The Prelude to Darkness

by Brenden Christopher Gardner

  “My little land here was not always like this, but it was mine. I mucked out the pond, planted seeds and watched flowers grow, and clipped the grass. I tried not to rival the forest, and though some of the masters looked upon it, they dared not leave a mark on its beauty.

  “Then, by the rising of the sun and the setting of the moon, an emissary, as they called them, would come to me, fangs and claws bared, and I would confess all that I have seen, and all that I have done. That was the price I paid for such serenity, and a price that I still pay gladly. As all must do who dwell in the forest.

  “Prince Adreyu, these emissaries still visit me. I was told of your coming, and I will tell them of your leaving. Surely, you know that you will not pass out of this forest before dusk. If the only words to this emissary is my broken body, what would that portend for you?”

  I saw them in the shadows, heard their voices. Adreyu forced himself to think, his knuckles whitening as he still held his sword aloft. And this old bastard is not wrong. We would face these beasts before we cleared the forest. I …

  “See wisdom, Prince Adreyu.”

  Adreyu sat down and placed his steel on the table. “This whole campaign was the birth of madness, not wisdom.”

  “To you, mayhap,” the old man intoned, “but not to the masters of the forest. They know what your father seeks. Would it please you to know that they wish for you to have it?”

  The God Stone, Adreyu thought to himself, then faced Frederick, who was plain faced and smiling slightly. “I have not trusted that knowledge to any of my knights.”

  “You would be a fool to trust anyone with it. The God Stone is old, older than the land itself. It is a plague. It must be taken from the Voice.”

  A fit of laughs took Adreyu. “Then why slay my knights? Why let us war for over two winters if you simply wanted us to take it?”

  Frederick spread his hands. “They have not told me. Much may have changed. I know not.”

  Adreyu did not think the old man was lying. “What are you, Frederick?”

  “What am I?” the old man asked, as if he did not understand the question.

  “Yes, what are you? You said you came to this forest? You are a Dalian then, yes?”

  “Ah,” the old man intoned. “I was born beneath the reach of the Crystal Throne, but I am not a Dalian, not anymore.”

  “Yet it is your home, old man,” Adreyu said, pointing a finger at Frederick. “There is some loyalty left in your blood, that I do know. I would sack Dale to retrieve this God Stone. Does that not boil your blood?”

  The old man cast his eyes downwards. “I will never forget my birth, but I am a servant of the forest now, and this is their will.”

  “I had not asked that, Frederick. What is it that you feel, why—”

  Sunlight had all but faded from the sky, leaving the little cottage in a greying, dismal darkness. Faintly, Adreyu heard whispering, wordless voices.

  The same voices as he heard on the dirt path.

  “I would mind your tongue if I were you,” Frederick said, slowly raising worried eyes. “They are closer than you think, and care little for such questions from you.”

  Sorcerous bastards, Adreyu thought, but shook is head. “Fine. What do your masters of the forest want?”

  The grey slowly receded, the rays of early afternoon flittering back into the cottage. Frederick stood and peered out the window, a smile crossing his face once more. “You have my thanks,” he said softly.

  “And what do they want?”

  “I have already told you—”

  “Yes, to be free of the God Stone, but I am not a fool. Once I leave this forest, I am beyond the dominion of your masters. Our interests may align, but there is a toll. I am sure of it.”

  “A toll?” Frederick seemed to chew on the word, clasping his hands behind his back, staring out at his little land. “There is a price that you must pay, or you and all your sworn swords who entered this forest will feed the worms.”

  Adreyu grimaced, grasping the hilt of his sword. He slew men and women for much worse threats, but there was far too much he did not understand to risk it. “And the price?”

  “What do you know of Ser Elin Durand?”

  That was unexpected. “I know that he holds the rank of knight-commander, young, but well liked by Lord Protector Ser Johnathan Falenir. Heh, a worthy foe by all accounts.”

  “He is a monster garbed in holy flesh, or so they tell me,” Frederick said flatly, shaking his head. “The plague has embroiled his flesh. If left to draw breath, no land will be safe from the death he will bring. The price is your oath to return with his head.”

  That is it? I will never—

  “I told you that the masters of the forest are not so distant to the Shaman of your own domain. There are communions with them. Should you think of not returning, even the walls of your castle will be no bar to the vengeance of broken oaths.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” Adreyu lied.

  “Then return to your knights, your pike, and your archers. Follow the dirt road south, do not stray from it, even if it winds away. I will tell the emissary that you will pay the price. The forest will hold no terror for you when the sun falls.”

  Adreyu rose and sheathed his steel. He stopped at the door, turning his head slightly to the old man. “My apologies for your tea cup.”

  “It is quite alright. I knew you would break it.”

  Adreyu left the old man and his cottage.

  The sun still shone through on the green, but it seemed weaker, more distant. Adreyu picked up his step towards the shadows of the forest, but he could not shake the unsettling feeling of being watched.

  These masters of the forest, he thought, trudging through the green. Tristifer always took a fancy to myth, mayhap he will know more how to bleed them.

  Lady Lillian and Ser Rian awaited at edge of the dirt path, arms crossed. “Report,” Adreyu grunted.

  Lillian smiled widely but nodded to Rian, who was grim-faced as ever. “No more than the scurrying of rabbits that we cannot see,” he said. “I still cannot fathom how we lost a besotten squire, ne’er mind knights.”

  “I do now,” Adreyu said, and Rian’s eyebrows raised. “Rally the company. I do not want to spend another minute in this cursed forest more than I have to.”

  Rian harrumphed, but turned and shouted commands. The knight-captain, unlike the knight-commander, learned long ago what a command from the royal blood meant.

  “What did you mean?” Lillian was still smiling, but her eyes told a much different story.

  “Little that we need be concerned with,” Adreyu answered, but the knight-captain looked utterly unconvinced. “Seems we are not the only ones plagued by Shaman.”

  “Wretches,” she said softly. “I saw a Shaman once. I was much younger, standing guard atop the portcullis. She was short, her hair a tangled mess, more dirt than exposed skin. Spoke well enough, demanding an audience with the king.”

  Adreyu offered his dear Lillian a slight smile. “I have dealt with these Shaman. The path will be clear for us. Tell the company whatever you wish.”

  “Adreyu,” she cried softly, putting a hand on his arm. “What happened? Who was there?”

  He pushed her arm away and put his back to her. He could not walk away if he looked into her eyes. “I need to be alone with my thoughts.” He started down the path, and the clangor of plate and mail began to echo behind.

  Shadows still swarmed the undergrowth, and the fleeting light that lit the dirt path was merely a brighter grey. The oaks and maples still stretched inward, their boughs weaving a thick, leaven roof.

  He knows far too much, this Frederick, Adreyu thought. These masters of the forest be cursed. The God Stone. Tristifer had told me there was no mention of it in our histories, and even when the great kingdoms were borne, another name was whispered: Spherules of Divinity. Heh, divinity, fitting for these pious shites.

  Still, none of my forefathers ever gave heed t
o the Shaman, so how then could these masters of the forest learn of it? I made a bargain with … creatures … that I do not know. Have I cut a path to an enemy, only to be assailed by another? What madness have I wrought?

  Adreyu clenched his fist. No, not madness, not of my own. My father demands the God Stone and the heads of these thieves. When their bloody heads roll before the Lion Throne, and I give to my father the power that he so seeks. Then, even if I have to lay claim to the throne itself, I will burn these Shaman to ashes. I will not be at the mercy of shites, no matter where they dwell.

  He silenced his thoughts and tread steadily on the path southward. The trees lengthened and the shadows deepened, but the wordless voices and the visages of the dead never appeared.

  Hours had passed, and the faint light of the path was all but gone. Adreyu called for a halt and pointed to a hollow valley, stretching away eastward. The company made camp, but he instructed no fires and sat at the edge of the camp, back to an old oak.

  The company lay quiet, murmurs rising in the forest. He did not hear the words, but he knew there were questions, questions that he could not answer, not now.

  Not in the confines of the forest.

  “I have brought something for you.”

  Lillian stood above him, holding out hard bread and cheese. “My thanks,” he said, and took a bite out of it. It was not as hard as he thought it would be.

  “Even you cannot endure without a bit of food,” she said, before sitting down and leaning against his shoulder.

  “Are the watches assigned?”

  Lillian barely stirred. “Rian has taken care of it all. If a foe approaches, we will know of it.”

  “They will not, at least not tonight,” he said after a time. “I have agreed to pay a price.”

  “A price?” Lillian asked, shifting her body weight. “Is that what, why?”

  “I agreed to bring Ser Elin’s head back to the forest. Seemed simple enough.”

  “But you place us in their—”

  “No debt or service,” Adreyu corrected, then took another bite. “It gives us more time. We must learn more about them; that begins with the Shaman. I will cut any man who thinks I owe him a service.”

  “That is the prince I know,” she said softly, and covered a yawn. “May I sleep beside you, Adreyu, I …” Her words trailed off.

  Time seemed to crawl, and little by little the murmuring from the camp died down. The shadows belied little. The forest was silent.

  Sleep took him.

  Adreyu awoke with the dawn. Lillian still slept soundly beside him, but he heard the watchers rouse the camp. “Awake, dear Lillian,” he said quietly.

  She opened up her eyes, stretched, and looked down. “You must excuse me, Adreyu, I will see that the company hurries.”

  “Off with you,” he said slyly, and he watched her hurry back to camp, her backside swaying left to right. Mesmerizing.

  Taking a deep breath, he stood on the dirt path, hand on the pommel of his steel, and waited for the company to join him.

  The knights arrived first, stifling yawns and standing attentively. The pike and archers followed in kind, talking quietly, pulling the strings on their bows and spinning the hafts of their weapons.

  When Adreyu heard Rian’s commanding voice, he walked down the path, still southward, and the company followed in turn.

  Step by step, the shadows seemed to lighten along the dirt road, and he thought that the tree seemed to thin, though the morning sun still struggled to penetrate the depths of the forest.

  Rabbits still scurried beneath the undergrowth, unseen, though he did hear birds chirp in the morning air. He tried to spy them on the boughs above, but the shadows masked their little forms.

  Hours came and went. There were no howling, no wailing, and no visages in the darkened trees.

  The masters of the forest, whoever they were, had kept their word.

  Slowly, the shadows began to peel back, and the dark, verdant green gave way to cerulean blue.

  Sherin Forest had relented.

  Stepping past the treeline, the open plains of the Dalian lands stretched endlessly southward. There were small towns and villages further on, and beyond that, the three great Sister Cities stood as a last defense before Dale.

  Lillian and Rian stood beside him, and he pointed west: the land was flat before rising on a small hilltop. Brown and white specks dotted the horizon, and though he could not make out tents and banners, he knew Knight-Commander Ser Elin Durand and Lord Commander Rafael Azail made camp there.

  “The bastards will not see us coming, Prince Adreyu,” Rian said softly. “When shall we strike?”

  “At falling gloom,” Adreyu said simply. “Until then, we wait.”

  The knight-captains ordered the company about, but Adreyu still stared at the hilltop, smiling.

  The Blood of the Lion hungers, Ser Elin.

  Crimson Faith

  Deep Gloom

  4 April 15133

  Adreyu ripped his long sword from the throat of a sentinel, then raised his round shield against the reverberating blow from another.

  His foe’s eyes beneath the slitted helm were wide and sere, but the shite’s strength was not enough. Adreyu barreled against the sentinel, then thrust his steel through a gap in the plate.

  Isilians and Dalians alike were falling to fire and fury they did not understand.

  “More!” Adreyu shouted, leading the charge into a line of knights and sentinels, wielding claymores, swords and shields, halberds, and two-handed axes. “Bleed every one of them.”

  The thunder of his own knights and pike followed, and his archers let loose fire arrows that scorched the sky.

  Raising his shield, the long sword of a middling knight rattled against it. He swung his steel about, meeting only wood of the knight’s own shield. He feigned blows at the knight’s legs, then hip, then shoulder, before thrusting forth, but only meeting wood.

  The shite was not poorly trained, he thought, whilst raising his shield as the knight’s sword lodged into it.

  “Prince Adreyu,” the knight utterly sharply, venom lacing every word whilst he pushed forth. “You will answer for the burning of the Northlands.”

  Adreyu let the knight push him across the ground, loosening his grip on his long sword. “Your whole land shall burn e’er I am done.”

  The knight roared and barreled forth, and Adreyu fell back, rolling on the ground.

  But Adreyu still held on to his steel.

  The knight lunged at him, shield discarded, thrusting down with both hands. But the sword never landed.

  Adreyu smiled as blood slicked down his own steel, and the knight fell aside.

  “Stay on your feet.”

  He grasped Lillian’s outstretched hand and pulled himself up. “I had that handled, I—” He saw it suddenly, a grouping of knights and sentinels dead in pools of blood. “I must have missed a few.”

  “Not just mine,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come, we are not yet done.”

  It was far from done.

  The Dalians and Isilians lost the eastern reach of the hilltop when the battle was joined; their broken, bloodied bodies littered the short slopes. The greater force of Adreyu’s pike advanced northward, cutting off the open stretches of grasslands near the borders of the forest. The fools did try to, he thought whilst quickly looking at the wall of pike that kept pushing the line. And we shall take the rest of them.

  North and west, though still overlarge specks to Adreyu’s eyes, Ser Jered Ludic’s vanguard pressed forth: a shield wall stretching to the western boughs of the forest.

  At long last, it was an answer to pious shites and sods from the waste who were shrinking hour by hour.

  Knights all about him, Adreyu hurled himself into the fray. He met the steel of men and women in crystalline plate, in boiled leather and chain, of overbearing luggards, and small shites who should not see the field of battle.

  But they all had to fall. The
great lion had to feast.

  “Prince Adreyu, the fire!” he heard Lillian call out, near, but he could not see her.

  It was yet time for another volley.

  “Shields up!” Adreyu called out, before sinking to the ground. Reverberations shook through his arm as the round shield was battered, but it was soon followed by screams. “Forth!”

  He crashed through the line, Dalians and Isilians alike were frantic and scattering, shields and arms over their heads. A handful of the enemy squires and pike were pinned to the ground, the fire from the arrows torrenting through their bodies, setting them aflame.

  The picking was far too easy.

  Adreyu cast aside his shield, lunging at the cowards and cravens, cutting them down at their legs, withdrawing and spinning towards the flailing sods.

  His knights followed in turn, and the wall of pike pressed further inwards.

  “More!” he called out.

  The sods who had sense ran further westward. Adreyu leapt towards a sprinting luggard in chain mail, cutting at the legs. The shite tumbled down, rolling across the grass. When he came to, he weakly raised his steel, but Adreyu crushed his foe’s wrist and thrust his steel through the sod’s exposed neck.

  None of the fleeing Dalians or Isilians turned to their fallen comrade.

  Adreyu’s knights had followed in turn, hauling the shite’s to the ground and severing their heads from their necks. Others were pierced by arrows, cursing, before crimson soaked the green.

  Adreyu sprinted forth, culling the weak and the cowards, chasing them through rows of tents and burning campfires. His archers nocked and drew, piercing the tents, setting them aflame.

  Adreyu felt the heat soar and rise, the smoke muddling the encampment in a grey haze. Yet those pious shites in crystalline plate still stood out. He slid his long sword through the gaps in their plate. Then, he turned to one young sod who seemed too young to be a knight, and thrust his sword through his face. Fool. Who discards their helm on a battlefield?