A Darkness in the East

by Aaron Pogue

  For a dozen heavy heartbeats he hung there in the total silence, in the ancient darkness, and he watched the outer world through the eyes of Pazyarev.

  The broodlings didn’t break away. They didn’t turn to battle Pazyarev. Instead they landed in a frenzied mass just above Daven’s strange grave. Some dug into the earth with razor claws. Others blasted it with forge-hot fire.

  Daven hurled Pazyarev against the raiders, but they didn’t turn. Sunlight pierced through into the darkness of the well, and Daven focused on shoring up the earth above him. The race was frantic. The diggers ignored Pazyarev, even as they died.

  You will not escape so easily, the broodlord said.

  “Who are you?” Daven cried out, desperate. “Vechernyvetr, is that you?”

  You think it is your pet? So little faith in those who’ve bled for you. I wonder how you won such loyalty. No. Vechernyvetr will not break, but I will have him to my brood once you are dead.

  Above him, light lanced down as the broodlings broke through Daven’s defenses yet again. There were but a handful left, and Pazyarev scattered them with one blow of his tail, but Daven wasn’t done. He heaved himself on threads of air, exploding from the well, then shouted after the survivors limping off into the sky. “Who are you? How do you know these things?”

  He cast about, searching among the fallen bodies for some living prisoner he might interrogate, but Pazyarev was too powerful a weapon. “How do you know me?”

  The answer came back, thin and distant. Fear not. I will see you soon.

  Daven reached out with his mind, summoning Pazyarev to carry him in pursuit, but he knew in an instant that it was futile. Pazyarev was exhausted, pushed too hard already today, and Daven was at least as tired. Both man and monster needed rest, and as Daven turned back toward the town of Cammin, he knew these people needed answers, too. They needed comfort and assistance. He left Pazyarev to rest upon the battlefield and settled into an easy walk toward the burning town.

  Before he reached the town’s edge, the residents came out to meet him. They were the same bloodied men and women who’d been trapped among the shepherd drakes, and some now carried the ragged spears that he had made to kill the beasts. Others carried wailing children or what sad possessions they had saved from burning homes. But four of them in soldiers’ uniforms—including two who had confronted him at Cammin’s edge yesterday—carried between them a tarp.

  He didn’t have to guess what weighed it down. These men bore the corpse of the dragons’ sole victim. The corpse wore the same uniform, and at a glance Daven knew it to be Ricarl.

  Ricarl who had stood for him against the mayor. Ricarl who had begged Daven to pass this place by. Ricarl who had a wife and son within the town....

  The wife came forward now. Daven knew her by the grief in her eyes. He’d met too many accusing widows, but that was the debt he owed. He went with all humility to meet her halfway between the devastated crowd of villagers and the battlefield Pazyarev had littered with the corpses of their attackers.

  Tears stained the woman’s cheeks, and her hands trembled as she held them out to Daven. He took them warmly in his and met her eyes. “I am sorry for your loss. He was a good man.”

  “He was,” she answered, speaking quietly. “He was, and he believed in you. Bannus doesn’t.”

  Daven frowned, confused by the transition. “I assure you—”

  She shook her head. “There is no time. Bannus has stirred them up against you. I demanded time to make my own accusation—”

  Daven tried to apologize, but she rolled her eyes and spoke over him. “There is no time! I believe in you because Carl did, but no one else will listen. You must leave. You must leave now.”

  “I cannot! This broodlord is hurting Cammin to get at me. If I leave your village unprotected—”

  “Then perhaps he will forget us. Regardless, if you stay, you’ll never protect anyone again.”

  “I have no wish to fight your townsfolk, but they are little threat to me.”

  “You’re wrong. This is a hard place, and ours are hard people. They won’t try to string you up. They’ll poison your broth or slit your throat while you sleep. They’ll find a way to punish you for what was done here. No. Hush. True or not, they believe you’re with the dragons.”

  “But I’m your only hope! You must speak to them—”

  “They will not listen to me! But you are right. You are my only hope. The monsters took more than my husband from me.”

  “What more?”

  “My child. He’s been missing since the raid last night.”

  “But how can I—”

  She grabbed his shirt in two fierce fists. “Carl saw one of the dragons dragging him off while you were killing the others. He thinks...thought...the broodlord captured Cashion on purpose. Find him! Kill the beasts and save my son.”

  “I will,” Daven vowed. “If it is at all within my power, I will do these things for you.”

  “Good. Now go!”

  “Not yet.” Daven searched a pouch on his belt, then produced a tiny bead of delicate, etched glass. It glowed with a strange green light. He showed it to the widow, then pressed it in her palm.

  “After I have left, when the people have settled and are ready to see reason, break this bead and it will summon someone who can help. My people will take yours somewhere safe.”

  “But Cashion—”

  “I will find your son, and I will bring him to you there.”

  New tears touched her cheeks now—of gratitude as much as grief—and she gripped his shoulders with surprising force. “Then go!” she screamed, loud enough for the villagers to hear. “Get out of here and trouble us no more. Go now! I beg you.”

  He dipped his head in the shadow of a bow, then turned and strode back across the plains. He left Cammin to its fate and went off hunting dragons.

  ~

  It was hours later, Daven slogging through the thick undergrowth upon a mountain slope, when a muffled voice spoke from near his belt. Daven cursed, scanning the surroundings for any sign of a dragon startled by the noise, but he was not so lucky. Dusk was nearly on him, and he hadn’t seen a single sign of the broodlord’s minions.

  He shook his head and drew a silver hand mirror from the same pouch that had produced the crystal bead. He raised the mirror, but instead of his own face, it showed the disfigured form of his seneschal, the wizard Lareth. Half the man’s face was blackened scar, an ancient wound, but the other half held his usual condescending leer. “Good evening, Daven. You look terrible.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  Lareth barked a laugh. “But you’d be lying!”

  Daven showed his teeth in something that might have passed for a smile. He felt no joy at this intrusion. He’d hoped for another day before he was called home. But perhaps he could still buy that time. He feigned some surprise and asked, “Why are you calling?”

  “Oh, my lord. My lord. You’re always straight to business. And a bitter business, too! I have received your message.”

  It took a moment for the meaning to sink in, then Daven looked west to check the sun’s position. “You’ve already been to Cammin? How did you sort them out so fast?”

  Lareth shrugged. “It did not take long to sort one woman and her knitting needles.”

  “One woman? No! Go back! That town has become a target. You need to get them all.”

  “I know it well! The determined widow told me. But the townsfolk wouldn’t listen. They have this mayor—”

  Daven growled. “Oh, I know this mayor.”

  “And he knows you. He demanded half a regiment of me, and when I wouldn’t bring him one, he ordered his soldiers to fire on me!”

  Daven’s skin felt suddenly cold. “You didn’t hurt them, did you?”

  “Them? You aren’t worried about me?”

  “Lareth!”

  “No! I could see these people were distraught, so I took the widow back and came calling for further direction
.”

  “Good. You have done well.”

  “And what would you have of me?”

  Daven chewed his lip, thinking. He’d expected Lareth to make demands, not ask for orders. “Take her to Isabelle,” he said at last.

  “You’re mad. Is it a serpent’s venom, or is it lack of sleep? We’ve concocted this whole plan so you could slip away, and now you ask me bring one of your victims to your wife?”

  “Not my victim!” Daven snapped. “And yes. Because Isabelle will spot the truth in...whatever the widow knows. Isabelle has a knack for that. She’ll figure out what I have missed and set me on the right path.”

  “She’ll call you home.”

  “She won’t. She’ll understand, when she hears what’s happened here.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps. But will she keep the secret long enough to make that decision? She shares most everything with your gloomy shadow, and he is chomping at the bit to have you back.”

  “I’ve told you not to call him that.”

  Lareth rolled his eyes. “Very well. Your general demands some explanation where his lord has gone, why he has disappeared, and he has threatened me with violence if I don’t bring you home.”

  “He will not harm you, Lareth.”

  The wizard shrugged, uncertain. “He can make compelling arguments. I’ll give him that. He’s asked me more than once to open him a path to you—”

  Daven’s skin went cold again. “No!” He thought about the fight at Cammin, about the swarm of broodlings that had torn the earth apart to get at him. He thought about the calculating threats the broodlord had made against Daven’s closest friends. He shook his head. “No matter what, do not send Caleb here.”

  “Well...what about a regiment? Fool though he was, perhaps the mayor had a point. Perhaps Caleb would be appeased if I at least sent reinforcements. I could bring your Captains of the Hunt—”

  Daven shook his head, just as emphatic. “You aren’t listening. These dragons are clever. Not the normal sort of dangerous. They’re conniving, and it is everything I can do to fight them. No matter how talented the men, they’d need to be like me to stand a chance.”

  “Dragonriders? You want more dragonriders? I have suggested a plan—”

  “And I’ve forbidden it. No. All I want is time. Keep Caleb in the Tower, put Isabelle to work, and buy me another day. Maybe two. I will see to this.”

  “What’s going on there, Daven? And what has aught of this to with your old pet?”

  “Vechernyvetr is not a pet. He is a free will—“

  “A monster’s will.” Lareth said it as a gentle reminder, but Daven shook his head in sharp denial.

  “No. He was, but his nature was as much changed by the bond as mine. And now I count him more than a monster and more than an ally. I count him a friend.”

  Lareth sighed, equal parts concern and compassion on his face. “Do not forget what he was.”

  “I do forget,” Daven said. “Just as I forget treason every time I speak with you. Just as I forget that Caleb is a deserter and Isabelle likely a rebel. We all have bloodstained names.”

  “Then call him your friend and keep forgetting,” Lareth said. “I certainly am glad of your poor memory. But what do you intend? What do you suspect?”

  “I suspect Vechernyvetr is a prisoner.”

  “Not dead?”

  Daven shook his head. “Not dead. I would know if he were dead. But somewhere near here, he is trapped—“

  “When you first left, you suspected all these things,” Lareth said. “But now I don’t hear any doubt. You know it now?”

  “I feel it,” Daven said. “It’s an aching in my bones. I haven’t found him yet, but I have found these monsters. There is a nasty brood here, Lareth, and that’s a problem worth my attention.”

  Lareth almost pressed the argument, but in the end he shrugged instead. “Then do what you must do. Destroy some snakes, but see it’s done before old Caleb kills someone. And still I’d argue we should keep this from your wife.”

  The whisper of fine fabric gave the only warning before another voice broke in. “What must we keep from his wife?”

  Isabelle. Daven saw the flash of horror in his seneschal’s eye, but Daven could not make himself break the connection. Instead, he fixed his will upon it, holding the spell against Lareth’s best efforts until Isabelle snatched the little silver mirror from the wizard’s hand.

  Something soft and warm unfolded in Daven’s breast when the mirror showed her face. Isabelle. His wife. Sun-brown skin and long, smooth hair and blue-gray eyes so sharp and clear. Daven met his wife’s demanding glare, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Good evening, Isabelle.”

  “Are you now keeping secrets from me, husband? Are you conspiring with wicked men?”

  “No more than normal.”

  “Where have you been? I thought you were hunting dragons.”

  “But I am! And those rumors you had heard about the eastern plains.”

  “Then you are hunting for Vechernyvetr, too?”

  Daven blinked. He had hoped not to worry her with those fears, but....

  She laughed. “You are an open book to me. I have known all along.”

  Daven sighed and hung his head. “And Caleb?”

  “Haven’s name, no! Caleb would gut us all for helping you escape him.”

  “I am his lord.”

  “Of course you are,” she said, with a charitable smile. “And you’re a warrior and a prince besides. But right now you are a man who’s lost a friend. Honestly, I had hoped you would go after Vech much sooner.”

  Daven shook his head. “I have greater responsibilities. That is not even my primary purpose here.”

  She arched her eyebrows and stared him down. “You are not yourself without your friends beside you. If you want to save the world, save Vechernyvetr first.”

  Daven held her gaze for three full heartbeats, then he nodded. “As you command, my lady.”

  She nodded back. “And then you will address the dragon problem there.”

  “I already have some plans.”

  “Good,” she said. “And then you must come home to me. That is an order.”

  Daven raised his hand to his heart. “As you command, my lady.”

  Pride and love burned in her eyes. He tried to show it just as strong in his expression, but most of all he drank hers in. He devoured it, drew strength from it, and when he’d memorized every nuance of that moment, he breathed a reluctant, “Goodbye.”

  She only nodded in answer. He broke his heart and severed the connection.

  First, find Vechernyvetr. That had been her order. Then hunt down this vile broodlord. Perhaps her plan made sense, though he had no more hope of finding one than the other.

  Still...the sun was setting. Night was coming fast, and for all his power, Daven didn’t relish the thought of facing another swarm of raiders under moonlight. He needed to find cover, someplace safe, and Isabelle had just told him where to go.

  Vechernyvetr’s lair was north and east. He’d been so close before the raid on Cammin. Now he called down Pazyarev to carry him and flew straight to the peak, to the very ledge outside the sprawling cave. He set Pazyarev in the sky, a mighty sentry, then Daven caught his breath and stepped backward into memory.

  For months this cave had been his home. He’d lived along the edge of Chaos, barely a man at all, but there had been a comfort in the broodling bond, a power, a...simplicity that his soul still sometimes yearned for.

  But life was not simple. Survival in such times was not comfortable. Daven had a task to complete, and he would not relent.

  Heavy as the emotions it evoked, the lair was otherwise uninteresting. A glance revealed that it was empty, the gold hoard gone, the cooling pool unused. Daven spent a long, raw moment staring around an empty cave, then he turned to go.

  And found a dragon in his way.

  With the angry orange sear of sunset casting the beast in silhouette, Daven could not gather
much in the way of details. It was a medium-sized adult, perhaps a little small, and it favored a slightly injured left hind leg as it came brazenly into the room. Daven nearly stumbled in his shock, but he turned the motion into a lunge toward the intruder’s left. He drew a sword and struck, almost one motion, and buried the blade deep in the dragon’s shoulder.

  Golden scales. That fact teased at some memory in Daven’s mind, but his instincts had him now. He kicked away and rolled, lashing at the dragon’s underbelly, and hot, black blood flowed. Then he found his feet and struck again, this time into the right hind haunch, which should have been enough to cripple her.

  Her? The thought spring in his mind just as the little golden dragon screamed in pain. Daven prepared to dodge her counter strike, but none came. He drew the sword again and turned toward her head.

  Her head. She was a dame. In such close, dark quarters there wasn’t much to distinguish dames from bulls, but somehow Daven knew this one. And now he found her watching him. Pain half shut her enormous eyes and her blood still sizzled on the edge of his unreal blade, but she just watched him, waiting.

  “What are you?” he asked. “Are you the one who’s causing me such trouble?”

  She answered him in a voice strained with pain. I am Vechernyvetr’s dame.

  It was not the broodlord’s voice, nor was it one he recognized, but Daven knew the dame now. “You belonged to Pazyarev.”

  What a vicious thing to say. But yes, I was his consort before you freed me.

  “And now you are with Vech—”

  I was, she said. But he is gone. Our brood is torn to pieces and scattered on the mountainside, and Vechernyvetr is a prisoner.

  She did not sound aggrieved, but angry. That emotion leaked into the back of Daven’s head. It settled in his heart, fiery and familiar. “Shall we rescue him?” he asked. “In violence and blood?”

  How else would it be done?

  “I know no other way. But I cannot discover the broodlord’s lair.”