Light in the Gloaming (The Gloaming Book One)

by J. B. Simmons

  “I call for a vote.” Andor commanded to the hall. Men and women alike gasped at his words. Murmuring spread through the crowd like wildfire. Wren heard “this is not the custom” and “he cannot be Summit until he takes his life.”

  “Silence, Icarians,” Andor demanded. He dropped the blade and placed his hand on the back of the older man. “Your Summit rules until he gives his life, which he has done because his life is now mine to take. An army stands ready to put you all to the sword. I believe it is too great a sacrifice to lose the nobility and goodness that pulse inside these walls. As your Summit, I may call a vote, and I trust that you will elect the right destiny.”

  Andor knelt and whispered something into the leader’s ear. The Summit stood and spoke to the hall. “Icarians, it is unbearable to see the fighting men of Icaria disarmed. It is equally unbearable that others who have rendered me devoted service should now die. The time has come to bear the unbearable. Swallow your tears and keep your lives. You must vote now as your Summit demands.” He looked to Andor.

  “I call for a vote: kneel again if you wish to live, to keep me as your Summit, to keep the old laws within these mountains, to give up all your weapons, and to give up sovereignty to the Prince of Valemidas. Or, stand if you refuse surrender and want to die at the hand of the Prince of Valemidas; if so, we will begin by taking this man’s life.” Andor pointed at the former Summit at this side.

  This time the soldiers knelt first, followed soon by the women and children behind them. Again, Wren marveled at the unity of these people. The former Summit clasped Andor’s hand and lifted it high.

  “For the Prince of Valemidas and Icaria,” he yelled.

  “For the Prince of Valemidas and Icaria,” the crowd chanted back.

  “For the Prince of—” Andor began again, but was interrupted by a loud bash against the main door of the hall.

  Another bash followed, and the door crashed open. The few Icarians between Andor’s group and the door retreated further back into the hall.

  Tryst strode in with his blood-drenched sword, Zarathus, at the ready. A company of knights followed him, and Wren was relieved to see Jon among them. Shock swept over Tryst’s face as he locked eyes with Andor.

  “This is my fight!” Tryst screamed in fury and charged the short distance between them.

  “Stand back,” Andor commanded as he stepped forward with the Summit’s long blade pointed towards the charging prince. The two men’s orders, and the speed of their collision, momentarily froze the surrounding fighters of Icaria and Valemidas.

  The princes sprang into a lethal dance. Tryst attacked with relentless fury, slamming Zarathus down at Andor. Andor managed to deflect the blows and maintain his position. He ducked under one of Tryst’s violent swings at his head, and then lunged at Tryst. The two men tumbled onto the ground, both with blades still in hand.

  Andor landed a knee into Tryst’s head and managed to pin down his sword arm. Tryst writhed under Andor and pulled a dagger from his waist. He sliced Andor’s side just as Andor pointed his blade at Tryst’s neck.

  An instant passed when Andor could have plunged the sword into his nemesis. From his back, Tryst swung his dagger wildly again and forced Andor to release Tryst’s sword arm to dodge the attack. Andor kept his sword at Tryst’s neck.

  Before either man could strike again, a dark figure dashed at them—Ravien. She spun behind Andor and pressed a dagger to his throat. Neither prince dared another move, but Andor spoke suddenly, steadily.

  “Icarians, your prince lies before you. He is your conqueror and, following your vote, I as Summit submit our city to him.” Something about Andor’s voice sounded both triumphant and humble to Wren. Andor had so thirsted for revenge. His restraint from killing his betrayer must have been a victory.

  Andor slowly moved the point of the sword away from Tryst. As soon as it was an inch away, Tryst surged up and slashed Zarathus at Andor. Panic struck Wren as the sword sparked against Ravien’s dagger. The force of the blow knocked both her and Andor back to the ground, but Tryst had not spilled their blood.

  Tryst’s attack jolted others into action. Icarians and Valemidans charged against each other in apparent confusion.

  “No one move!” The former Summit shouted as Icarian men surrounded Tryst, Andor, and Ravien with spears facing out. “Foreigners’ blood may not be spilled in the Icarian hall. The city is yours my prince and my Summit.” The man dropped his spear and knelt before Tryst. “Tell me how the Icarians can serve you.” Tryst glared at him, furious and robbed of glory.

  “Very well, Icaria is mine.” Tryst announced to the room. “Knights, disarm these men and”—the Prince turned back just as a series of small explosions began along the floor. A cloud of smoke billowed up through the hall.

  It cleared moments later, but Andor and Ravien were nowhere to be seen.

  Tryst let out a shout. “Close off the city, now! No one leaves!” He sprinted out of the hall’s door, yelling orders to seize Andor.

  Wren was close to the hole that had been blown open in the wall and was the first to slip outside that way. He glimpsed Andor and Ravien darting out of the plaza, out of sight from the main hall’s door. Tryst ran out into the middle of the plaza a second later but they had vanished.

  “What happened back there? You alright?” It was good to hear Jon’s voice. He had shown up at Wren’s side.

  “Yeah, I am not sure. You alright?” Wren turned to his brother.

  “I think I am doing better than you,” Jon answered with his typical smile.

  “Why is that?”

  “For starters, the love of my life did not just steal the prince who returned for the throne.”

  Wren let himself laugh for the first time today. “I think she can take care of herself, and Andor, and the rest of us.”

  Chapter 19

  A FINE GRAPEVINE

  “Wine can of their wits

  the wise beguile,

  Make the sage frolic,

  and the serious smile.”

  Lorien’s desire for information was deeper than hunger. Since Andor’s letter, she had been fighting for Andor’s cause in every way she could, coordinating pieces of his network under many guises. It made her feel closer to him, and it became the consuming passion that awakened her each morning.

  Living in the palace made her work easier. Any other betrothed of a former, deposed prince would be gone and probably dead by now, but Lorien was the half-sister of Tryst. He had demanded that she stay in her quarters while he was gone, for her safety, of course. Even locked away there, she had royal privileges and needs that required a wide variety of visitors. No one suspected anything amiss when a noble lady, a priest, or a physician came to wait upon the princess.

  Still, the trickle of meaningful information had slowed recently. Her last news of Andor, delivered by Father Yates in the ruse of a private prayer, had been too short—just an assurance that Andor lived and recovered, and that he planned to move against Tryst soon. She would not be much help until she learned more, so she focused on arming herself with knowledge. Today of all days that would be essential.

  This morning her maids had told her that Tryst had returned victorious, and that he wanted to see her soon. She shivered at the thought, despite the summer air. It was hard to see how he could return in victory, unless Andor had been caught or had abandoned his plans. To avoid complete betrayal of her emotions when Tryst visited, she had to know if, and how, Andor had returned from the journey.

  And so she had called on the best storehouse of knowledge, Selia. The mother of Wren and Jon knew everything about the city and could be trusted. Lorien had called on her only twice since Tryst had left, to avoid rousing too much suspicion. They had met under the cover of fashion, because Selia was a prominent figure in the city’s garment trade. Her expertise in dresses was popular among many noble ladies, so her presence in the palace would surprise no one—as long as it did not become too frequent.

  Lorien had
called for the Prince’s finest summer wine to be brought from the cellars. It was a dry, crisp white wine, from the foothills of the Targhees. The grapes had enjoyed a fabulous harvest last year, and this was from the Prince’s private vineyard. Sipping slowly, Lorien took in the view. Her quarters had three rooms—an anteroom, a washroom, and a bedroom—and one of the palace’s rare balconies. At least seventy feet up in the slender tower, the balcony afforded a view of almost the entire city and the river stretching below its southern wall to the sea.

  Lorien was thinking of where Andor might hide in the city when her serving maid knocked on the door of the anteroom. Five knocks meant that Selia was here and her arrival had gone smoothly. Lorien took another sip of wine and braced herself for any news.

  “Send her in,” she said to her maid as she rose to her feet.

  Selia swept in with a flurry. Her dark hair had gray streaks and spunk. Her eyes wore light wrinkles and cheerfulness. As much as Lorien may have doubted her subtlety, she always found herself warmed by the woman’s presence. She wore her passion like she wore her bright red flowing dress.

  “Lorien my dear! It is an honor and a pleasure to see you, as always. And my, what a view! This must be one of the prettiest spots in the whole city. Fitting for a princess, of course. Did you set this wine out for me? That was very thoughtful of you. My lady, you know me too well.”

  Lorien could not help but smile. “Selia, thank you for joining me. Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward the chairs and made eye contact with the maid, who poured Selia a glass of the wine. Lorien reminded herself of her mission: she must learn as much as possible, while revealing as little as possible to her eavesdropping maids. She had seen enough signs to know that everything spoken above a whisper in her quarters made its way to Ramzi.

  “That is a beautiful dress, Selia. Which designer have you been turning to?” Lorien looked attentive as she eased open the flow of information.

  “Thank you! This is by a Valemidas local known as Guillermo. You really must meet him. Lady Talnor has given him a full time position in her House. She snaps up all the best young designers. In fact, I think he is having a show there just this week. Won’t you consider joining me? The Talnor House always throws the grandest parties. Or maybe I could convince him to hold a special show for you?”

  Lorien hid her frustration—it was not Selia’s fault that she could not leave this tower. No, that blame rested with her brother. Of course, if she could leave, she would not be spending any time in the Talnor House. They had been among Tryst’s strongest supporters.

  “That is quite thoughtful, Selia. I will think on it. Tell me, what makes you like his style so much?”

  Selia continued in cheerful monologue, discussing the ins and outs of Guillermo’s styles and those of other prominent designers. Lorien prodded the discussion along, dropping in exploratory questions whenever Selia paused for a breath or a drink of wine.

  She had finished her first glass by the time Lorien shifted the focus to her second innocent, yet transitioning topic. The maid poured another full glass for both of them, nearly emptying the bottle. Lorien hoped the talk of dresses would lull the maids into inattention.

  “I think you are right that Guillermo is the most promising. With winter coming, though, I may need something heavier. Perhaps next time we meet, you could bring me a few samples from designers outside Valemidas. I would love to see dresses done by one of the designers from the mountain region. Speaking of the mountains, how do you like the wine?”

  “The wine is delicious.” Selia chattered on, “Is this one from the mountains? I do love the mountains. Any view of the mountains will make my day. You said you would like some dresses from that region. Why, I would be delighted to gather some for you. I even know one designer from Icaria.” Perfect, thought Lorien, relieved to detect Selia’s transition to what she really wanted to know.

  “She is a good designer, nothing fancy mind you, but delightfully solid and comfortable woolen wear for the winter. Just a week ago, I might have doubted whether she would be designing anything this year. Now I’m confident that she will be, since Icaria has surrendered to Valemidas. An Icarian designer would be honored to fashion a dress for the prince’s sister. What color did you have in mind? A lot of the mountain styles are in gray and other neutrals.”

  Lorien calmly sipped her wine. “I was hoping for something more celebratory, maybe white or red? Anything dark would be out of place, wouldn’t it?”

  “Why yes, something celebratory might well be suitable. Certainly no black dresses will be called for.” Selia winked.

  The words washed over Lorien. So Andor lived, and he still had a chance of success. “You mentioned something about the Icarian designer perhaps not making anything this year. What do you think could stop the march of fashion?”

  “Lorien, my dear,” Selia answered, “you are right that the march of fashion cannot be stopped. I just meant that this particular designer might have gone out of business because of the war against Icaria. I had started to grow worried since your brother and his Lycurgus had been gone for so long. I figured they would have had little trouble with a mountain village like Icaria. Even if we did win, we lost many good men, I hear. I hate war, I really do. It leaves mothers like me helpless at home, in constant fear for our boys. Can you imagine my relief when I learned that Jon and Wren were alive and on their way home? Those boys are always up to trouble. I mean, I wasn’t worried. There’s no use in worrying, you know. I was concerned, that’s all. I had faith that they would come back safe.”

  “It is encouraging to hear of your faith. Have your sons made it back home yet?”

  “Thanks to god, yes. They returned with the prince last night, and Wren spoke with me briefly before tending to his many duties. As I told you before, they were both knighted. Well, it seems Jon was even invited to join the prince’s Council of Knights. His new position kept him from coming to see me.”

  Selia sat back in her chair and took the last sip of her second glass of wine. She tapped the glass, and the maid began to open another bottle. “Do you plan to see your brother soon?” Selia asked.

  “Yes, he plans to visit me.” Lorien leaned forward, hoping that Selia would detect her urgency. “That is a great honor for Jon. Does that mean he was in the thick of the battle for Icaria?”

  “It sure does. In fact, the craziest part of Wren’s story was how they took the city. It seems that Jon was with the prince the whole time. Once they got over the walls, the prince and his men marched right in. By all accounts, Wren said, your brother was a force during the battle. He killed dozens of men as they took over the gate to the city. Can you imagine that? A prince in the thick of the fight? Anyway, it sounds like they waltzed through the city untouched after taking the gate. The prince went straight to the main hall of the city, ready to declare victory. Only, when they arrived and battered down the door, the Icarians were kneeling throughout the hall, with their weapons down.”

  “You won’t believe what Wren told me next. The prince charged at a man who was a master swordsman much like himself. The other man was taller, with golden eyes, light hair and a beard.”

  Lorien nodded eagerly and looked down at her hands to avoid betraying that she knew it was Andor. Selia seemed to understand as she continued. “The two men fought fast and hard, and next thing you know the other man ends up on top of the prince with a sword pointed at him. Then, of all things, your sister appeared and somehow stopped this other man and saved your brother. I don’t know the details, but it seems an Icarian leader started talking to the prince at that point. He said that the city had been handed over, that an official vote had passed the rule to Valemidas. The prince declared victory on the spot but seemed upset to have the city handed to him like that. By that time, your sister and the other man had disappeared, which made the prince furious. You have to spare any exaggerations of course. I’m just relaying what my boys told me. They are quite the storytellers.”

  S
elia finished and silence hung in the air. Where Selia’s meandering words had filled the small anteroom with a comfortable feeling, it now felt empty.

  Lorien stood and began to pace. “Is he well now?” Lorien asked, emphasizing the “he” in a way that meant Andor but sounded like her brother.

  “I think so,” Selia answered. “The rumors have been all over the place. You can’t trust half of them.”

  “You certainly can’t trust the rumors,” Lorien said. “What happened next?”

  “Wren heard from Jon that later that night Prince Tryst got heavy into some wine. As you know, he’s not one to indulge in drink, so it had quite the effect. Apparently he kept saying the name of that other man and demanding that anyone in Valemidas or anywhere else who supported him be rooted out. He put Jon in charge of the search. The next morning, Tryst set the Lycurgus off on a brutal march, even faster than their trek into the mountains. Would you believe it if I told you they left the mountains just a couple weeks ago?”

  “What happened with Jon’s search?”

  “Jon and his men have not found anything yet. It is said that many soldiers and knights have begun declaring their loyalty to this challenger, but do not worry about your brother. There has been no attempt at a coup.” Selia’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Even here in Valemidas, people are whispering that the other man could be our last prince returned, and that he should have the throne. Now that is treason in my book, but it sounds like maybe the nobles have forgotten that. They are supposed to be the stable force in this city, but lately they seem as fickle as everyone else. The streets are bustling with some sort of hope I haven’t seen in a long time. Surely that is because your brother has returned, right?”

  “Surely it is,” Lorien answered. “But I am concerned about this threat to my brother. How can we help Jon’s search?” She posed her question loud enough for the maids to hear.

  “I think Jon has enlisted good helpers, like Ulysses and Father Yates.” Men loyal to Andor, Lorien knew. “They will find him, do not fear. But maybe you can help by talking to the prince about it. You know he can trust Jon, so encourage him to give Jon as much authority as he can.”