I pushed forward in one direction, towards a gap between two of the taller buildings around the square. Defense was not going to keep me alive if these men were so crazed. Throwing all of my energy into the push, I jumped and slammed my blunt weapons down on the heads of two men in front of me.
They fell but four men behind them pressed on me. One man connected with a jab at my side, knocking me off balance. The next hit was a fist to the side of my head. Ears ringing, I tried to roll to the side, but was kicked down by another man.
Before I could rise, they were diving onto me. I wrestled along the ground, fighting to get to my feet. The only thing that kept me alive was that they wanted the honey more than anything. They did not seem to care whether I lived or not. Also, once they had me pressed down, they began ripping at each other. A disgusting face tried to gnaw at my arm, only to be kicked away by another man. As soon as that feeder was swept away, another would fight for the place. It felt like giant ants were crawling over my body.
I writhed and twisted, but gained mere inches. My legs could not move. I could barely breathe, with the weight of the men crushing me into the ground. My failed movements converted into fury. My body weakened, but my soul blazed.
How could this happen? This was not my end. This could not be. I am the Prince. I am the greatest thing our world has seen, and here I am under a pile of ragged, sweaty humanity. Mankind deserves to die, if it is to treat me like this.
My thoughts drifted to no avail. Intense rage, passion, and even defeat clouded my mind. I was lost to my body, my eyes closed. My emotions seared away revealing a clear vision of light beaming from a throne. It was like a brilliant beacon that burns a hole through the darkest, most ominous cloud. I felt pitiful under that light. I felt broken and insufficient, which gave way to sorrow and an odd peace beyond my understanding.
In that moment my muscles eased. I no longer fought. As if wrapped in a cocoon of man’s worst, my lips drew into a smile as the chaos stormed over and around me. This was not man’s worst. This was not man. Man is only man when he has that light, but I turned away from it. I resolved to be more than just a man.
Suddenly I pulled in a large breath. My lungs had found a moment without pressure. I opened my eyes and saw gaps in the pile of men on top of me.
They were still over me, striking viciously at each other, but they were clearing themselves out. A few were biting at my skin, but they had cleaned off much of the honey. It gave me the opportunity I needed.
In a quick, fluid move, I summoned every muscle to action. It took only a couple swift kicks to clear my legs enough for me to rock backwards and bounce to my feet. The men looked up at me with surprise and terror. Perhaps they had thought me dead.
I seized that moment to unsheathe another weapon—my voice. I sucked in as much air as my lungs would hold, opened my mouth, and released.
“You need me!” The sound of my shout sliced through the men and brought stillness.
Yelling again, I gave my first command: “Obey me or die.” Stillness continued, and I did too. “Kneel now. Do not move. If you follow my orders, you will have better than this. I will be your light.”
I am not sure if I expected them to obey, but they did.
Chapter 24
RETURN TO THE GLOAMING
“Nothing makes a prince
so much esteemed as to
carry on great enterprises and
to give rare examples of himself.”
My father had taught me that there was no virtue in a man doing what he wants to do, but only in doing what he should. As usual, Father Yates had intensified that simple moral. He believed that doing what one should did not mean anything unless it was done for the light and for the love of fellow man.
As I was lowered down the pipe toward the Gloaming, I could not think of a greater form of love than returning to this pit of despair. Yates was the only one, other than Ravien, who had not tried to convince me that this was a terrible idea. Whatever the others said, I knew this had to be done. For Tryst, and for me.
Besides, this time was different. I was not being dropped out of a cage, already in a state of decay. I was healed, fed, armed, and with backup ready to follow me. After much negotiating, Wren and Jon had consented to wait two days before they came with others to find me, but only after I agreed to let them be stationed in the box hanging above the Gloaming. It would be enough time. Tryst had already been down there a week.
The lights above began to dim and then darkened completely. I could see nothing in the pipe, and I felt the cool underground air closing around me.
Breathing deliberately, I fought the urge to panic. This time was different, I repeated in my mind. I was not a conquered man. I was the conqueror, coming to declare my victory over this place. I kept telling myself that while I broke out into a cold sweat.
After a long slide I landed in the box. The metal under my feet was smooth and thin, ready to give way. The smell was debilitating.
I tried not to think about the piles of men and trash that had sat in this very spot, ready to fall and die. The prison guards had assured me that they had sent men and food scraps down just hours ago. No one experienced in the Gloaming would expect another dropping this soon. And, if all went according to plan, I would be the last person to make this journey.
I began flexing my legs, practicing the landing. All I had to do was land on my feet and run. I thought I could track down Tryst in a few hours.
My confidence felt surreal, but I held fast to it. I had survived here before. I had to do it again, and better.
I had to find Tryst, convince him to see the light, and get out in one piece. The difference this time was my shift in focus. Survival was not the goal; it was simply a necessary step.
Standing straight, steeling myself with another deep breath—and nearly gagging on the air—I yanked hard on the rope three times. A moment later, the floor fell open.
The ground rushed up to meet me. I was shocked to see it cleared. The pile of bones was gone, and men encircled the landing area. I rolled as my feet hit the hard surface, softening the force of the fall. My eyes adjusted to the dimness, and shouts filled the air around me.
There were six men, each armed and rigid, glaring at me.
“Down on your face!” one of them yelled. “Hands out! Down now!” They stepped closer to me.
“Who are you?” I asked, but they paid no attention.
They continued shouting commands. It seemed there would be no talking my way out.
I drew my sword, Zarathus, and they went quiet. I charged the man in front of me, who dove out of the way and opened a path out of the square.
My legs pounded hard, each muscle tensing as I ran at a full sprint. I heard men chasing close behind me.
A huge guard blocked my way out of the square. He held up a blunt club and braced for my impact. I reached his swinging range running at full speed. Just as he pulled his club back, I sprang up high to his right and stabbed my blade straight down through his shoulder. I landed behind him and did not turn back.
The streets were empty as I remembered them, and I sprinted on without hesitation. After several quick turns, I found the nearly pitch-black alley I was looking for. No noises followed, and I ducked into an open door.
This had been my home once before. The two-story building was suited for hiding, because it had only the one door on the alley, and a tight staircase led to the small room upstairs. It would be hard for anyone to stumble into this place. If they did, I would hear them before they made it to the second floor. My quick survey revealed that I had the building to myself.
I leaned against the sole window in the upstairs room. It was almost my height, with no glass, open to the air and fifteen feet above the ground. The smooth stone around its edges was cool to the touch.
The Gloaming had the same eerie quiet. In the silence, my heart relaxed its pounding, and my thoughts turned to those men in the square. They had the same viciousness I remembered, b
ut not the same desperation. They looked beaten down as before, but their movements were ordered. They could not have attacked me like that unless they were united somehow.
At first I rejected the idea. It was impossible. I had lived in this place. I had weathered months that felt like eternity here. There were too many bodies, not enough food. Most men were murderers and thieves. Groups never held together. It was every man for himself. Anyone who tried to impose order was conspired against. The Gloaming turned men into animals. It would take a devastating tyranny to hold any sort of social fabric together in this dark city.
Tryst, if anyone, could rule like that. He had to be behind this order. Maybe he had extracted oaths from men he could have killed, and then armed them as their small group grew in power. If so, it was an impressive yet tragic accomplishment. Brutal force could bind a small group only for a short time.
My rival had always harbored a devastating power inside him. He softened its edges as much as was necessary for him to rule in Valemidas, but a will to control had been in his nature since childhood. He created the rules, and if someone broke them, he would mete out punishment. He was never able to tolerate disobedience. He used to be harder on himself than he was on others. It seemed that had changed as he gained power.
I considered escaping now, if I even could. Why try to save the man? He had proven himself a threat to freedom. If his tyranny worked here, why not let it? Why subject the world above to the risk of him returning? How could he do here what I had failed to do?
A familiar voice spoke in my mind. Do not go if you are trying to set yourself above him. If you still have pride, you will fail. You have faced your punishment and been redeemed. You know now that you need the light. You have to show Tryst that. If he sees and accepts your change, bring him back. It is his choice, and he knows the stakes. If he does not see the light, he cannot rise again. I could almost hear Father Yates’ words.
Tryst was a challenger, a traitor, but he had once been like a brother—a strong and occasionally demented brother. I would face him again and give him a chance of redemption. Maybe I could persuade him, if I could restrain him from killing me, and me from killing him, in the process.
At the very least, he would hear my invitation to leave this place on my terms. I had been given Lucian, who showed me there was something greater at work and inspired my escape. I would do the same for Tryst.
I leapt from the window to the empty street below. I began walking toward the heart of the Gloaming. Tryst would have selected a place near there to set up his rule. He was probably in the tallest building. He would want to look down on his surroundings.
As I drew closer, two men began to walk together at a distance behind me. They were silent, and obviously following me. The opening to the square came into view, guarded as before. Sensing the trap, I turned and faced the followers.
“Where is Tryst?” I demanded.
They stopped, unable to hide. I drew Zarathus and walked towards them. They stood their ground, cowering like mice facing a lion.
Anger surged as I thought about the terrible things I had faced in this place. I had been forced to endure solitude among decaying men for months. And now these pathetic men were standing in a clump, unable to fend for themselves to save their lives. They would not have made it out of the heart of the Gloaming, not when I was here.
“He’s been looking for you.” A ragged whisper came from beside me.
Turning, I saw the familiar shaved head and glaring eyes of Granville. He looked more beaten down than I had ever seen him. His blacksmith muscles had thinned to nothing, suggesting he had not eaten in many days.
“I feared that I would see you here,” I said. “What happened?” A glance back confirmed that the other men were keeping their distance as Granville crept closer to me. I held my blade at the ready.
“After that fight up in Icaria,” he began, “I joined the march back to Valemidas. Many soldiers began to declare support for you. I helped spread the news, having been a witness to your return. Tryst must have learned of it, because as soon as we reached Valemidas, he had me thrown into the dungeon in chains. A dark little man named Ramzi put me to the question.”
The large blacksmith shivered. “He tortured me, over and over. The pain—well—it still hurts.” He bit his lip and looked down at his feet. “It probably always will. But still, I told him more than I should have—and, um, some of it was about you.”
“It is okay, Granville.” I clasped his shoulder. “We will get you out of here.” The man’s cowed look was a poor fit on his stern face and frame. It was like Ramzi had bottled up fear and forced the man to drink it.
“Have you seen Tryst?” I asked gently.
“No, I would not dare let him catch me. He has set himself up like a king of the underworld. He’s a terror around here. Everyone is afraid. We call him the prince of death.” He wore a plea on his face. “He must know that you’re here by now, my prince. He’ll hurt you, and the world needs you up there. You’ve got to get out and take me with you. Please.”
“I will not leave here without you,” I said, “but I have to see Tryst first.”
Granville glanced down, then back up at me. “You’re wearing the armor I made.” A smile touched his face for the first time. “The light leather suit, without a helm.”
I nodded. “This armor is a masterful piece of work, mostly because it is so hard to detect. It served me well in Icaria, and it may do so again today.” The blacksmith smiled wider, although his eyes still wore fatigue and despair. “I expect you to make more like it someday soon.”
I took a step towards the central square and pulled Granville along. “Come, show me where rumors say Tryst is. If he knows I am here, there is no use hiding or escaping. I must see him.”
As we walked to the square, still being followed, Granville quietly explained more. It was said that Tryst had forced ten men to bend the knee when he landed in the Gloaming. He had taken an iron bar from one of them, and then sent the men in groups of two to search for more weapons and compliant men.
He had waited in the central square for them to return, opening himself to anyone who would attack. Apparently some of the first ten men had never come back, either because they fled or died. But a handful did return, and they brought more men and crude arms. One of his men had returned with a rusted sword, and Tryst had struck him down and taken it on the spot. It made him practically invulnerable in one-on-one combat. He let anyone challenge his rule by fighting to the death at any time. It sounded like Tryst had finished with an armed group of about twelve, which he kept in order by killing anyone who disobeyed, and feeding those who followed them.
Granville confirmed that Tryst and his men controlled the ladder, as I had suspected, and they kept constant guard over the central square. The rest of the city remained in anarchy. Men could still make it out of the square with a crumb of food in the midst of the chaos that always follows a new falling. It seemed that even the greatest tyrant could have only limited power here, and I doubted that his rule would last long.
We approached the central square from the same street that I had escaped on. The guard I had leapt over lay in a pool of blood at the entrance. I kept Zarathus held high as I stepped into the square. Granville stopped at the entrance and pointed.
“Up there, my prince.”
Following his arm, my eyes went to the building, which stood well above the other buildings of the square. Of course Tryst would claim this tower. Its walls gaped open from years of decay.
“Thank you, Granville. You have been a great help to me, as always. Now you should hide nearby and watch the central square. When you see me there, come quickly. We will leave together.”
Emotion flooded his face, bringing back more life than I had seen in him yet. I smiled at the hope of his fire returning, clasped his arm, and turned for the tower.
Two men stood at the front door to the building. They looked more like hideous decorations than guards. Confident t
hat I was the only one with a sword, I strode through the huge doors without pause. The men did not budge to stop me.
The ground floor was as I remembered it—dark, musty, and miserably compressed under the weight of tower. Tryst had to be at the top. I walked straight to the central stairs.
The first four floors were unremarkable, except for the restraint showed by the few men whom I saw along the way. They seemed starved and feverish, like men always did in the Gloaming. Yet they held back their aggression from each other and from me. They just stared around nervously.
The whole place seemed to be teetering toward a breakdown. The unifying force was fear. When I had been in the Gloaming, there was always fear, but it was not targeted. Everyone feared death or losing the will to survive. Now, it seemed they all feared Tryst more than death.
As I climbed the stairs of the fifth floor, things became different. Three men were talking at the base of the final flight of stairs. This seemed to be Tryst’s inner sanctum of sorts. The talking ceased as I came to face them. They looked ready to attack, and to carry it off well.
The largest man stepped down from the stairs above, pulling out a pole that looked a lot like the one I had once wielded. He pointed it a few feet from my face.
“You’re Andor.” It was not a question. He had greasy close-cut hair and a face covered in scars. He looked like he had been on the losing end of a glass diving contest. His face was familiar, and it was not one easily forgotten. He was the first man I had ever sentenced to life in the dungeons, for rape and murder. I had no idea how he had come to this place.
I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off.
“Shut up, pretty boy. I don’t care what you’re going to say. The Lord wants to see you, so get on up there. This’ll probably be the end for you. Want any kind of last meal?” He burst out into crude laughter, and the other men joined in.
Light in the Gloaming (The Gloaming Book One) Page 24