A Dark Tyranny
Page 1
A
Dark
Tyranny
A
Dark
Tyranny
~ Book One ~
Of Darkness & the Light
C. M. Pendleton
© 2014 by C. M. Pendleton.
Copyright protected by the Copyright Office of the United States of America - TXu 1-911-550.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means---electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other---except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
For my family
~ CONTENTS ~
Prologue: The Child Monger
Chapter 1: The Cold Red
Chapter 2: The Shoreline
Chapter 3: Illusions
Chapter 4: The Coming Storm
Chapter 5: Out of the Shadows
Chapter 6: Of Monsters and Curses
Chapter 7: Servant to Slave
Chapter 8: A Messenger in the Night
Chapter 9: A Nighteye No More
Chapter 10: The Long Road
Chapter 11: Slavers
Chapter 12: The Meeting at Kor
Chapter 13: The King’s Devil
Chapter 14: An Encounter Along the Road
Chapter 15: The Greenling Woods
Chapter 16: A Council of Brothers
Chapter 17: An Ancient Ally
Chapter 18: A Struggling Village
Chapter 19: The Beginning of Isolation
Chapter 20: A Difficult Decision
Chapter 21: A Visitor in the Night
Chapter 22: Night at Lake Lune
Chapter 23: Let One Live to Kill Them All
Chapter 24: The Face of the North
Chapter 25: The Gorgon Caravan
Chapter 26: A Midnight Meeting
Chapter 27: The Land of Karth
Chapter 28: The Realm of the North
Chapter 29: The Acolytes
Chapter 30: The White Ruins
Chapter 31: An Entrance at Dawn
Chapter 32: The Battle of the White Ruins
Chapter 33: Dark Tyranny
Chapter 34: A Dark Council
Chapter 35: Fury
Chapter 36: The War Begins
Epilogue: The Lisbeth
Appendix I: List of Names
Appendix II: Map of Altaris
About the Author
Prologue
The Child Monger
The hooves of the horses beat against the dry ground leaving a stagnant cloud of dust in their wake. The riders were five strong, clad in tarnished bronze mail; their spears upright in hand. They forced those spilling from the markets and taverns to clear the road or be run down. The lead rider wore the mark of the Noble. To the townsfolk, he was the child monger, the baby stealer; some simply referred to him as the monster.
Wyndale was the smallest village in the Western Realm. It was surrounded by deep forests on all sides. It was said that there were more thieves in the forest than trees. The straw shacks in the village were pushed together so close that there were no secrets amongst those with ears. It was not long before the whispers of the Noble’s arrival in the village that mothers began to call to their children and lock them indoors. It was a futile attempt at safety, but an attempt none the less.
His mother and father frantically ran through the hut pulling what belongings they could grasp into a woven sack. The child monger was coming. It was all they could think of.
“We’ll not make it. They’ll see us,” tears were beginning to run down her cheeks.
“We have to try, Mary,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I don’t understand. It’s too soon. He’s not even a year yet.”
“We should have left sooner … at half year’s end. He's going to take him,” those words opened her eyes to a waterfall of tears. She could no longer stay brave. She knew it was over. “He will take our child, Henri. We have lost him …”
His father picked up the trunk in both hands. The woven branches cut through his hands. It was too heavy. He stopped for a brief moment.
Think, Henri. You need to calm your senses.
“I hear them. The horses …,” she picked up the child and held him tight. His breath was warm against her neck. He was so small and fragile, a babe yet. Soldiers on horseback carrying away her child, it was too much. He was too innocent.
“I need to think,” said Henri.
“They’re coming,” replied Mary.
“My father’s coin,” said Henri.
“What?” asked Mary.
“They may take the child … but the man we will know.”
Henri threw the trunk on the dusty floor scattering its contents until he found the leather pouch.
This is all I can do. Deal in truths now.
“My child,” she understood. She rummaged through her cupboard until she found them. Elder sap, thin leaf, root burn, and some plush mynt for the pain.
Forgive me.
The father took the child and laid him upon the table. He revealed the coin from the pouch. It was tarnished gold in color with the insignia of the First Kingdom, a broadsword encased in the sun.
“This coin is from my father and his father before him. It was found off the Black Coast in the gullet of a sandfish. They're bottom dwellers; he must have swallowed it before my grandfather fished him to the surface,” he spoke to the child as much to himself.
“I hear them,” she handed him a bowl with ingredients mixed to a thick paste. The smell burned the eyes. The child began to cry.
“This coin is of the First Kingdom. If any other has one in all the realms, I have not heard of it. I had hoped to bestow it to you later in life,” he carefully held the coin with the tips of his fingers; a cloth between skin and coin. He put the coin in the dark paste.
“I could have tried to sell this relic. They would have simply taken it, as they now come to take you. Instead, we keep it. Evidence of a history once great. A time we've strayed from.”
He opened the child’s robes and gently placed the coin upon his chest. The babe cried and his mother cried with him.
“This mark will stay with you. It will be a mark to know you by when you return; a symbol to keep you steadfast in your years,” his father could no longer hold his tears at bay.
“They are here,” she said. He removed the coin. Before replacing the child’s robes, the mother sprinkled plush mynt on the image of the coin that now marked her son.
“We will leave soon. We should be gone before they return to the hold. They will see the mark and come back for it,” he began to pack the trunk again. “We will return when our age hides our image. They will be done with him by then … and long forgotten about us.”
There was a thud at the door.
“Open!” bellowed one of the soldiers.
Henri opened the door while his wife held the babe one last time. She breathed deeply to remember his scent. She felt his hair upon her cheek. Her lips kissed the soft rolls of his neck. A tear rolled from her eye and onto his head.
I love you. I will never forget you.
“I am here by the divine rights of King Uthan of the Western Realm. The King lays claim to harvest all boys born during his own season of birth,” the words dryly rolled off the Noble’s tongue; a speech said too many times. His thin nose would have slanted to a sharp point but it had been broken causing a notch to rise from
the soft bone. It gave his voice a nasal hiss. Sweat dripped down his head causing his thin black hair to spread and lay limp over his scalp. It was hot out and the child monger had grown tired of herding the little runts to the keep.
“Please. Our first child died in the belly,” Henri pleaded, knowing it would lead to nothing.
“Well then, you should have thought of that before you put your cock in her,” disinterest dripped from his voice. “If you must blame, then hold yourself into account. The king’s season of birth has not changed since the day he was born. I have other rats to gather. Give him to the guards or give yourself to their sword.”
The mother cried while gently whispering in her son’s ear. The child touched her face with his soft hands. She brought the boy to the smallest of the guards. She told herself all the lies that would make it easier. The guard would see the innocence in her son and see to him while he grew. He would keep him from harm. He took the child but not once looked at him.
“The king has this child by divine rights. He will be returned to you in death or after he is of no more service to the realm … whichever is first.”
Chapter 1
The Cold Red
Snow drifted down around the horse and rider. The forest itself was deep in slumber; it was frozen under a blanket of ice and snow. The barren trees pointed to the cloudy heavens. Their foliage was long since dead. The horse slowly crunched through snow with each step, packing more ice to the earth. The rider was bundled in a patchwork of bear furs. A coarse yellow beard grew about the rider’s face. His thick hair drifted out of his hood. It blew like the tip of a flag in the wind. It was longer than his chin but did not reach his shoulders. The horse was easily fifteen hands, but the rider’s bulky frame kept the steed from dwarfing him. Albeit, the rider and his steed were like insects when compared to the thick trees of the forest. The trunks of the Wielder trees alone were as thick as a house or tavern.
Had it not been for the breath of the horses and their riders, he would not have seen them in the distance. He knew that running in this cold was not an option. It would kill his horse and get him no further from them. His black mare had been good to him. He would not freeze its lungs for what could not be avoided. Instead, he kept moving forward towards them. The riders brought their horses to a trot. There were four of them. They wore fur cloaks but he could see the glint of steel under them.
They have not been in these woods long. They are kingsmen or hunting a bounty … perhaps both.
The forest still slept as the riders drew close. The snow continued to console the wind.
“You there,” the second rider called. A sheathed long sword was attached to his saddle. “Speak your name.”
“I am drifting snow …”
“Your head can drift from your shoulders. We’ll take it to the next village, maybe someone will recognize you. Although, you could just tell us,” said the bald rider atop a pale grey horse. His face was dusted with dirt and snow; his blackish teeth were scattered within his mouth.
“Come now, let’s not play this game,” said the center rider. He pulled back the hood of his cloak. His face was thin and chiseled. A scar led from the top of his scalp and, erratically, flowed down his face to rest under his chin. The crystal blue of his eyes had the look of violence. “We know it’s you, Matthias.”
“Denthas. They have you tracking me in this frozen hell?” said Matthias.
“Orders … orders lined with gold, but orders still.”
“Soldiers collecting bounties … is this the way of it then?”
“Some things have changed since you left, my friend.”
“Let’s just take him and be on with it,” crowed the bald rider. He removed the axe strapped to his back. Matthias saw that he had deep scars along his neck.
“Easy, Jarren,” warned Denthas. “This is no common brigand.”
“You should just let me through, Denthas,” said Matthias. “This will only end in blood. We’ve shed enough.”
“You shed your own blood a long time ago,” replied Denthas.
“You’d have done the same.”
“A whore and her runt mean nothing to me,” said Denthas. “Worth all this, are they?” asked Denthas, as he looked around. “The running … the killing. Yes, we’ve seen your wake of bodies.”
“Bounty hunters and brigands alike. Their blood is on the realm’s hands, not mine. Your man there has marks of a rapist along his neck. Is this the type you now keep among the ranks?”
“I’m not bothered by blood, Matthias … or stolen cunt. I do, however, care about gold,” Denthas motioned with his hand.
One of the riders let loose an arrow. It thudded into the throat of Matthias' horse. The great beast reared back throwing him off. Another arrow pierced its fleshy stomach. It let out a guttural cry as it fell on its side. Matthias pulled a sword from his saddle. The dying horse shook with fear; its blood warming the air around it in a bellow of soft steam. Matthias pulled another sword that was sheathed on his back. He let his bulky cloak fall to the snowy earth.
I am tired. Wasn’t paying attention to the other riders. It was a green mistake.
Another arrow let loose. He could feel it fly past his head.
The trees. Make them come around to fight on my terms.
Matthias ran to one of the large Wielder trees.
The other riders moved in. Their horses fought through the snow at a forced run. Jarren was the first to round the large tree. His horse clumsily pushed through the frozen terrain. He heard the panic of his horse as Matthias’s blade cut through its neck. It didn’t rear; it just seemed to fall, almost lifelessly to the snow. Jarren fell with his horse. He heard one of his legs snap from the weight of the dead beast. Matthias was upon him before he could even make sense of the pain in his leg. In one motion, Matthias put his sword through the top of Jarren’s chest plate and into his heart. The other two soldiers rounded the tree with swords in hand. Matthias swung his sword as he turned to them. He was able to deflect one blow from taking his head. Instead, he felt the blade bite deep into his shoulder. His blood was warm. He could feel his woolen tunic and leather cuirass grow damp. The other rider’s swing was off. His horse was unsteady in the snow. Matthias simply backed away from the blow. He swung one blade at the horse’s hind leg. It fell with a shriek. The other blade hit the soldier in the back of the neck; he fell with his crippled horse. He let out a gasp of pain as he laid twisted upon the snow. His horse tried to stand back up, but fell again. Matthias followed through with another strike to the soldier’s neck.
The other rider turned his horse for another run at Matthias. Matthias raised both swords, bracing himself for the attack. The soldier rode at him. His swing was steady and placed. It sliced through the falling snow. Matthias crossed his blades to deflect the blow. Steel rang out casting bits of spark and metal. Matthias turned as the horse passed him. Suddenly, he felt his body lurch forward.
Denthas … another green mistake.
He felt the arrow pound into his back. It sent a searing pain down his right arm and leg. He lost feeling in his arm; it was numb. His sword grew heavy.
Concentrate. Strike with my left and throw with my right. Move from Denthas.
He felt another arrow catch the side of his right leg. It buried deep into the muscles of his thigh.
I need to take this rider down. Move from sight.
The rider was on him. Matthias fell to one knee feeling the soldier’s swing barely miss his head. Matthias sent his sword into the belly of the horse. It reared and fell. He swung his blade again before the horse hit the ground. He cut through helm and cloak, as his sword bit hard into the falling soldier’s head. A third arrow grazed Matthias’s neck sending him falling sideways to the ground. Pools of crimson blood were scattered throughout the snow.
Matthias stumbled back to his feet. He heard Denthas’ horse moving towards him. It was a fast walk. He had underestimated him.
I should have killed him first.
I should let him kill me. I will die quick now or slow after.
The thought of slowly freezing to death did not welcome him. Denthas was at him now with an arrow notched.
“Drop your sword, Matthias,” ordered Denthas. “Your day is here. Embrace it.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Matthias dropped to one knee. His leg began to give. His mouth had the taste of metal and blood. “Yet, I don’t think I will let go so easy today.”
Matthias tried to stand, but his leg would not have it. He fell to the ground snapping the arrow lodged in his back. The snow fell slowly down around him; he looked skyward. He thought of Mara and Wylin.
I will see you shortly, my loves.
He was tired. This is when he first caught a glimpse of it, soaring down like a sword of light from the heavens.
Denthas pulled back on his bow.
“Don’t move. I need your head recognizable for the bounty.”
The heat started to rise around Denthas before he could aim his shot. He looked up in shock. His horse reared, throwing him to the ground. He felt his arrow sink into his knee. Denthas looked to the sky in terror. The beast cast a piercing cry that cut through the silence of the forest. It was the size of three warhorses. Its thick wings pushed it through the cold air. They made a sound like a ship’s sails filling with wind with each stroke. It almost appeared as a winged lion. However, it was made up of fire; a pure radiating heat that seared throughout its form. Burning feathers with a whitish blue hue coated the beast like coals in a fire. It was made of raw heat and flame. The great beast arched its back and threw its hind legs forward. A searing white heat radiated from its talons. Denthas scrambled to notch another arrow as he staggered to his feet. He turned his bow to it, but the shot was too hastened. The arrow flew to the sky far from its target. He dropped his bow to run. Denthas felt his knee lock. The arrow had pierced the top of the knee and protruded out the bottom. He fell to the earth biting his lip. It was too late. A white searing light was all around him. His eyes burned. The snow began to melt. The burning light around him suddenly turned to darkness. He never saw the claws of the beast or felt them slice through him like warm butter. In an instant, the life in his eyes became clouded with death. Denthas was no more, only pieces of him lay lifeless in the snow.