Of Darkness and Dawn

by Wight, Will

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  The Elder Empire

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Glossary

  Guild Guide

  Sequel Page

  Of Darkness and Dawn

  The Elder Empire - Second Shadow

  Will Wight

  www.WillWight.com

  To Lorn, the only platinum-tier editor I have.

  Copyright © 2015 Hidden Gnome Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Patrick Foster and Melanie DeCarvahlo

  Welcome, Reader.

  Right now, you’re reading the second book in the Elder Empire series.

  But it’s not the only second book.

  Of Darkness and Dawn was written in parallel to Of Dawn and Darkness, which takes place at the same time from a different perspective.

  If you’ve read Of Shadow and Sea, then I’m sure you already know how these books work. In case you don’t, I’d advise you to back up and read the first story in this series.

  And now that you have…

  Welcome back to the Elder Empire.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alagaeus, Regent of the East, hadn't sat and received petitioners in almost five hundred years. He was rather looking forward to it.

  The castle around him was hardly appropriate to his grandeur, mere blocks of stone raised from the quarries of Erin. Erin was what they called this tiny continent, which had once been the border of Tharlos and Othaghor, the site of constant war between life and chaos. There were worlds of unimaginable wonders beneath their feet, palaces built from the bones of giants and crystals that outshone the moon, but they had tried to give him a home of matchsticks. Nothing lasting was ever made of wood.

  So he had raised the earth, crafting a castle to his own specifications. It would require another few decades of sculptors and artisans to make it worth inhabiting, but at least it wasn't shameful. Their wooden mansion had crumbled away before it, as the ground quaked and stones rose from the depths.

  He sat in a throne of polished granite, with marble beneath his feet and a staff of gold in his hand, awaiting the arrival of a supplicant pleading his mercy. For the first time in the two years since he'd been roused from his deep slumber, he felt something approaching contentment.

  “Let the peasant approach,” he called, and two of his servants bowed to acknowledge his order. Alagaeus couldn't help but admire the way his voice echoed in this chamber. No one in the current age could match his knowledge of architecture, it seemed.

  They didn't use the word “peasant” in the Empire anymore, but there was nothing more fitting to describe this woman. She looked to be in her second decade, but life had aged her prematurely, etching early lines on her skin and fraying her hair. She wore what might as well have been a brown sack, wringing a tired kerchief in her hands.

  She would look up at him and see the exact opposite of herself, the grand sun to her worthless dirt. He wore layered robes heavy with silver and precious gems, the window over his throne tilted so that sunlight always highlighted his magnificence. His skin was dark, like that of the Emperor, displaying his proud Heartlander heritage, and his eyes—he was sure—held all the wisdom of a thousand years. He had only experienced about a hundred of those years firsthand, but surely his decades warring with the Elders counted as centuries. His golden staff, its head twining around an emerald the size of his fist, contained enough power to level cities. Indeed, it was the Intent in this Awakened artifact that had raised the castle around him.

  The crystallized heart of an ancient Kameira was held in this staff, crystallized by his own Intent and a secret process of alchemy. He was one of the first Soulbound in the world, and certainly the strongest.

  Thoughts of Estyr Six and the Emperor flitted through his mind, but he pushed them aside. The Emperor had let himself be murdered at last, and Estyr had always lacked the will to truly rule. She would eventually allow time to bring her low, while he never intended to age another day. Surely, by any objective measure, he was the most powerful among them.

  And now this peasant woman, this simple mother, knelt in the presence of a deity made flesh. A Soulbound whose powers shook the very earth. So what if he wasn't...quite as tall as average, particularly in this age? On his throne, he towered above any man.

  She saw his majesty; he could see the respect in her trembling limbs. It inclined him to be gracious.

  He nodded to her as she bowed. “Woman, speak your request before me, and I shall see it weighed with due gravity.”

  She looked anywhere but at his eyes, which was as it should be, but her hands continued working on that kerchief. The fabric was as old and ragged as any dishcloth, and he shuddered to imagine that she might use something so filthy to cover her hair.

  “Lord Regent,” she began, just as he instructed all his petitioners, “I don't...well, it's the soldiers. They've been a little restless and all, this past while, and...I mean, things are getting real bad.”

  “I abolished the army,” he said, confused. There was no need of an Imperial army under his Regency, at least not in his quadrant. There could be no Aurelian Empire without an Emperor, so it was pure foolishness to keep a standing Aurelian army. He and his privately trained Readers and Soulbound would be enough force to combat any assault.

  “That's the thing, Lord Regent. They don't have anything to keep them busy, so they're making trouble for honest folk. They took my son to join them, though he didn't want to, they took all the food in my house, and they took every coin I had. I tried to go to the Guilds, but they sent me to you.”

  The Guilds. The ten pillars of the Empire! They were gas in the wind compared to the Guilds of yesteryear. The ancient Blackwatch would have never allowed such a disgraceful eruption in Elder activity such as followed the Emperor's death; they would have captured any Elders, killed the Elder-touched, and burned whole villages to the ground until the threat was contained. The Luminian Order had begun preaching peace, they who had once led humanity to war, and the Magisters! They were the worst of all. Rather than plumbing the depths of Reading and the infinite power of human Intent, they spent their time trying to dredge up artifacts of a past they knew nothing about.

  The Guilds were useless. Of course they would be no help. It infuriated him that anyone would think otherwise.

  “I should think they would send you to me! As surely as summer turns to winter, so the weak will defer to the strong. The meanest men and women know nothing of the burden shouldered by the great on their behalf, and still they beg for more!”

  Thoughts of the Guilds always angered him. How had the Emperor allowed them such authority? He could have steered the Empire himself! Whoever heard of a ship with ten captains? Everyone in the modern world was complicit in madness, steering the planet toward sheer destruction!

  Alagaeus calmed himself only when he realized the floor was shaking. His Vessel took his anger, magnifying it from the pathetic spark of mortal irritation into the wrath of the earth. The entire castle, and possibly the whole town, trembled
with his rage.

  He settled down, somewhat satisfied by the stark terror on the simple woman's face. She recognized true power when she saw it. The thought did much to quiet his just passions.

  “The fury of a king is more frightening than a sea in storm,” he intoned, over the sound of grinding stone. “You would do well to remember that.”

  She tried to disguise her shaking as a bow, and he sent out a rush of Intent through his staff.

  The castle stopped instantly, the air inflating with silence.

  “Continue your plea,” he ordered.

  “Well, sir, they're...what I mean to say is, they're gathering today, sir. I think they've gathered enough men, and they intend to stage a demonstration against you and yours. I thought that maybe, since they're starting something so big, you might take the side of those of us caught in the middle. Please. Sir Regent.”

  “Insurrection?” he mused aloud.

  After a moment, his amusement escaped in a cackle. “Destiny has never before been so kind as to deliver exactly what I desire. Stay still, woman, and see how a true Emperor quiets rebellion.”

  Alagaeus hopped down from the throne, staff tapping on the floor as he marched over to the blank wall behind him.

  I need a window, he thought, and that was all his power needed to flow out from him in a focused wave. His Intent rushed through his staff, pushing out of the Kameira heart at the end, his Soulbound Vessel seizing the earth of the wall.

  Half a second after he glanced at the wall, a massive square chunk of stone slid out. The ten-ton block skidded out with a deafening sound of grinding rock, crashing to the square below like thunder. Dust billowed, and a few people screamed, but that was all beyond him.

  His senses had already moved on.

  Other Readers focused on fine details, on the history of individual objects, but he had always found such petty concerns beneath him. He watched the bigger picture, the currents weaving throughout the ocean of Intent. The Emperor was always so proud of his ability to see into a man's heart, well, Alagaeus could Read the intentions of entire cities. Working broadly, on the scale of whole armies and vast mountains, no one in all of history could match Alagaeus.

  Hunger, grief, frustration, short tempers: the bakery has collapsed in the eastern edge of town, a simple issue of poor maintenance from short-sighted owners. That quarter is experiencing a shortage, and all are irritated as a result. A delivery of food there will cement their loyalty to him, etching his name in their hearts.

  Elsewhere, the unseasonable cold takes its toll. A handful of homeless die every night, leaving stains of their desperate intent lingering on the fabric of his city. He spares no thought for them; they cannot help him, and they do not merit his attention. In the western quarter, sullen anger mixes with fear.

  There. He knows those feelings, roiling together like a stirred cauldron. This is the tide that brought the Elders low, lifting man to his rightful place on the throne of the world. Rebellion.

  He focuses on the western edge, narrowing his sight from the whole tapestry to a single thread.

  A group of men meet, discussing anger and desperation. They plot against their ruler for some imagined slight, a futile ploy from futile men. A lack of purpose is the fuel in this fire, and if Alagaeus were so inclined, he could crush their nascent rebellion by hiring them into his personal guard. But he has no need of a guard, and he must send a message.

  These men are hoarding weapons, their Intent flowing into the tools in little eddies of violence and reluctance. “Just in case,” they tell themselves.”

  Those weapons would never be used. Alagaeus swore such to himself, and smiled. This humble petitioner had told him the truth, and as such, she had earned herself a reward.

  In truth, it was a reward for him too.

  He reversed his staff in both hands, tapping the crystallized emerald heart against the floor of the castle. The Kameira's natural control over stone joined with his Intent, guided by his will, rippling out over the city. Power washed over the central streets, leaving a few Readers confused, but affecting no one. The hungry in the eastern quarters noticed nothing, unharmed.

  Just before the wave of Intent hit the ex-soldiers massing at the western edge of town, he gestured at the peasant woman to come forward. “Attend and watch,” he said. “This is the help I send those loyal to me.”

  She stepped forward, still shivering, not daring to stand side-by-side with him. That was as it should be. His vision was too broad to Read her Intent clearly, but her feelings merged with the rest of the castle's, and he caught broad notes of fear and intimidation. Everything in its place.

  When the ripple of Intent hit the western edge of town, the earth exploded.

  Beneath the feet of men who had plotted to rebel against him, paving-stones launched themselves upwards with the force of cannons. The insurrectionists were torn to bloody rags, their weapons falling discarded on the street. Earth swallowed some, belching up dust and smoke as it split apart. Flying rocks decimated others, tearing through their bodies like cannonballs. Still others died as plates of rock flipped up from under the soil, landing to crush whole groups.

  It occurred to him that she may have said something about her son being forced to join these soldiers, and that she would probably have wanted some guarantee of the boy's safety. Well, there was no pulling the arrow back to the bow. Besides, a brutal lesson was often the best kind: through her entire life, she would never forget to respect him.

  Still, he should make some comment to let her know that he had done this with intentional disregard to her son's life. Mortals made mistakes, but immortal cruelty was measured and precise.

  Something pricked his neck, like a stinging insect, and he raised a hand to swat it away...only to realize, with a flare of irritation, that his hand wouldn't obey his command. For a brief moment, it seemed absurd: the earth could erupt beneath his enemies a mile away, but his own hand staged a coup?

  Then came a second sting on the other side of his neck, and a length of impossibly cold pain in his back.

  The woman's face leaned over his shoulder, as though she were peering past him to get a better look. “You won't destroy the Empire,” she whispered in his ear. “We will stand united. Without you.”

  He struggled to muster his Intent, to crush her with a block of stone, but his thoughts were growing sleepier. He threw another pulse of will at his Vessel, but the Soulbound link between them was too tight. The crystallized emerald heart pulsed one last, slow message to him. It didn't come in so many words, but the general impression was clear.

  As the earth rests, so do we.

  The light faded from his eyes, but he couldn't escape his confusion. How dare she kill him without giving him any answers! Who was she? A Consultant? No, the Am'haranai were allies; they stood with the Regents for independence. They would never have sent an agent to do this, though their assassins had been legendary even when he was a child.

  Who, then? Who had the ability to slay Alagaeus, the shaper of deserts and builder of cities? He who had laid the bedrock of the Empire and buried the Great Elders? He was meant to die under the claws of Kthanikahr or the blades of legendary assassins, not stabbed in the back by a simple peasant.

  Not alone, in a castle he had built with his will.

  Not like this.

  ~~~

  Estyr Six was born Estyr Fourteen.

  In her homeland, almost two thousand years ago, the grip of the Elders was weak. They lived in tribes high in the Dylian mountain range, hunting droves of Kameira for their powers in order to survive the harsh weather. Back then, they had a saying: “On the peaks, the Elders bow to the blizzards.”

  Every year, when the passes thawed, the tribes would go to war with one another. They were more like festivals compared to the Elder War, but they had seemed serious enough at the time. Few people outright died, but many were shamed or exiled, some mutilated or injured beyond repair. The families fought for rank, and the highest-ranking f
amilies earned the right to live lower down the mountains. The storms were weaker, the food more plentiful, but the enemies closer. The strongest deserved to live at the base, because they had to stay strong enough to repel outsiders.

  When she was a girl, Estyr's family was Fourteenth, which meant that they struggled in the high passes. Anything more than thin soup was a treat, and they knew that every winter meant a brother or sister lost to the cold.

  Eventually, she had decided to do something about it. If strength could move her family down the mountain, she only had to get stronger.

  That spring, she entered the high passes alone. She fashioned a spear herself, with a head of bone. And unaided, she slew a Cloudseeker Hydra: the Kameira who flew above the clouds, who summoned blizzards, who could overturn mountain peaks with the force of its Intent.

  The body alone would have sold for a fortune; enough to keep her family safe for many winters to come. But she didn't come home. She cut off the head of the Hydra and carried it with her, strapped to her back.

  Until she found a second Cloudseeker Hydra. This one was bigger, and legend said it had wiped out the entire Fifteen family only a season past. She rigged traps, prepared her bait, and soon she had two rotting heads on her back.

  When she earned her third, she made her way back to the family.

  By the time she managed to bond the skulls as her Soulbound Vessels, earning the power of the Hydras as her own, the Elder War had broken out in earnest. The man they called the Liberator had started a war against Nakothi, and all the Great Elders were stirred up. Some moved against others, some began a campaign of eradication against the humans, and still others took actions that made no rational sense at all.

  Estyr hadn't cared. Instead, she defeated the eight families that showed up for the spring wars.