffed, though refusing to look at the girl. “It is not your aptitude.”

  Aerona shrugged her shoulders. “I would not care a whit if it was. Your cooking is far worse, for what it is worth.” The whelping giggled as soon as the words were out.

  Andrew grunted, forcing chunks of fish down his throat. Not for her—never for her—but she had a point. “How much farther to this ruin of a town?”

  Aerona wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled. “On the morrow, if those old bones of yours hold up.”

  Muffling another grunt, Andrew kept forcing the fish down. Seven days had passed since he agreed to wander the southern wastes with this slip of a girl, and more than once he thought the whelping a lying cheat, but the imperator would not be pleased if he returned empty handed.

  So he kept tolerating her.

  “What was Shipp like?” Aerona asked suddenly. She had crept closer to the fire, and her hands were clasped around her raised knees. “Not that I have treated with him much, but he seemed so cold and callous.”

  Andrew thought the slip of a girl often appeared far older than her face belied, but now she seemed a child, asking after a stranger that she took a fancy to. “He is what you see: hard as the rocks of the islands, cold as their depths, and rarely acts without knowing the outcome. It is why men serve him, and why Damian keeps him close.”

  “And yet he did not trust you, even when the Corsair did.”

  “Trust is not a word he understands,” Andrew said gruffly. He did not want to talk about this, but when the whelping prodded, she rarely stopped. “We are all pawns on his board, even Damian. Shipp knows what each
piece can do, and moves others around to counter them. My old captain fears the Corsair, but he fears the overlord far more. He is no fool.”

  “When the imperium sails for Damian, at the end of all this …” Aerona paused and closed her eyes. “What will Shipp do?”

  Andrew did not think the girl heeded a word he said. “That depends on the ships that sail.”

  Silence hung in the air. The whelping seemed to want assurance that Andrew was not willing to give. That is the child in her. She should be in a hovel, counting coins if she is lucky. Not here. Not with blades strapped to her waist.

  Aerona unsheathed a dagger from her belt and sharpened it against a whetstone. The whelping had done that before when she needed time to think.

  Andrew stared through the fire at the girl. He thought there were secrets buried deep beneath her veil of austerity, but what they were, he did not know.

  And that worried him.

  All he knew was that the whelping—along with her father, Robett Harkan—thought as the Corsair did, but was far more eager to see the downfall of the overlord. I do not begrudge them for that, but they walk brazenly where Daniel fears to tread. If this comes to a head tomorrow, I must know who I am contending with.

  “Tell me of your father,” he said reluctantly.

  Aerona smiled and sheathed her dagger. “What would you like to know?”

  Her willingness was surprising. “He was not under Damian’s dominion when I was cast out, but I always heard the rumours of a galley that was more shadows than wood, striking in the dead of night and leaving blood and bodies in its wake.”

  “Oh, those stories,” Aerona said, giggling. “East or west, the drunks do come up with fanciful tales. I will say, I would love a shadowy ship that begets fear in men.” The whelping sighed. “None of it is true, but if the dead could speak, they would paint a more truthful picture. Alas for that.”

  “And the truth, Aerona?”

  “You are curious, not a trait that yields a long life.” She giggled once more, happy as a lark. “Like Shipp, my father seldom takes risks. Hard but fair, that is what he always told me. He wanted to be feared by the great kingdoms, though never wanted to pillage them dry. Whence he struck, there were no survivors, but he ensured the bloody work would be seen in every lord’s halls.”

  Andrew buried his eyes in the embers of the fire. In many ways Robett Harkan was nearly a mirror to his old captain, but standing in open defiance of the overlord was something that Shipp would never consider. This could be a mistake, but who do I fear more: a captain I have never met or the Black Storm? “Why does your father take this risk?”

  The whelping’s eyes went wide as tea cups, but the skittering smile never left her face. “He does not fear the overlord.”

  Am I in bed with fools? Andrew pondered. The scar on his arm seemed to throb, but he dared not put a hand over it. “If you do not fear him, then—”

  “We are fools, would you like to say? Spare the words, Andrew. You have not seen my father and I in battle, yet.”

  “Enough of that,” Andrew grunted, caring little for a pissing contest. “Where did you learn to wield a sword?”

  “My father,” Aerona said brusquely. “You will see soon why the overlord should fear us.”

  Clenching a fist, he shook his head. “Enough of that, I said.”

  “As you wish. I would much rather learn of you instead.”

  Seven days of wandering and the whelping had not shown the slightest inkling of interest in Andrew’s past. He did not mind it, but now that comfort was gone. “What do you want to know?”

  “Ah, but the only thing the reavers will not tell, no matter how drunk they are or how I flaunt my body: why did the Corsair trust you?”

  The whelping’s inquisitive eyes pierced through the rising flames, unrelenting as always. The girl had all but vanished, and the conniving, taloned woman returned.

  The scar on Andrew’s arm throbbed again, and he grimaced. Memories that he did not want to share were bubbling to the surface. He sighed. “Shipp raised me high. I was his first mate. I stood behind him in every council, and often he would seek my advice when we returned to the Vigilant.”

  “So you garnered the Corsair’s respect? A rare feat.”

  You will regret forcing these words, you harpy. “I did, not by words, but deeds. My great sword, Doom, was forged by Damian’s command, as a mark of my strength and the corpses I carved for the Deep Below.”

  “It is, a, quite a big sword, Andrew,” Aerona said slyly, before collapsing into a fit of giggles. Andrew grunted, and the whelping sat back up and said, “The Corsair respected your sword arm as much as the overlord, was that the way of it?”

  Andrew grasped dead, brown soil in a fist before letting it fall between his fingers. “I should have been dead, dead as this land if not for the Corsair. The captains gathered on board the Ruination, and they talked deep into the night and drunk wine by the barrel. Shipp had decided not to shove off until the next morning, and I lingered aboard Damian’s ship. One of the whores had left the door to Damian’s cabin ajar. I peered inside, he was asleep, and three whores were draped over him. He was unarmed. I withdrew Doom. I meant to cut his head off, then and there, but the Corsair threw me against the wall, put a dagger to my throat, and told me there is another way.”

  “The duel?”

  Andrew nodded. “That would come, later, but not before I shared words with the Corsair. Through these councils, I had learned of the overlord’s intent. I told the Corsair it was all madness, and he never rebuffed me, but told me about the treasure stolen from the imperium, insisting that we must retrieve it first. Weeks came and went, and we were no closer to it, but the madness was spreading. I feared the overlord would send us all to the Deep Below. I could wait no longer: I told the Corsair I would seek the Damian’s head, and no words would stay my steel.”

  “Heh, and the Corsair had not wished Damian’s death yet. You have not forgiven him yet.”

  Andrew could not mask his disdain; he was always so poor at it. “Nor will I. Still, the overlord’s plots are rank madness, and the Corsair will wait until he turns grey. We cannot.”

  “So now, as the Black Wrath, you will turn the Black Storm against Damian?”

  Andrew bristled at the words, and the whelping shrugged haplessly. He continued on. “Imperator Argath is no fool. He may have lost much whence he last warred against Holy Dalia, but he will not fall for the overlord’s trap. I want to see Damian and Daniel dead, but not the rest of them.”

  Aerona stared solemnly through the fire, brow furrowed. “I did not expect compassion from you, or is it a desire to rule as overlord yourself? I do not know if my father would have ever kneel to you, but I would have, if the Corsair did not foolishly stay your hand.”

  To be followed into battle by thaqt sassy whelping. “I would have needed more than your steel.”

  “My father always tells me, ‘No man or woman will die for you unless they know who you are and what you mean to them.’ I know who you are now, and it is a shame you now serve the imperator.”

  Of all the words this daughter of a captain would utter, Andrew did not expect those. He did not know what to do with it. “The hour grows late.”

  “Old men do need their sleep,” Aerona laughed as she tossed a log on the fire. “Do try and wake before I do.”

  Grunting, he pulled a blanket over and drifted into sleep.

  Dawn arrived bright and early, though the bitter cold of the waste did not relent. Andrew threw the scratchy blanket off and splashed his face with water. Aerona was already awake, kicking at the blackened embers of the camp fire. “I almost had to wake you.”

  Andrew ignored that and shouldered his pack. “We should be off.”

  “Not without this.” The whelping tossed a strip of jerky. “Less for me, but I would not want you falling over. I will not drag you.”

  Andrew tore a chunk off, chewed, and swallowed. “Lead on.”

  He follow
ed the whelping further south, up and down the low-rising hills of the southern waste. Brown and grey soil crunched underneath his boots, and paltry yellow-green weeds struggled to the surface upon the hilltops.

  Westward lay the open sea and quiet fishing villages and ports along the southern coast. A fleeting smell of sea and salt intermingled with the chill of the waste, but if Robett Harkan had moved his fleet to the borders of the imperium, the sea had not belied it. Not that I doubt the ships will arrive, Andrew thought, thinking back to when Daniel and Damian exchanged words. But they should have arrived by now. He bore daggers into the whelping’s back. If it is another deception, I will see how much you learned from your father.

  Further east the towering mountains that divided the waste from the desert were faint against a grey haze; the pinnacle of the rock pierced darkened clouds far above sight. What lay beyond none ever spoke of. If the whelping turned to the east, towards the Desert of Death, Andrew would not hesitate to gut her and leave her mangled body as a warning.

  No, there would be no eastward journey.

  The whelping just continued southward. The waste stretched endlessly, much as it had for days and days. Andrew still did not know what the whelping hoped to find.

  I will give her until dusk, Andrew thought to himself, trudging up a low rising hill where even the weeds dared not rise. If there is naught, mayhap her head on a spike will make her father do something foolish. At least that will weaken the overlord’s strength.

  The wind picked up. Andrew wrapped a scarf around his mouth and hooked a hooded black cloak about his shoulders. The whelping seemed to do the same, but Andrew kept his distance, trudging on.

  Step after step the wind seemed to surge harder, or fatigue and hunger weighed him down. He looked ahead: the whelping was still there, but the dirt and dust masked her in shadows.

  “Aerona, how much—” he coughed, cutting himself off, his mouth full of dust and dirt. The whelping turned briefly, pointing further south. It had better not be much further.