It was small, but it came from the north, against the wind; black wings against the fires of the night, and the onset of morning. “Shoot it down,” Andrew called out.
Heavy plated feet resounded on the deck, and a sentinel drew, nocked, and fired on the raven. The bird thudded haplessly on the deck.
A crewman, bare to the waist, ascended the deck and presented a wrapped parchment, sealed in white. The Dalians, what could they want? he thought, snatching the parchment and waving the man aside.
Breaking the seal, Andrew read the words.
Lord Commander Rafael Azail,
What we have feared has come at last. Their ships lined the horizon, and they burned all the ports and villages in the Northlands. We cannot hold them on our own, and when they have left us in ruins, they will come for you next. My lord, I know we have our differences, but we cannot let the Marcanas family mete out vengeance for slights three centuries old. I need your sword and your men. We must stop Prince Adreyu Marcanas.
Ser Elin Durand.
The sun did not herald a new day, but foretold of the fires to come.
The Trechtians, as Lady Melany and Imperator Argath feared, had sailed at last.
“Captain,” Andrew began, as he rolled the parchment and walked down the stairs. “We sail for Naran, now.”
“My lord, where are you headed?”
“To see that the fires do not consume us.”
Book V
Blood and Faith
The Lion’s Wrath
Early Gloom
30 September 15131
Adreyu wrenched his sword clean from the sod, blood and brain scattering to the wind.
He kicked the bloody corpse over and cleaned his steel on the grey, fraying tunic of the tailor. The shite had thought protecting the high priestess was worth more than a long life.
Just like all the others in the village.
The few remaining villagers were on their knees, bound in rows on the green in front of the village inn. Men or women, young or old, Adreyu did not care; some sod in the village knew where Knight-Commander Ser Jacob Merlen was hidden.
And Adreyu would find out who.
He stopped in front of a lanky, plain-faced man with a few wisps of hair left on his head. Sweat beaded across his forehead, but by terror or the fires that consumed the village, Adreyu would learn before long.
“Your name?” Adreyu asked while pulling the sod’s gag down.
“Fucking bastard!” the man roared and spat.
Adreyu wiped the saliva off his face and smiled. “Your whore for a mother must have truly hated you.” He back-handed the lanky man across the face, drawing blood. “Now then, your name?”
The lanky man slowly turned his face, eyes filled with anger and rage. “What does it matter? We will burn, or you will cut us down.”
Muffled screams resonated from the villagers gathered on the green, though not all their eyes belied agreement. Some were tearing up, others were much like the lanky-man, and few were blank.
“Do you think that they all agree?” Adreyu asked, smiling widely. “You are brave, but the rest of them? I see a couple of lovely girls behind you; they cannot have flowered very long. When I go to them, what do you think they will say? Will they be as brave as you, or as their skin is peeled back, will they recount to me every whisper they ever heard of knights in their little village?”
The lanky man stared back resolutely. “The people of Deverly are stronger than that.”
This sod is deluded, Adreyu thought as he waved over one of his knights, then pointed to one of the girls in the back, who screamed loudly through her gag. “Shall we see?”
The knight dragged the skinny girl by the length of her long hair, though few of the villagers gave her any notice. Most likely they seek to hide from me. Adreyu thought. Precious little it will do for them. He looked down at the whimpering shite as the knight tossed her at his feet.
He tore the gag off and placed the flat of his sword underneath her chin. The girl no longer screamed, but tears dripped in rivulets down her face and her lips trembled.
Adreyu looked to the lanky man. “Is this a brave face to you?”
“She will not break.”
The girl screamed as Adreyu edged his steel, dripping blood from her neck. He kept his eyes on the lanky man, who remained stone-faced, even as the screams died, replaced by the burbling of blood gushing from the girl’s neck.
“You will never—”
Adreyu cut through the girl’s neck, then swung the blood-splattered steel and severed the head of the lanky man.
“Your village is burning!” he shouted to men and women who remained. “Yet you harbour a knight-commander whilst you die. What is he to you, but a man not strong enough to protect you? He faltered in his duty, and yet you protect him, why?”
Some muffled shouts behind gags answered, though most of the villagers bowed their heads.
Adreyu could not understand this resilience, this resolve. He hauled up an aged woman in white robes and pulled down her gag. “Priestess.” He spat after giving the vile title. “Why would you protect a knight who has not held to his sacred duty?”
“Mother God protect us. Mother God ward us. Mother God watch over us.”
The twisted words of the pious shite repeated in his head, over and over. White words. False words. Monstrous words. Adreyu dropped the bumbling woman and clove her skull in half.
Tradesmen, labourers, farming hands, little boys and girls, the young and old, and now bleating sheep—they were all the same. None spoke of where Ser Jacob was, even when their blood seeped out before them.
“Prince Adreyu.”
Adreyu turned to the clanging of plate from the east of the green. One of the Royal Protectors approached, slitted helm in the crook of his elbow and a hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Make it quick,” Adreyu demanded.
“Riders have returned, Prince Adreyu. Your council awaits in the royal tent.”
At least there is some good news, Adreyu thought, then said, “Return to your duties. I will attend them presently.” The knight made a bow and ran off.
Adreyu turned once more to all that remained of oh-so-brave villagers of Deverly. One man, off to the side, trembled more than the rest. “You will serve.”
The man screamed through his gag as Adreyu tore off the fraying grey tunic that the sod wore, wiping his face clean of blood. “Lie down.”
The man screamed and shook his head.
Adreyu kicked the sod’s head in, ignoring the deafening cries. He stood on the worthless husk, cleaning his steel. “There, you are not so insolent.”
Slowly, the attendant knights closed in on the gathering, and the sound of steel scraping against leather filled the air.
Adreyu would give these pissants one more chance.
“Should any of you sods wish to draw breath in Trecht, do tell me where Knight-Commander Ser Jacob Merlen is.”
Young or old, man or woman, they all leaned forward, eyes wide with fear, but if they spoke against their gag, Adreyu did not hear it.
He sighed and sheathed his steel. “Then you are off to meet your goddess.”
The knights plunged their steel into the villager’s flesh, ripping out entrails and cracking bones. A few managed throated screams, but they died to gauntleted hands crushing their skulls.
Adreyu smiled, looking at the puddles of blood and the broken bodies. None defies the Blood of the Lion. He turned and walked away north, towards the outskirts of the village.
Smoke still rose from the broken buildings of the village, and squires and camp followers were still sifting through the rubble, searching for treasures, jewels, and any sign of the wretched Order of Light, whom Ser Jacob commanded.
The grimness of their turned faces seemed to suggest they had found naught. Adreyu had expected that; it was not dissimilar to all the other port towns and villages in the Northlands. He would just have to burn up and down this holy land to drive them
from their holes.
The dirt road of the village ended in a long, broken fence, varnished with crimson and coated with ash. Adreyu walked through and ascended a low rising hill towards the line of tents on the hilltop. Knights stood and patrolled; they all bowed to him, before he shouldered his way through.
The camp thundered with talk and the cracking of mugs. Knights, archers, pike, and riders gathered around campfires, roasting meat and drinking mead. Adreyu slathered at the thought, but there were far more important matters, and his father was never the most patient of men.
The royal tent came into view, towering over the others, with smoke rising out of the oculus. “Prince Adreyu,” a knight said, and held open the flap.
“Let no one in, even if my father stood without,” Adreyu commanded, trying to stay as straight-faced as he could.
The knight smiled feebly, but beyond it lay an unsaid worry that he would have to defy his king. “As you command, Prince Adreyu.”
Adreyu laughed and sauntered in.
Knights lined the walls of the royal tent: slitted helms on their heads, holding halberds, two-handed axes, and claymores. They were amongst the strongest that Adreyu had brought from Trecht. If Ser Jacob or some other wayward knight thought to exact vengeance for the burning of the Northlands, these knights would ensure the great lion feasted.
At the far side of the tent, bed warmers in naught but their own skin lay upon the royal bed, giggling and laughing. Adreyu glanced at the three of them: brunettes with long flowing hair, succulent lips, and tantalizing breasts. He felt his member stirring, but wrenched his eyes past the small fire in the middle of the tent, towards the command table where his council stood.
Ser Jered Ludic leaned over the table, looking intensely at a map of Holy Dalia. Helmetless, his stern, brown eyes were narrow and intent. His claymore leaned against the table, and his gauntlets hung from the pommel. Ser Rian Kolan and Lady Lillian Leuven were still armoured with swords sheathed at their hips and helmets in the crooks of their elbows, speaking quietly to each other.
Adreyu approached slowly, their words still soft and faint. Rian shook his head solemnly, without a grin or smile—which rarely crossed his graven face—but what he thought, Adreyu could hardly guess.
Lillian shook her head, and her long, blonde hair accentuated the smoothness of her face and her piercing blue eyes. Adreyu had once mistaken her for a fearful maiden, but she showed him otherwise. He could not get enough of her since.
“Prince Adreyu, you have arrived,” Lillian said, smiling widely—a smile that Adreyu knew was for him alone—and the three knights in turn bowed slightly. “You will want to hear this news.”
“Knight-Commander?” Adreyu said brusquely, hands on the table, looking down at the encampments. It was hard for him not to return a smile to Lillian, but that would come before long.
Lines creased Ser Jered Ludic’s forehead, and he spoke gravely. “We know the flagship that docked in Kallen.” He pointed to a small port, east of Dale itself, along the southern coast of the continent. “The Storm.”
“So Lord Commander Rafael Azail has come himself,” Adreyu mused, forefingers on his stubbled chin. “Yet this hardly merits news, ser, as I could have told you as much. Imperator Argath is no fool. He would not leave us unanswered.”
“The Widow’s Wail is not among their number, nor was the fleet assailed on its westward journey,” Rian said solemnly, crossing his arms. “Or so the whisperers tell us.”
Neither of those revelations were particularly welcome. Adreyu had wanted the full strength of the imperium, but if the Black Wrath had remained in the wasteland, that made a short campaign all the more unlikely. “So the Black Guard wards the imperator, and the overlord sits and waits.”
“That is a risk we all knew,” Lillian said softly. “Prince Adreyu, you made that risk very clear to the king. There is little we can do about the pirate fleet, but more ships from home would not be unwelcome.”
“No,” Adreyu said stubbornly, looking down at the ships anchored near Dalia’s southern coast. He felt the rage in his face, and did not want to show it to Lillian or anyone else. No, the king had made it very clear there would be no further ships, or even swords. “Our strength will be enough. What of the knights and sentinels that come to meet us?”
Rian pointed to a narrow space just south of Deverly, wedged between the western mountain ranges and the dense expanse of Sherin Forest. “The Dalians are strengthening at the gap, and should we push, so will they. That is not a battle we want to fight.”
“It will be worse the longer we wait,” Jered said sternly. “The land is flat and open from Kallen to the gap. It will not take long for the Isilians to join strength with the Dalians.”
“Then we must consider another course,” Lillian said sharply, eyeing the two other knights in turn before smiling at Adreyu. “We must send a flanking force through the forest. That will split the front in half. They will not have the strength for that, but we do.”
“Madness,” Jered said flatly.
“Why?” Adreyu asked. “Or you afraid of the fables like these common shites?”
The knight-commander straightened from the table. His eyes were cold and stern as before; no fear or hesitancy belied their depths. “When men, women, and even the frightful children tell the same tale, I come to believe it.”
Adreyu laughed. “They are just beasts, Jered. Surely our knights can butcher beasts, much as we have these pious shites.”
Jered shook his head. “Our own scouts have heard the wailing from the edges of the forest at the coming of dusk. I would not venture into that labyrinth, not without a guide.”
Adreyu wanted to call the knight-commander a coward, a craven, but he buried it. He knew Ser Jered Ludic better than that. More than that, he trusted the knight.
“What of Ser Jacob Merlen?” Lillian asked with a sigh, as if she read Adreyu’s face and knew the answer.
“None will reveal where he hides,” Adreyu said, his gauntleted hands chipped the wood of the table. “These pious shites put more faith in knights than they do their own life’s blood.”
“The Indomitable’s strength still lingers in these lands,” Jered said nonchalantly.
“Do not breathe that whore’s name to me, Ser Jered,” Adreyu near bellowed. He had read the histories of his home. When the priest caste decided to flee, they enlisted the aid of traitorous knights and defiant nobles, burning the streets of Trank as they went. King Adrian Marcanas just sat and watched. It had passed near three hundred years ago, but it nearly ravaged the kingdom.
“My apologies, Prince Adreyu,” Jered said after a time, inclining his head, but the sternness never left his eyes.
“Wherever he is, he is no longer in the Northlands,” Lillian said quickly, waving her hand across the map. “There is little north of the forest that we have not taken, and unless I am mistaken, Rian, will scouts not return soon from the west, with reports of that broken down fortress?”
“A few more days, yes,” Rian said, and turned to face Adreyu. “If the knight is not there, he is behind their front.”
Adreyu knew that. There was nowhere else to hide, unless it was in that forest. He could order them through it, and he wanted to, but—
A choice had to be made, and the pit falls seemed so hard to avoid.
He still stared solemnly at the deployment of legions and ships, and memories of his last conversation with King Marcus Marcanas, his father, hurdled forth.
“Boy, do not forget whom you serve,” King Marcus declared whilst slouching in a deep chair by his bed side.
“How could I forget?” Adreyu asked, leaning against the wall. “You have not let me forget. Nor my brothers either, even if Adonis is the one that needs reminding.”
“It is that arrogance, Adreyu, that must be curbed. You are strong, boy; the master-at-arms trained you well, but you sail to right a wrong over three centuries old.”
The God Stone, Adreyu reflected, whilst starin
g back at his father. “I will find it amid their broken bones.”
“And you will do it, boy, without spilling more of our blood than is needed,” the king said sternly. He sat upright and sloshed a goblet of red wine. “Damian is a vulture. He will strike when we are weakest. See that we are not.”
Heh, so I sail to clean up the mess that you made, Father. “And lords Dannars and Baccan? Are they still oh so obedient?”
“Matters of court never interested you before, boy, why would they now?” The king slammed the goblet down and crossed his arms, though he never relinquished the stern, and decidedly royal, gaze.
“If that useless husk of flesh, Adonis, suddenly passed, you surely would be vengeful, why not them?”
“Adonis is my son,” King Marcus said flatly. “I will forgive the implication.”
“And my brother.” Adreyu shrugged. “Not that I can understand how. At least Tristifer—”
“Should you not see fit to depart, boy?”
Wordlessly, Adreyu walked to the door, but as he put his hand on the knob …
“The God Stone is mine,” the king near shouted. “As are the swords sworn to you. Return them both, whole and hale, or you will find that birth only reaches so far.”
What was it that Tristifer said? Adreyu thought to himself, still staring at the map. That the God Stone twisted Father so? No, it is power that twists him, not some relic of the past.
“Prince Adreyu?”
Lillian had her hand on his shoulder, and a frown was slowly crossing her face. Rian and Jered averted their eyes, seemingly feigning thought at what lay before them.
“I am fine,” Adreyu said, brushing off Lillian’s hand, but he smiled slightly at her. “I was recalling some trifle the king said to me before I left.”
“Our orders, Prince Adreyu?” Jered sad flatly, raising his eyes only momentarily to say the words.
Adreyu knew his council would not like it, but they would obey. They always did. “I want a small group to make their way through the forest. Chart it. They will check in every two days.”
The Prelude to Darkness Page 38