Zelen, City of Faith
Dusk
20 October 15135
Adreyu heeled his horse upon a low rising hill and looked out at the city of Zelen.
The north facing walls were tall without ramparts, extending just beyond the tops of smooth, mortared buildings. Not a single puff of smoke rose from chimneys and no lights twinkled, though he knew that could mean little enough. It was a marvel that a city so large could be so lifeless.
A grating, deafening echo suddenly broke through the air, and slowly the iron portcullis at the northern wall was raised. No sword answered in reprisal and no arrows rained from above.
“They have truly abandoned their city,” he mused aloud. “All that fighting on the plains, and for what?”
“Ser Elin Durand is not a fool,” Knight-Commander Ser Rian Kolan said, nudging his horse to the lip off the hill. “He must know that he cannot defend the city.”
“Rather that he knows we must pass through, and awaits us within,” Knight-Captain Lady Lillian Leuven said curtly. “We should wait him out.”
Adreyu looked to the knight-captain, and though her piercing, blue eyes shone, they were cold as death. She had not forgiven him for the death of Ser Jered Ludic. He regretted her distance, but not the act. “I have heard your plea, Lillian. We will take the city. They can no longer run.”
Lillian sighed and said, “Then I will see that the companies have their assignments, Prince Adreyu.” She turned her horse about and trotted away.
Her insolence had grown worse and worse as the campaign waned. Adreyu should not let her talk like that, but he could not bring himself to move against her. Shaking his head, he looked to Rian and said, “Tell me, again, what the scouts reported from the city.”
“Of course, my prince,” Rian intoned, and pointed to the west of the city. “It is small enough, but you can see a thicket of forest near the outer wall. We will need it watched and vetted, though if the Dalians were hiding there, we would know it by now.
“The walls wrap all around the city, and the only gates are here to the north and another on the south end. The vanguard will head there first, but I do not expect trouble. There is a magister’s hall in the centre of the city, you can see but the tops of it from here. The granaries are to the south-east reaches of the city, but I do suspect that they are emptied by now. It would not hurt to be sure. Ah, and nestled against the western wall is an immense cathedral. If a trap awaits us, it would be there.”
Adreyu did not think Ser Elin would risk open battle within the city walls, but if the knight risked it, the cathedral would be where he chose. “I shall make my way there. Lillian will attend me.”
Rian’s graven face split into a smile. It was the most uncomfortable look imaginable. “The way she hates you, Prince Adreyu? She should be—”
“She will be with me, and if you want to stay in my good graces, you will not jest so much. What else?”
“By your will,” Rian intoned. Then, after a moment, said, “There are parks, squares, and market rows in the city, but it is mostly rows upon rows of two floor homes. We will need to be methodical. We do not know what we cannot see.”
Archers on the rooftops seemed the larger threat. “None of the companies will walk through a maze of streets without our own on rooftops. I would not have us defenseless.”
“That order has already been given. I know your mind.”
Over the two years that it took to cleave a path from the Northlands to the southern reaches of Dalia, there was little that Adreyu had to tell his knight-commander. It was so much different from the first two years, where he had to fight Ser Jered Ludic on the most trivial of matters.
Yet, despite the victories, the heads of the captains and commanders were still firmly fixed on their necks and the God Stone was still beyond reach. One battle at a time, Adreyu told himself. Once we are of Zelen, the other Sister Cities will fall; then they will wall up in Dale with nowhere to run. Heh, I will tar the heads myself, but not before I hold the God Stone before them and see the terror in their eyes.
“Prince Adreyu,” Rian said gruffly, wheeling his horse about. “I will see to the vanguard.”
Adreyu dismissed the knight-commander with a wave of his hand, staring solemnly at the city. Once, he had thought that these Sister Cities would prove a difficult obstacle—a stalwart fortification that could withstand countless sieges. If Ser Elin had abandoned them, it must mean that their forces dwindled more than he let on.
They run and run, Adreyu thought, smiling, just like they did three hundred years ago. Though now, I chase after them, and my ancestor did not. That is all these sods know.
Knights, squires, pike, and archers lined the field before the gate, their captains at their heads atop horseback. One by one the companies marched forth into the city.
“Prince Adreyu.” Lillian’s voice called out when half the companies had passed through the gate. “I have sent a small company north to reinforce our encampment. There is little enough there, but if they approach from east or west, we will know.”
“They will not,” Adreyu said, looking aside to her. She had her slitted helm on, staring at the city. She truly hated him. “You will attend my company. We will seek out a cathedral in the west end of the city.”
Lillian turned her head sharply, her eyes masked behind the shadows of her helm. “As you command, Prince Adreyu.”
“You would rather not,” he said, fixing his gaze on the companies below. “You may despise me for what I did, but I am still your prince. I hope you will not forget that.”
“I have not, Prince Adreyu.”
For all the insolence over the past two years, Lillian had never lashed out at him. He respected that. “This campaign is nearing its end. We will pass through these Sister Cities and sack Dale. Then we will return home. Your service to me will be at its end.”
“My prince,” Lillian said slowly, an irritation seeping into her voice. “On account that I will no longer—”
“You misunderstand me,” he interrupted, chuckling a little. She truly thought the worst of him. “I intend to speak to my father and see if you could serve in guard, mayhap command it. Before we left, Ser Tannen had far too many grey hairs. I do not suppose he has fared much better since.”
“You have my thanks,” Lillian replied, the sternness in her voice returning. “It would be an honour.”
So it shall, Adreyu thought, then he watched all but the last company enter the city. He kicked his horse forward, descending down the hill. None of the company shifted their eyes as he rode past them. He heeled his horse and dismounted. The company banged their weapons against the ground and shields, ever looking forward.
“We make for the cathedral,” he said briefly but loudly. “Let us see what secrets they have hidden.” The company banged their weapons once again, following him.
Passing underneath the portcullis, the guard tower had all its furnishings intact, though it looked abandoned for some time. Dust swept across the mortared road as he walked southwards, and low-rising buildings towered above him as he went.
Adreyu had his left hand on the pommel of his sword, looking about at the rooftops near and far. His own archers looped across the rooftops, kneeling besides chimneys and lying prone near the edges. They nearly blended into the night, but their quivers were full and no corpses littered the ground.
A market row branched off the southward road, the stalls on either side had its white fabric fluttering in the wind and the wares were still on display. There were rotting fruit and vegetables, leather bound tomes, tops and spinners for children, and plain textiles of brown and yellow hue.
They truly did just pick up and leave, Adreyu thought to himself, then said, “Halt!”
Turning to the company, he snatched a burning torch from a squire and kneeled at the side of a stall, gazing down at the barren ground. “Flat with nary a mark.” he said to no one.
“Merchants and commoners may leave, but that does not mean
knights have not.”
It was Lillian who spoke, though she did not kneel. Adreyu thrust the torch back into the hands of the squire, frustrated that she would not relent, even when he gave her what she had always wanted. “We continue on.”
He did not breathe a word to Lillian as he pressed on, deciding that a discussion, no matter how quiet it was, would be a waste of breath. He only hoped that the knight-captain would remember that, before he made her.
The market row ended, and another mortared road stretched southward. To the left and right two floor homes rose up, their windows still dark and dismal. He trudged on southward. Peering between the homes, he kept his eye on the tall steeples of the cathedral, waiting for when they were more than dull, piercing points in the deepening gloom.
An hour passed and still the city’s labyrinth stretched on with seemingly no end in sight. He decided—without a vexing argument or petulant silence from the knight-captain—to pass through a side street, veering westward. The street was narrow, the hanging lanterns all but extinguished, and most of the homes had doors left ajar, swaying in a suddenly harsh wind. Adreyu ignored all of that, and kept his eye towards the towering steeples, passing in and out of streets.
Eventually a thoroughfare opened up with a wide stretch of gardens on either side. He stepped through the plots of soil and withered flowers and, turning towards the west, saw the immense cathedral. The steeples were nearly twice the height of the walls, though it was not as wide as he thought it would be. Gilded doors sat firmly closed atop narrow, steep steps, and painted glass rested above it, depicting a winged figure blessing the realm with light. Their goddess, Adreyu scoffed. The rest of your flock will join you anon, Mother.
“Blades bared,” he said loudly, and steel scraped against leather. He tightened his grip on his own sword, his gauntleted thumbs grazing against the lion’s head pommel. “Should you see a Dalian or Isilian, bleed them.”
Ascending the stairs, he counted seventeen exactly. Seventeen, a peculiar number, he thought, there is little that these sheep do not do on purpose. Brushing wayward thoughts away, he pushed the doors inward.
The cathedral was dark, lit only by the glower of torches that his squires carried. He looked about at the fluted pillars rising up to a ceiling shadowed by darkness. Pews stretched from the outer walls to just before the middle. Adreyu took a step forward, his plate echoing off the smooth marble. He stopped to listen, though there was no other sound.
“Be on your guard,” he said, signaling his company to spread about, though he snatched a torch from a plain-faced squire.
Waving the torch to and fro, he kept his eyes on the floor. It was pristine, with nary a scratch and little dust. If this place was abandoned, it would not have been for long. “I want …”
The words died in his throat as he walked into what looked like a bundle. Kneeling, he looked closer at it. It was not terribly long or wide, but whatever it was, it seemed to be wrapped in white cloth. A gift from the priesthood, or a warning from Ser Elin? “Squire!” he shouted out.
The plain-faced squire hurried over, and Adreyu handed the squire the torch. “Do not drop it.” The lad nodded.
Adreyu edged his steel underneath the fabric and tore it free, exposing a bloodless face of a child, draped in a silver and white tabard. Bile rose in his throat, but he pushed it down. A child wrapped in white, in a cathedral. Why?
“Prince Adreyu!” a knight called out, but from where, he did not know.
“Yes?” he answered as strongly as he could.
“There are braziers along the walls and at the dais. Shall we light them?”
Adreyu sighed. “Light them. Let us see what else they have left us.”
Little by little the cathedral brightened, bathing the house of Mother God in an orange glower. He saw it then. All of it. White wrapped, small bodies rested on the pews and along the aisles, atop the far dais, beneath statues and stained glass windows, and hanging from the ramparts.
So many children were dead.
Knights, squires, pike, and archers sicked up, and those who did not murmured. They did not need to see beneath the cloth to know what it was. I cannot abide such weakness. “Archers!” Adreyu called out, breaking through the voices. “Cut them all down.”
Arrows cut through the air, followed by sickening thuds on marble and through the oaken pews.
“Prince Adreyu.”
Adreyu turned and faced the plain-faced squire, clad in boiled leather, his lips trembling. “What is it?”
“Why … why would they do this?”
The boy has lost his wits. “I never understood pious shites, I do not intend to do so now. Grow some balls, squire. A corpse cannot harm you.”
The squire straightened a little, though he still shook. “Y-yes, Prince Adreyu.”
My kingdom will be ruined if—
The gilded doors of the cathedral suddenly slammed shut. “Who?” Adreyu shouted, turning to the doors. None of his company were near the doors. “Shields up!”
Adreyu unslung his round shield, tenting it over his head. The whirr of arrows echoed all about him, but not a single shaft punctured the banded wood. Smoke suddenly filled his lungs and he threw his shield aside. The dead children were aflame, the fires spreading. “The rafters! Feather them!”
He pushed through the darkening smoke to a pew, shielding himself behind it. The whirrs of arrows broke through the air, though more than a few reverberated on the wood. Screams echoed throughout the cathedral. Lillian seemed to give orders, but—
“Prince Adreyu, you cannot stay here.”
The rattled, plain-faced squire stood above him. The lad hacked and coughed, but a frown did not cross his face. “Come, I think we can—”
Four feet of steel sliced through the squire’s chest. Adreyu arced his blade, cutting off the lad’s head, but also slitting the throat of a knight in crystalline plate.
The Dalians and Isilians were everywhere.
“Lillian!” he called out, meeting the blade of another Dalian knight, before finding the gap in his plate. “Where are you, what, urgh.” A fit of coughing took him; the smoke was everywhere, the fire rising quickly. He cut through to the middle of the cathedral.
“Prince Adreyu, to the back, to the dais.”
Rough, gauntleted hands shoved him ahead, and he let his feet carry him forth. Sweat dropped in rivulets down his forehead, and the smoke was thick and billowing. Arrows passed by his ears. He cut at any foe in armour, willing his legs forward.
Screams folded in on screams. Nearly tripping, he stumbled over, cursing whatever lay at his feet. It was not a child, he was sure, for it was much too large and armoured. “Dalian scum, I will—”
A hand gripped his forearm, pulling him atop a dais. “Adreyu.”
It was a soft voice. He willed himself closer to him, her, whosoever it was. “Lillian?” Bringing himself forward, those piercing blue eyes, even through the smoke were unmistakable. “The Dalians, they will—”
“None of that now,” she insisted, pushing him forward across the dais, towards, what he thought, was the back of the cathedral.
Stumbling, the dais ended, and he reached for the broken stained glass, before Lillian cut him off. “Not through there. Too many have died. Down here.”
Wrenching his eyes to his left, he saw a squared hold. “I will not flee like a—”
“You are of royal blood,” Lillian protested. “You must flee. There is a ropen ladder. We will push the statuette over the hole. Rally your swords. Live and avenge us. Now flee!”
Adreyu saw the stubbornness in her eyes. He sheathed his sword. “Not like this, we will—”
He lost his feet, falling into darkness. He dug his fingers into the earthen wall with one hand, and grasped the ropen ladder with the other. Darkness swelled all about him, and as he looked up, the grey light faded to black.
“Fool of a woman!” he shouted, though only screams and thuds answered from above. He did not move, did not dare to.
If a statue did cover the square hole, he could not hope to lift it. Eyes drifting down, there was naught but darkness below. There seemed to be little else to do.
Swinging about with both hands and feet on the ropen ladder, he descended rung by run. A cold dampness flooded over his face as he took step by step into the darkness. It was not long before the screams and the thuds were dull murmurs.
This, this is cowardice, he could not help but think to himself. I should be cutting down the pious shites and the bastards from the mountain. Not here. Not running. If Lillian survives this, she will wish she had not.
His feet found the ground; it felt like dirt, not mortared stone. Darkness searched endlessly; no torches lay ensconced upon the walls. He plodded forth with his right hand, dirt and pebbles drifting to the ground.
Where he was headed, he did not know.
The slope edged ever downward, though it was all dirt and pebbles. Above, he heard faint skittering of insects or whatever else. It is a tunnel though, it must be. Pious shites must have dug it to escape, if need be. It would account for how they left so quickly. I hope that is what it was, at least. They will know of it. Mayhap I can whet my steel before I die.
Left hand on the pommel of his sword, his thoughts shifted to the king. He would not have to face his father now and account his failure before all the court. There would be no judgments, no disappointment, and no humiliation. Small mercies, but this will not end with that. He will just command Tristifer or Adonis —no, not Adonis, I doubt my brother grew some balls these past four years. Tristifer will take my place, though I have left him beggared. These white clothed miscreants, those noble bastards, and the coin grubbing traitors, they have prospered again, just as they did three hundred years ago.
And I —and I let them.
He tried to push those thoughts away, to let the pages of history fade away, but it bound him far too tightly. More, it bound his father too tightly, and was the reason this all had come to pass.
But then he recalled the masters of the forest. They were aligned with the Shaman from his homeland—harmless soothsayers from the wilds. Yet these masters of the forest were far from it, and sooner or later they would assail Trank’s walls. A warning I can give my brother. I can do that at least, and then—
The Prelude to Darkness Page 42