Looking about, the grey haze thickened, the grass was buried in rivers of crimson, and he could not keep his eye off the shites in silver and white and burgundy and brown.
All he could see and feel was battle. He leapt through the camp, scouring for any sod that still lived. There must be more, there has to be more, he thought, looking to and fro, but there was naught but smoldered ash and broken bodies.
“Prince Adreyu!”
A man of medium height emerged between two large tents, wading through the fire and discarding his slitted helm. He wore burnished mailed, his short cropped blonde hair was caked with dirt, and his eyes brimmed with resolve.
Adreyu did not fear him, whoever he was. “And you may be?”
“Alone in my camp, Cleaver Prince? I am not.”
Adreyu steeled himself as others in burnished chain stepped forth: they were all taller than the man who spoke, wielding claymores and halberds. The smoke and the fire muddied their sigils, but the darkened armour named them Sentinels of Umbrage.
“Lord Commander Rafael Azail,” Adreyu remarked, “how good of you not to run.”
Rafael withdrew a bastard sword from its sheath. “Ser Elin thought you would find your way through the camp, but without knights to guard you, I did not think you were that foolhardy.”
They are hesitant of a little flame, Adreyu thought to himself, but did not bother to look about. Just need a little time. “You gave me no other recourse. Two turns of winter and you held this gap, bottling my legions. I had enough. So I passed through Sherin Forest and survived that, why not this?”
“No man passes through the forest unscathed.”
“Many did,” Adreyu said, though he could not hold in laughter. “It was not I alone who sent you skittering west and north, and now with the gap fallen, your sentinels will be routed, just like those pious shites that call themselves knights.”
Rafael began to step forth. “As will you, mark my—”
“Lord Commander!”
Rafael halted, his sword raised. “So you are not alone.”
“Prince Adreyu, you may need a little hand with this.”
Adreyu turned to the melodious voice of Lillian. “I am on my feet, this time, are you not glad?”
“This is a diversion,” Lillian said quickly and solemnly. “We spied ranks of them retreating southwards. We could not rally enough to cut them off.”
Adreyu grimaced. He wanted them all dead, not scurrying south towards the Sister Cities. But he had a big fish in front of him; one that could discourage any spirited defense this unusual alliance could mount. “You are no martyr, Lord Commander Rafael Azail.”
“Nor are you, Prince Adreyu Marcanas,” Rafael said, then charged forth with his sentinels.
Steel, not words. I do like this sod, Adreyu thought before charging, his own knights joining the fray.
He met Rafael’s stroke, then parried a flurry of feints and side swipes. He parried once more and pushed the sentinel back, forcing the shite to sweep away, bastard sword passing from hand to hand.
“So lions do more than feast on lesser flesh,” Rafael said, then swept in for a blow, but Adreyu easily parried it. “Here I thought you would be too fat to wield a blade.”
“Is that all they teach you, under the shadow of your mountain?” Adreyu pushed forth, and the sentinel took a few steps back. “You are outnumbered, Lord Commander. You cannot bottle us, not anymore; there is only open fields to the white walls of these pious shites. There is no victory for you to grasp.”
“Nor you!” Rafael shouted, his blade upturned, walking about in a circle. Adreyu raised his, keeping apace, while the sentinel frothed and seethed. “What do you think will come next, when your banners are planted atop the Cathedral of Light? Damian may have let us sail west, but he will not let you sail east. We should have stood as friends, not foes.”
Adreyu smirked at the sentinel. The words were not false. The islanders would pose a difficulty, unscathed as they were. He did not understand the God Stone, but with the masters of the forest living in fear of it, he knew his father would see the pirate fleets burn.
Not that he would tell this Isilian that.
“I have not seen a sadder plea.” He laughed. “The great lion will feast.”
Wordless, Rafael swung his steel in far-reaching arcs. Adreyu parried the blows quickly, before holding his foe in lockstep, and said, “You should have warded your imperator, not the Black Wrath. Heh, I will enjoy spearing the Black Storm with Doom atop that vile mountain.”
The lord commander’s eyes widened, and he let out a primal scream, before pushing back. Adreyu tumbled back a few steps, impressed at the strength of the sentinel. He brought his steel up to parry quickly, the blows from Rafael were relentless. Sweeping away, he stood and parried the blows over and over, effortlessly.
More you shite, more, Adreyu thought. Tire yourself out, and you—
Gut-wrenching screams tore through the air, and Rafael backed away, steel still raised, swivelling his head to and fro. Adreyu saw the opening, surged forth, but was tackled to the ground and the face of Lillian stared back at him.
“Off me!” Adreyu screamed, pushing back at the knight-captain. He would not believe her audacity. “The sentinel, he is—”
The very air seemed to thunder, and Lillian collapsed on him entirely, followed by more screams. The ground seemed to vibrate, over and over. Heat flared. He threw Lillian off him and stood.
Then he saw what it was.
Enormous boulders pinned the burning tents to the ground, and the field that he fought Rafael upon was crushed and splintered.
The sentinel was gone.
“Where is he? Where did he flee?!” Adreyu screamed to any sod that would listen. Few answers came; most of the knights were rising from the ground, shaking their heads. He grabbed Lillian, who was still rising from the grass. “Who, what, where is he?!”
“I do not know, Prince Adreyu,” Lillian said brusquely. “I saw it break through the night. Northward, I think.”
Ser Jered, Adreyu thought, slamming his sword into its sheath.
“Adreyu,” Lillian said softly, before removing her helm. She was still so beautiful, but her eyes belied fear. “He could not have known, he—”
“He should have!” Adreyu shouted. He could not keep his rage from his face. “Gather what we have left. We will meet with our knight-commander.”
“Adreyu, please, do—”
“Do not presume to tell me what to do,” he said curtly to her. She overreached, and should have known better. “Gather what we have left. Now.”
Lillian put her slitted helm back atop her head, and began shouting orders.
Adreyu turned to the north, refusing to wait for her or any other.
The battlefield was strewn with the dead. Most were garbed in leather and chainmail, few in plate. Tabards of brown and burgundy and white and silver draped over the worthless husks. Few, if any, bore the yellow lion on a field of green and a sky of red, the colours of House Marcanas.
It was a resounding victory, but it did little to comfort Adreyu. Sers Elin Durand, Johnathan Falenir, and Jacob Merlen, and Lord Commander Rafael Azail had survived. He did not value his oath to the masters of the forest, but he hoped to bring the severed head of Dalia’s own knight-commander to them before venturing further south. Barring that, the death of Rafael Azail would have been a crippling blow to the Isilians.
Instead, they fled south, all of them, likely to the Sister Cities. The walls of those enormous cities stretched from coast to coast, and though not impenetrable, it would be years before their defenses could be breached.
Rafael was not wrong, Adreyu thought, stepping between the dead. I will spend nearly all our strength just reaching Dale, and then that shite Damian will strike, and his wretched Corsair will not be far behind. At least I will not have to answer to Father.
But a sod will answer for this.
Adreyu passed by the catapults, the men and women laughing and cheering, ta
unting the dead and the fleeing alliance of Dalians and Isilians. He turned away from them. They were men and women who served well, obeying the orders of a fool in plate.
Torches of Ser Jered’s vanguard came into view, and Adreyu shouldered past the encirclement of knights. Ser Jered stood in their midst, laughing, while holding his slitted helm in the crook of his elbow.
Adreyu punched the knight-commander in the face, who crumbled to the ground.
Laughter and talk died as he knew it would. He felt the eye of every knight. The encirclement tightened, but none drew steel. Not yet.
Jered spit out a tooth and slowly rose. “I will forgive that, Prince Adreyu.”
“You will forgive that, Knight-Commander Ser Jered Ludic,” Adreyu screamed, hoping that every knight heard his words. “You should plead—no, beg—at my feet for forgiveness. Lord Commander Rafael Azail would be a carcass if not for your besiegement of a burning camp.”
Jered frowned, his stern demeanour breaking, though the arrogance of a proud man lingered. “We had word of an Isilian remnant lingering. Those who flee could not have missed it. They will think twice when we meet upon the field again. We will take them all then. They will know fear.”
Adreyu back-handed the knight-commander, but Jered stayed on his feet. “You nearly put me and all my company into the ground.”
Jered’s forehead creased. “If I had known—”
“You should have known!” Adreyu pummelled the knight-commander’s face, breaking bones, blood oozing down in rivers. Jered stood, never raising his arms. Adreyu pounded him again and again.
None of the knights stirred.
Adreyu stopped, clenching his fists, the blood dripping off his gauntlets. The bloodied, broken face of the knight-commander stared back, stone-faced, belying no anger or hatred. Adreyu struck him again. “My father would not be so kind.”
“Your father,” Jered said, blood dripping out of his mouth. “My king. Your king. The Great Lion, not a cub.”
Adreyu recalled Lillian’s words, when this had all begun: “The Royal Protectors have always been commanded by a knight, and one who has more grey hairs than brown. It unsettles him.”
“Do you resent me for not saying a few words?”
The knight-commander shifted and his brow furrowed. “Command was always given to the king’s own knights, not his spawn. My title be cursed, I have never had command. It was always yours.”
And I have deferred to you, Adreyu thought, refusing to release his gaze from the knight-commander. How many brave souls could still live and breathe if I had not? Never again. He reached out and grasped Jered’s throat, lifting him up.
“Prince Adreyu! No, do not—”
Adreyu dropped the sod and turned to face Lillian, who was near at tears, eyes agape. He knew she could see the blood pouring down his face. He would not stop, not even for her.
“Do not say a word, Knight-Captain Lady Lillian Leuven,” he near shouted. He could see her heart wrench in half. “Or you will meet a like fate.”
Tears did not stop draining down her beautiful face, but she stepped back timidly, averting her eyes.
A rustle of plate filled the still air, but no knight scraped steel against leather. Adreyu passed his eyes over every one of them. None smiled, though most looked away from their knight-commander, to the ground, or the mountains to the west.
These men and women learned long ago to obey royal blood.
“Is this, is this the king’s justice?”
Jered was on his knees, nose pushed across to the other side of his face. His left eye was closed and the crimson mask was pooling on the ground.
Adreyu unsheathed his steel.
No other knight did.
Adreyu raised the blade, the tip of the steel inches away from Ser Jered’s broken, bloodied face. “For two winters we fought a fruitless battle in this gap. I warned you it was folly, but still you persisted. When I wanted to risk Sherin Forest, you dragged your feet. I could have had your head for that insolence; my father would have. But I trusted you. I trusted your wisdom. And do you know what was within Sherin Forest? Trees. Fucking trees. You bled men and women dry for two years because you were scared.
“Lions do not fear.”
“The lies you must tell yourself,” Jered said, whilst spitting out blood. “I did what I thought I should, all for the Lion Throne. Far more than you ever will.”
“No longer.” Adreyu thrust his steel through Jered’s skull, pinning him backwards to the barren ground.
None of the knights stirred.
“This is cowardice!” Adreyu screamed, pointing to the broken body of the knight-commander and paced around, eyeing every knight. He wanted every man and woman to understand this. “My father—your king!—sent us across the sea to burn, rape, and plunder. These worthless sacks of flesh, those vile Dalians, they nearly broke our home three hundred years past. Knights shoved aside their oaths to the Lion Throne, slaughtering their own kind. Twisted preachers foretold our doom, cursing any soul who dared challenge their allegiance to the Mother. Even the Guild splintered—the money grubbing merchants supported by traitors of high-borne families took the wealth of the kingdom as they ran. They took gold. They took jewels. They took our treasures. And these wretches, these traitors, Knight-Commander Ser Jered Ludic would make peace with!
“Two winters we searched, two winters we fought, two winters we died because we forgot who we were and why we are here. We trusted the words of cravens, of thieves, of miscreants in cloth. Ser Jered would have told you that the forest to the east, Sherin Forest, could not be crossed because the few surviving villagers told him they could not. We lost knights when we ventured into it, believing these wretched words. I walked through it. All of it. There are dangers, there are foes, but not the insurmountable force that our relieved knight-commander thought there would be.
“I am tired of questioning. I am tired of folk tales. I am tired of these wretches clinging to faith. And I am tired of my own believing such nonsense. I will chase down these Dalians, these Isilians, and I will mark their graves from here to the southern reaches of this holy land. I will string up their preachers. I will rape their women. I will slay their men for nearly destroying my home. All of this I will do with bloodied sword, not deferring to their wit, their tales, and their mockeries.
“Toss your fucking sword on the ground if you will not stand by your prince.”
The knights stirred. One by one, they placed an open palm on the pommel of their swords, removed their helms, and knelt on one knee. Adreyu looked into the eyes of every man and woman. There was pride, resolve, and loyalty. When he reached Lillian, her eyes were red, though tears no longer ran down her cheeks.
“I think I can speak for all who serve the Lion Throne, if you would hear me, Prince Adreyu.”
Adreyu looked northward, past the broken body of Jered, where Ser Rian Kolan rose. “I would hear the words of a loyal knight-captain,” he said.
“You are of royal blood, not him.” The knight-captain jerked his head towards the relieved knight-commander. “The enemy camp is broken, their forces scattered, by your bravery. We should end this while they run.”
“Gather our forces, Knight-Commander Ser Rian Kolan.”
“I am honoured, Prince Adreyu.” Rian put on his helm and called out to the knights, and they rose and hurried away, the encirclement breaking.
All but Knight-Captain Lady Lillian Leuven.
Adreyu stared at her, and for the first time, he could not read her. Those piercing blue eyes seemed dulled, and he did not think her lips could never smile again.
He walked over to her, put a bloodied, gauntleted hand under her chin and said, “You are jealous of my choice?”
Lillian looked up at him, eyes wide. She was angry, but he knew that she would never voice the words. “You do not understand me.” She rose and walked over to the broken body of Ser Jered Ludic.
“He died a traitor.”
She did not answer,
but instead wrenched his long sword from the broken body and turned her face. She threw the blade at his feet. “That is what you love, is it not?”
Adreyu knew what she meant. He had lost her. Still, he would not undo it, even if he could; there was more at stake than he could confess. “Leave me.”
“Prince Adreyu,” she said coldly, and walked away.
Prince Adreyu. It was a title he bore all his life, but from her, it was more than he could bear. Shuffling his feet, he remembered the sword at his feet. It is not what I love, he thought, but what I must do. He picked up his long sword, its steel riddled with blood and brain. Walking over to Jered’s broken body, he found an unmarked patch of the knight’s cloak and cleaned his steel before sheathing it.
He made his way southward.
Knights, pike, archers, labourers and grunts, squires and camp followers, they all hurried toward the hilltop where the Dalians and Isilians once made camp, now burnt to rubble. Shouts echoed across the night as bodies of the dead were dragged to mounds, whilst others wrapped torches, ready to burn the dead.
The pyre would burn across the night; Rafael would see it, then word would carry to Ser Elin Durand. They would huddle together, not frightened, but aware of what would come with the dawn.
Vengeance, vengeance for what was wrought three hundred years past, Adreyu thought, whilst walking around the boulders that remained. And vengeance for the dead at the gap.
He reached the south-facing edge of the hilltop. There were only a few pacing sentries and archers. They bowed their heads, but resumed their duties. He said naught at all to them.
What lay beyond the endless dark was all that mattered.
Adreyu could not see what was left of their forces, but he knew they could not be far, rushing along the mountains towards the flatter lands. From there, the shites would see him coming for days, but that did not matter: they no longer held an advantage.
All their villages, towns, and cities would burn. Their shrines would be defiled and their faith torn to shreds. Then, from the ruins of their home, the God Stone would return to House Marcanas.
The Great Lion would feast.
“A crimson faith,” Adreyu mused. “That is all it will ever be.”
The Prelude to Darkness Page 41