The Prelude to Darkness

by Brenden Christopher Gardner

  Wrenching Doom from the chest of a swordswomen who exposed her blindside, he screamed back at the Widow’s Wail, “More!”

  Fire arrows still soared overhead, both fore and aft, but whether any man heeded his command, he did not know. He pushed through a haze of crimson, hacking and hewing, with eyes towards the deck of the Hammer. Always towards the Hammer.

  A large, burly man wielding an immensely long, double sided axe cleared towards Andrew, shouting, “Black Wrath, you are mine!”

  Andrew charged at the burly man, meeting the steel of the axe. Pushing forth, the man returned the strength, not budging.

  “You are not the only shite with strength,” the burly man shouted.

  “Man like you,” Andrew said with a smile on his face, “should wield a sword.” He dropped to a knee, the burly man stumbled forth, and he and sliced open his foes entrails. “Or should learn to guard.”

  “Do not let the shites on my ship!” a voice called out, resounding across the night.

  Robett, Andrew knew.

  And Andrew fought on.

  The reavers came forth as huddling shadows in the night, but their weapons crumbled as if they were naught but wooden toys, and their wielders no more than children at play.

  The wind carried on a crimson haze, the cacophonous screams filled the night, and still they kept coming.

  Wrenching Doom out of some pox-faced bitch, Andrew saw the line of reavers thinning in the middle. “Converge on my mark, now!”

  The sentinels obeyed, even when Andrew heard screams behind. He cleared a path, bull rushing into the thinning line, arcing Doom against all who stood. The flanking reavers collapsed, but it was too late.

  Andrew stood on the Hammer’s deck.

  His eyes met archers, standing by the far rail. He saw fear and desperation in their eyes, whilst they frantically nocked and drew. He surged at them, cleaving what he could; arrows struck his plate, falling haplessly to the ground.

  The archers fled, all but one.

  The poor sod raised a short sword, trembling, but charged forth.

  Andrew grinned, and caught the sod’s wrist, and head-butted his foe, sending the shite sprawling to the deck.

  “No, no,” the reaver shouted, searching desperately for the short sword.

  Andrew swooped down, put a hand about the man’s neck, and lifted him up. “Your captain, where is he?”

  “No, you—”

  Tightening his grip, Andrew watched as sod struggled for breath, bones crackling. “Where is he!?”

  “Here, but you should not be, Black Wrath.”

  Andrew crushed the sod’s neck and tossed him over the side. Turning, he saw the broad frame of Robett Harkan leaning over the rail of the bridge, surrounded by a score of reavers, grim-faced and pale. “There is one missing from your number, Robett.”

  “My daughter has affairs on the islands, not that it should concern you,” Robett said with a smirk on his face. “Aerona is fond of you, Black Wrath. She thinks that you should reign as overlord.” He shrugged. “The young are impressionable fools; I know that you are more like Damian than you care to admit.”

  Clenching Doom’s hilt, Andrew felt the scar on his arm scream in pain. He never forget that wound, the man who gave it, and the pains suffered to mete out madness. “You talk too much.”

  “And you do not talk enough,” Robett declared, pointing his right index finger at Andrew. “You could start by telling me how you still draw breath.”

  Andrew had asked the very same question to Lord Commander Rafael Azail, but the man would not say clearly. It did not seem to matter; he still drew breath, poised to serve Imperator Argath once more. “You will regret not heeding your daughter.”

  Robett leaped off the bridge, landing on the deck, Vindication outstretched, the veins on the steel pulsing. “Tell your sworn swords to stand back.”

  Andrew quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw a gathering of sentinels, swords at the ready. They were the same men who swore not to intervene. “They know your head is mine, Robett.”

  “You made a lofty promise, Black Wrath,” Robett said, tossing Vindication from hand to hand, circling the deck. “One that you cannot keep.”

  Andrew raised Doom, and matched Robett’s circling. “Captain,” he emphasized and grinned. If the sod wanted to make mock of titles, so could he. “How quickly you forget when we last met steel, beneath the waste. If not for your daughter, you would have been buried there.”

  “I erred, Black Wrath, but not again.” Robett clasped both hands to his steel, charging at Andrew.

  Andrew parried the strike, and pushed back, sending the wretched captain skidding back towards the bridge. He charged and swung an overhead blow, but Robett met the strike, before rolling away.

  Robett’s reavers muttered and cursed, but stood still with swords drawn. Fire and smoke rose through the air, and the anguish of the dead and dying echoed through the night.

  Yet it did not matter. There was naught but this fight.

  Andrew lunged at Robett, but the captain met Doom’s bite, before circling and swiping and feinting. Andrew parried, watching the blows, seeing the deception, before turning Doom and knocking the wind out of the captain.

  Robett was on one knee, gasping for breath. Andrew did not wait. He would not wait. He thrust Doom forth, but the captain batted the steel away, swinging madly, side to side. Andrew backed up a pace, meeting the blows, but the captain did not relent.

  Andrew knew he would back into the rail, soon.

  Two hands firmly gripped on Doom’s hilt, he met the captain’s side-armed blow, and planted his left foot against the wall, pushing back. Robett strained, trying to match strength.

  It was just like beneath the waste.

  “You are not strong enough, Captain Robett Harkan, and you never will be,” Andrew near shouted. “When your carcass lies dead at my feet, I will find your harpy of a daughter and toss you both to the Deep Below!”

  Robett’s eyes widened, and he let out a primal scream before pushing all his weight forth. Andrew knew he had the sod. He pulled Doom in, and the captain stumbled forth, crashing into the rail. Before the captain could rise, Andrew grabbed Robett’s wrist and twisted it; Vindication fell haplessly to the deck, and he elbowed the captain in the face.

  Robett stumbled back, his face a bloody mess. The reavers stirred on the bridge, but the captain called out, “No, stay, do not …”

  Andrew shifted Doom to his left hand, and picked up Vindication with his right. The sword was well-balanced, and the veins in the sword dulled. Whatever secrets were embedded in its steel, he could not discern them.

  “Your hand has no right to that steel!” Robett shouted out, his eyes murderous, through the bloody façade.

  Andrew ignored it, and put a boot on Robett’s chest, pinning him to the deck, the tip of Vindication hovering just above the captain’s face. “You erred again, Captain Robett Harkan.”

  “You have, Black Wrath!” Andrew tightened his grip on Vindication as Robett uttered the words, and the sod kept speaking. “You will never possess what you seek.”

  Andrew smiled slightly and looked to the reavers on the bridge. They stood solemnly, though their fingers flexed near the pommels of their weapons. He knew they wanted to join the fray, but would not as long as their captain forbade it.

  “I will spare them, and your daughter, if you reveal where the treasure is that you stole.”

  Robett erupted into laughter. “You never understood a word I said to you. You, Damian, your imperator, you are all the same. You see shadows dancing in the night, and all you think to do is grasp a sword and skewer it. An Animus Stone would consume you, and all the realm with it.”

  “It was not yours to take!” Andrew shouted. “It was trusted to the imperium, and there it shall return. Where is it?!”

  Robett spat. “See loyalty and resolve, Black Wrath!” He turned his head, looking towards the straggle of reavers. “Alister, forgive me.”

/>   A reaver stepped forward. “It has been an honour, Robett.” The reaver dropped his steel, unsheathed a dagger, and cut his throat.

  “No!” Andrew screamed out.

  The sentinels lunged towards the reavers, but one by one Robett’s men dropped their steel, unsheathed daggers, and cut their throats.

  “Death, Black Wrath,” Robett shouted out. “I welcome death before I tell you where I hid it.”

  Through bloodied face, Robett was smiling, no, smirking. Andrew felt closed in, helpless, and afraid. He wanted to keep the captain alive, bring Aerona before the bloodied, beaten, and defeated husk of her father, but she was deep in Damian’s dominion.

  That harpy was out of reach, and Andrew was out of time.

  He thrust Vindication through Robett’s skull.

  And so I shall join you in the Deep Below anon, Captain, Andrew thought whilst sheathing Doom, and kneeling before the sod. He cut the boiled leather armour off the captain and stripped the black cloak, tossing it in a pile. Then, standing, he wrenched Vindication from the bloody mess, cleaning off the blood and brain.

  “My lord.”

  Andrew turned to a helmeted sentinel who he did not know, and did not care to. “Sink this fucking ship.”

  The sentinel inclined his head and hurried off, the remaining guard that Andrew was given shouting orders and hurrying off the Hammer.

  Leaving the armour, cloak, and cursed sword in a pile, he threw Robett over his shoulder and walked to the starboard rail. “Once,” Andrew began softly, “I was thrown over the side. When I hit the water, darkness filled my sight. I thought I was dead, but then I awoke in the heart of the imperium. What mercy guided me to those shores, I know not, and though it is wholly wasted, I swear there shall be no such sanctuary for you.”

  He threw Captain Robett Harkan off the side, and he watched as the faceless corpse drifted away.

  Returning to where the armour, cloak, and sword lay, he picked them up and walked towards the port rail, where the planks were still extended, and bloodied corpses leaned over the sides. The din of battle had ceased, but he did not look about to see if the other ships had sunk. It hardly mattered; he would not leave the shadow of the imperator with his head.

  He could not stop the madness, but mayhap someone else would.

  Andrew boarded the Widow’s Wail, and the rotund captain called out from the bridge. He sighed and ascended the short steps.

  A handful of sentinels stood in a circle, swords pointed at the throat of a bedraggled, aged man with a short beard and very little brown hair on his head. The man’s eyes were cast downwards, his shoulders sunken, his rags clinging to his withered skin.

  “Who is this?” Andrew demanded.

  The sentinel at the fore turned, sheathed his sword, and removed his helmet. Andrew did not recognize the man. “A man of some importance, my lord. During the battle, we caught him in a rowboat, trying to flee. Claims to be the first mate of the Hammer, one Gregory Tanev. Captain insisted that you should see to him.”

  The only man of Robett’s inner circle who did not cut his throat, Andrew thought. Mayhap my hand has not been played yet. “Sentinels, leave us, all of you. Take the navigator and the captain with you.”

  “At once, my lord.”

  The sentinels sheathed their swords and bounded down the stairs, whilst the navigator and captain hurriedly joined them, needing no prodding.

  When the heavy footsteps faded into the night, Andrew dropped the armour, cloak, and cursed sword in front of Gregory Tanev. “That is all that remains of Captain Robett Harkan.”

  The first mate slowly raised his eyes. They were dead shot. “His daughter will mourn.”

  “I care not for the feelings of a young shite,” Andrew said. “Nor the sentiments of cravens. I did not think Robett surrounded himself with such men.”

  “I have always been loyal to Robett and his daughter,” Gregory replied, though his voice was cracked, half with anger and half sadness. “Even when I do not care for the order given.”

  Andrew could not believe his luck. Robett and his most loyal men did not take the secret of the imperium’s treasure with them, but this old reaver knew. I have one last chance, Andrew thought, unsheathing Doom.

  Gregory backed up and put his hands out. “I have surrendered, my lord, do not—”

  “You are a reaver, as I was once,” Andrew declared, and raised Doom to within an inch of the first mate’s throat. “We do not leave men, women, or children with drawn breath. Damian must not learn what passed here.”

  “P-please,” Gregory blubbered, his eyes alive with fear. “We can come to an accord, you and I.”

  “What could you know that would be of use to me?” Andrew asked, and narrowed his eyes. He would not end the first mate’s life, not unless he had to, but the shite had to believe it.

  “I know where it is, where the treasure is, that Robett stole.”

  “Treason and cowardice?” Andrew asked mockingly.

  Sweat poured down in rivulet’s over Gregory’s face. “Yes, I mean no, not treason and cowardice. My lord, Robett ordered me to flee when the battle was joined. I could not, though, not right away, it felt so wrong, but I owed Robett much, more than I can rightly say. So I obeyed, but too late. You see, he wanted me to move it, the treasure. Not all treasures stay hidden for long, he said, so I do know where it is, and I will tell you, for a price, my lord.”

  “For a price?!” Andrew tried to contain himself, but sliced an inch off the sod’s neck. “Your entire fleet is sunk, your captain’s arms and armour are all that remains of Damian’s trust, and you wish to barter with me?”

  The first mate did not even try to staunch his wound. “I know it is a gambit, my lord, and though I do not know this treasure like Robett did, I am not ignorant to its power, its influence. If I am to betray my friend’s trust, I must have some small trifle in exchange.”

  Andrew did not want to contemplate it. He trusted the Corsair, and in the end, the shite would watch the realm burn. He trusted Aerona, and he should have died beneath the waste.

  He would not be the fool a third time.

  “I should bleed you out, here and now.”

  “I can give you what you want!” Gregory shouted.

  “I trusted Damian, and he threw me to the sea, where I should have died. The Corsair and Robett’s fucking daughter deceived me as well. I know the worth of the words of islander scum like you.”

  “And when Aerona pieces together what has happened? When she tells Damian that the imperium, not a storm or Trechtian patrols, slew her father? When in a moment of desperation, she tells Damian where the treasure is? Did you, my lord, not challenge Damian to avert that madness?”

  Andrew nearly dropped Doom. His arm shook and the scar on his arm throbbed. He closed his eyes, trying to shake away the pain and memories, but they flooded back. Damian’s laughter, the way he toyed with Andrew, the blood that he had sown.

  Even in the depths of the waste, even wounded at the hands of the imperator, Andrew had not felt so helpless. If Damian had his hands on the treasure that guided the courts of sovereigns, shaped history, what would be done in the hands of a madman?

  “My lord?” Gregory stood a few feet closer, hands behind his back, his eyes pleading. “Aerona is young, she will hurt, and be the fool. I can guide her, but I cannot do so dead.”

  Reluctantly, Andrew sheathed Doom and shrugged his shoulders. “What do you propose?”

  “I shall tell you—”

  “Show me, you will show me,” Andrew corrected. If he agreed to an accord, he would not fall pray to betrayal.

  “I shall show you, my lord, where the treasure is hidden. Whence the treasure is safely in your hands, you will arrange a ship, and I will return to the islands, bearing whatever remains of Robett. I will tell her—and Damian—that a fierce storm sunk the fleet, and her father with it.”

  Andrew knew it may work, but there was risk. “And that will placate Damian?”

  “
Shipp will ensure that Damian is not a fool, and Aerona will not seek vengeance.”

  Shipp, Andrew remembered. My old captain. Shipp knew Damian had to be put down, and so he never stopped me. Even if Shipp learned the truth, he would keep Damian in check. “If you try to betray me, Gregory Tanev, you shall wish I cut your head from your neck.”

  “I will not, my lord.”

  Andrew shrugged and walked to the bow-side rail of the bridge. Sentinel-Captain Horace Dern had returned and spoke with a handful of his men. “Sentinel-Captain, I have a man for the brig.”

  Horace Dern nodded and waved to the men who spoke with him. They ascended the bridge and took Gregory Tanev away, who walked with his eyes downcast.

  Yet before the sentinel-captain walked away, Andrew grabbed his arm and whispered, “If any man speaks of the prisoner, I shall have his head.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Horace Dern replied, shouldering free and walking away.

  The gambit is done, then, Andrew admitted to himself, as he walked to the port side rail. The men had been busy: fires had taken most of the Hammer, and it was slowly sinking to the Deep Below. Only the prows of a handful of islander galleys still pierced the water’s surface.

  He passed a gauntleted hand against his gut, where the wound was still healing. In battle, the pain had reminded him of the service the imperator demanded. I know my imperator will not be pleased, not yet, but if this first mate is not hatching schemes, I shall deliver all that I swore.

  And if luck holds, an end to this madness at long last.

  The gloom seemed to lighten, and distantly he saw the orange rays of dawn filling the horizon, pushing away the darkness. All my years of reaving, and I have not once watched the dawn like this. It is beautiful. The first day free of Robett Harkan, and soon, the days when Damian is buried in the ground will soon follow.

  The patter of feet echoed behind him, and the hushed voices of the captain and the navigator, preparing for departure. Andrew knew it would come soon, but not yet.

  This was a moment to be enjoyed.

  The sea bubbled once more, and the prow of the Hammer sunk beneath the waters. Below, voices cheered, and Andrew allowed himself a solemn smile. Now for a brief word with—