Down the Dark Path (Tyrants of the Dead Book 1)

by J. Edward Neill

  “I remember your name.” Dennov dropped a blanket around Adarros’s shoulders. “If not your face. My father and I, we supped with your family, is that right?”

  “Aye,” said Adarros. “Many times.”

  “Then don’t be afraid, friend. These men are from Gryphon. This is Rellen, Emun’s son, and this is Marlos Obas, captain of House Gryphon’s guard. You’re safe here.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Adarros downed the rest of the tea and rubbed his rain-slicked brow. “Not many safe places these days.”

  “You say it’s me you seek,” said Dennov. “Why?”

  Calm in one moment, Adarros’s face turned ashen in the next. “Tis you we seek, sure enough. We’re harbingers. We’re lucky to live when so many others have fallen.”

  Rellen felt his breath catch in his throat. “What do you mean?” he asked before Dennov could say anything more. “Harbinger of what? Who’s fallen? Say it plainly.”

  Adarros looked pale as a fish. “Have mercy, milord Gryphon. Our city lies in ruin, my house in ashes. Orye is taken, the other cities too.”

  “Say again,” Marlos interrupted. “Taken by whom?”

  “Men with red and black banners,” Adarros quavered. “They came down from Minec and fell upon us. They’re invaders, milords, a whole bloody army of them. I swear I saw it with my own eyes. A terrible storm followed them. It flooded the streets, the basements, even the mines. There were so many we couldn’t hope to fight them, so we ran. The Three Lords helped us none. We’d no warning, and Ennoch sent no bannermen to defend us. I’m no coward. I would’ve fought them, but not against so many, and not beneath a storm so black and cruel. The footmen you see on the hillside are the last men of Orye. We came here to beg Tratec’s aid, and the people sent us to see Dennov. You must help us. You must call the Grae armies to save us.”

  So, Father…this is our enemy. Rellen lifted his gaze toward the grey curtain of clouds.

  Invaders.

  Red and black banners.

  These are men warned of in King Lumaur’s letter. This is what you sent me here to find.

  “Sers, there’s more,” Adarros continued. “The horsemen with me, the ten, they’re here to see you. They come from Marku, Trebidal, and Triaxe. They would speak with you, same as I. Their news is worse than mine.”

  Marlos’s mouth fell into a rigid line. “How could it possibly be worse? What’s worse than war?”

  Rellen waved Marlos off before he said too much. “Tell the rest to come up,” he ordered Bruced. “Give them bread and wine. I want to hear everything they have to say.”

  After a shout from Bruced, the mountain men clambered up the hillside and filed into the camp. Gaunt horses were tied to trees, soggy packs dropped against boulders, and weapons laid down from weak and weary grasps. The Gryphon men, tired and wet as they were, looked not nearly as grave as their guests. The camp was soon filled to its brim with Grae and Mormist men, and the hilltop thrummed with rumors of war. After all was settled and every man had a cup, Adarros and several of his companions sank to the earth in the camp’s center. They spoke, and the Gryphon company clung to their every word.

  Adarros’s was a morbid tale.

  From the tapestry of suffering and woe he wove, an image was graven into Rellen’s mind, the fearsome face of the enemy warned of in King Lumaur’s letter. Of terrible, city-smothering storms, of thousands taken as slaves, and of the gruesome southward march of the Pale Knight’s army, all was revealed. Midday came, the grey skies darkened, and still Adarros talked. He named all the lords of Orye who had been murdered, all the wives taken, and all the children put to the sword. Rellen asked questions in the beginning, but thereafter fell silent, his tongue gone still as Adarros and his comrades wept and stammered through their accounts of horror, death, and suffering.

  Adarros finished, and only one story remained.

  Last of all to rise was a tall, grim, dark-haired man, a warrior of no relation to the folk of Mormist or Grae. He had the look of a wolf in his eyes. His armor was rusted, his raiment saturated like a beast whose hide had never known aught but the rain. The man shivered with a dreadful cold, his body leaden with an illness that seemed to steal all his strength. He was hardly able to stand, but allowed none to help him. “I beg your patience, milords.” The man coughed raggedly. “I’ll try to be brief. My name is Ser Endross of Gallen Hold. Ahnwyn sent me to warn of the enemy in the south. On my way, I happened upon Adarros’s outriders. If not for them, I wouldn’t have lived.”

  “I know your lord.” Rellen’s eyes glimmered with hope. “Ahnwyn’s army is the most powerful in Graehelm.”

  Endross lowered his head. He was a big man, tall as Garrett and as wide as Marlos, but his armor seemed to weigh like stones upon his shoulders. “Truly our host was as strong as the Molesh Mountains themselves. But no longer.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Endross stared hard at him. Grizzled beard and all, he looked even more wolfish than before. “Already you know of the invaders in Minec, Orye, and Marku. You might think to move to stop them, but you should know things in the south may already be beyond hope.”

  “Tell them what you told us,” Adarros urged. “Tell them and see if they believe.”

  Endross gathered himself to his full height. He gazed not so much at Rellen, but through him. “The enemy…black-armored and hiding in the trees,” he began. “The Pale Knight’s host was waiting for us, but we knew his game. Ahnwyn meant to charge the forest’s edge, split into three, and surround them in the trees. They had no horses. It would’ve been our victory, Triaxe’s triumph. But then the horn…”

  “The horn?” Marlos questioned.

  Endross’s gaze darkened. “Yes. A horn like no other. I heard it even though I was far from the battlefront. The wind came when the enemy blew it. The clouds circled and the sky went dark. It looked like an eye watching down from another place, a lens from another realm. I saw the winds blast my brothers from their horses, the snow and ice streaking down. And then came the lightning. The strokes from the sky knew where living flesh was to be found, for it never seemed to miss. I would’ve gone back, but my orders…Ahnwyn’s last command...I could but sit atop my horse and watch as the storm slew every man I’ve ever fought beside. At the end, I rode north. I dared not look back. All of them, Ahnwyn and my brothers, were slaughtered. I’m the only survivor.”

  Endross sank to the ground, delirious with sickness. Adarros tried to revive him with food and water, and the others fell into silence. No man of Grae would openly profess to believe in sorcery, but none were so foolish as to question Endross’s words. He’s no liar, Rellen sensed. But horns and killer storms?

  How is this possible?

  He rose to his feet. He felt not nearly as young as before, but aged and gaunt like all the strangers in his camp. In the aftermath of Endross’s tale, all gazes turned to him. He went straight to Marlos. “Fetch Therian,” he said. “Give him our fastest pair of mounts.”

  Marlos whistled. An instant later, Therian sprinted into sight, blue tabard flapping like a pennant from his wiry limbs. “You’ll ride, Therian,” Rellen said to the lad. “Barrok is your goal, and if you listened, you know why. Find Lord Lothe and tell him war’s upon us. Warn them of Nentham’s treachery, and stray from any Mooreye riders you see. Don’t stop. Don’t sleep. Don’t rest. Next time we see you, we want Barrok’s army on your heels.”

  “Understand, boy?” Marlos added.

  Pride caught fire in Therian’s eyes. “Yes, milords. Rides like the wind, they say of me. I’ll fly to Barrok and back again. You’ll hardly know I’m gone.”

  The lad’s first true test, thought Rellen. I hope he’s up to it.

  Therian rolled his suit of chain mail up and over his narrow shoulders and tossed it into a pile on the sodden grass. “To ride faster,” the lad explained. “Armor slows me down.” Therian drew in a deep breath, nodded once to Marlos, once to Rellen, and once to his friends amid the company. He cl
imbed upon one of the stallions Bruced had brought, and he and his steeds dashed down the hillside and vanished in the rain.

  All gazes remained on Rellen. He looked across their faces, their eyes so hollow, and his heart felt as heavy as it had in the fields north of Mooreye. This isn’t like Ardenn, he thought. This is worse. Much worse. And they all look to me.

  A moment spent mired in his mind, and he went to them. He commanded campfires relit, tents raised anew, and riders sent down to Tratec to gather food. He cautioned against panic and made it known that every man in Adarros’s group was now a member of the Gryphon company. Though he thought they might not, the men moved as he willed. The hilltop was barely big enough to hold them all, but they made due, no matter the rain, no matter their misery. In less than an hour, they were at peace, and every one of them had a full belly and a place to sleep.

  The rain tapered off. The sun peeked through the clouds long enough to illuminate the ring of boulders like a halo on the hilltop. Somewhat less morose than before, the hosts of Grae and Mormist supped together, sharing venison, onions, leeks, and watered mead as they rumored of the war. Rellen left them to Marlos’s care. On the south face of the hill, half-hidden behind a boulder, he convened in the shadows with Garrett, who looked as though nothing in the world were wrong.

  “This is a far cry from a few raiding Yrul,” he said in hushed tones. “If what the knight says is true, a war’s begun.”

  “Do not shy from it,” Garrett said it as though it were an easy thing. “These people need you. Make your plan. Stand before them with a clear mind. Get them back on their feet and fighting.”

  “A plan…” He exhaled the word as though it were a mountain. “Nentham a traitor, Ahnwyn’s army destroyed by a second winter, Barrok still at home, and Father too far away for counsel. What about you? Any ideas bubbling to the surface in that wonderfully dark mind of yours?”

  “I make no plans for other men,” Garrett said. “You know who I am, what I am good for.”

  “Right,” he sighed. “So it all falls to me, same as always. Just as well. Who else to light a fire under Mormist’s backside than me? So then, the plan. Let me think. For starters, there’s Barrok. Lord Lothe has many tens of thousands, and though he rides with fewer horsemen than Triaxe, he’s got more soldiers than ever Ahnwyn did.”

  “And all of them yours to command, if Jacob and your father spoke rightly,” Garrett added.

  “Right. Mine to command. As if Lothe would allow it.” He made a face. “And then there’s Tratec. We have plenty of men right here. We have miners, hunters, and a few Garrett-like folk. Once Adarros’s tale sets them to burning, I imagine plenty will want to fight.”

  “Two armies already.” Garrett grinned.

  “And I have you,” Rellen reminded himself. “So now I have three armies.”

  “Men’s hope might rise behind three armies,” said Garrett. “And maybe that is all you need. Go to the men. Stand before the fire, sword and all, and start the stone rolling.”

  His heart jumped in his chest. “Right now?”

  “Or tomorrow.” Garrett shrugged. “Or a week from now. Whenever suits you.”

  Rellen smiled grimly. “No, I see your meaning. Sooner is better.”

  The day was dying. Dusk crawled over the forest, ragged clouds stretching into the night to cast the hilltop into darkness. As the sun unhappily set and two crackling campfires burned in the camp’s center, Rellen went to the men. He hoisted one foot on a rain-slicked rock and cleared his throat for all to hear. He felt alone here, surrounded by so many. Andelusia was hidden inside her tent, while Garrett, Marlos, and Bruced were out amongst the crowd, not at his side as he would have liked.

  “Friends, we’ve work to do,” he began, his confidence hardly what it should have been. “Mormist’s Lords have fled, Ahnwyn is slain, and the war my father feared is upon us. Seems there’s an enemy out there in need of a good thrashing, and who better to give it to them than us? I see your faces. You think you’re alone, or that this isn’t your fight. Wrong on both counts. Barrok will soon arrive to help us, and the hearts of Tratec will catch fire when they find out what the invaders did. We’ll have plenty of swords, likely many more than our enemy expects. So if you think this isn’t your war or that running might bargain you a longer, happier life, consider this; no place is safe. To the east and south, the invader awaits, and to the west lurks Nentham Thure. Better to stay here and fight with me than to go at it alone.

  “So…” He set his gaze like a lance upon them. “…will you take up swords with me? Will you fight or will you let Mormist be turned to ash? The invader destroyed Davin Kal and made quick work of Ahnwyn. There’s no choice but one. We make our army, and we kill them all.”

  He backed away from the heart of the camp. He saw the mountain men searching each other’s faces, hoping to find flickers of faith amongst their brothers. But their fears are powerful, he worried. They ask themselves; why should they follow some boy from Gryphon?

  Dead silence reigned, the wind dying. He saw the fires in the men’s hearts begin to die, yet just when it seemed no one would take up his call, there arose the voice of Endross.

  “I’ll fight.” The knight of Triaxe arose on wobbly legs. “Anyone who takes up arms against the storm, I’ll follow. That’s what I am, after all, a soldier. Even if none of you join me, I’ll fight.”

  Endross walked to his side, his footsteps fragile, but his gaze dark and fearsome. Soon after, pride swelled in every man’s chest. Adarros and Dennov stood, followed by a half-dozen others.

  “I’ll fight also.” Adarros bowed to him as though before a king. “Better to die with you than out there all alone.”

  “What kind of cowards would we be if we fled?” said Dennov. “No. I’ll carry a sword, same as Adarros, same as Ser Endross.”

  Night claimed the world. Droplets of starlight peered through the gaps in the cloud mantle, the cold rays from mother moon piercing the sky. The men arose one by one. Standing tall on the silver-lit grass, the ranks of Mormist and Grae came before Rellen and pledged their swords to the defeat of the invader. He was stunned to see it. He presided as the two hosts joined, becoming a single brotherhood-in-arms, and though he expected doubters to arise, none ever did. Each of the men introduced himself, and with the utterance of each name, cheers erupted. Invigorated, the host gathered around the campfires and stoked the flames to thrice their original size. They drank deeply from their cups, and for a while cast aside the terrible fear of the enemy horde.

  After a long night of drinking more than was wise, cursing the faceless enemy, and holding grim council, the mood atop the hill settled into a comfortable quiet. To spread the news, Rellen sent riders under cover of darkness into Velum and toward the Dales. The rest of the men remained. After all was said and done, the members of the newly-made company crawled into their tents and onto their bedrolls. The fires died down, the moon fled below the treetops, and for at least one final night the souls of Mormist and Grae knew peace.

  He returned to his tent, alone on the south face of the hill. In the darkness, the blue canvas looked black, the shadows pooling around it like water. Andelusia was still awake. He found her standing in a patch of grass, neck arched to the sky, her green dress strikingly black against her starlit skin.

  “Ande,” he said her name and felt his tensions pouring out.

  “Rellen.” She floated to him. “Is it done?”

  “For now.”

  “I thought last night was to be the end,” she said worriedly.

  He managed a smile. “I dreaded going to Minec. Not for fear of death, but for losing you.”

  “Will you sit with me?” She spread her skirts and plunked down.

  Forever, if you asked, he thought.

  In a puddle of moonlight, he dropped down beside her. She cuddled close, resting her head atop his thighs. He played his fingers through her scarlet locks, and her smooth strands felt like silk between his fingers, her skin the scent o
f flowers and fresh rain. “I wish we were somewhere else,” he sighed. “Anywhere but here.”

  “I know.”

  “Would you go with me? Would you run away and never look back?”

  “I would.”

  He curled a crimson lock around his fingers and breathed its fragrance in. “Last night, I thanked Garrett for bringing you here. He won’t admit it, but I think he worries he did wrong. I told him I might go mad without you. If he were capable, he might’ve smiled.”

  She took his palm and played her fingertips upon it. Her touch was his elixir, each stroke loosening his muscles. Were he anywhere else but on the dewy grass, he might have laid his head down and plunged into sleep. “We have the beginnings of a plan.” He shut his eyes against the starlight. “With Tratec’s blessing, we’ll occupy Verod. I won’t lie and say we’ll be comfortable there. We’ll probably sleep on cold stones in dusty rooms. But we’ll be together.”

  “Where we sleep does not matter,” she said softly. “What matters is that we live. Do you have a plan for the invaders? Do you know what they want?”

  “We know little,” he said glumly. “Storms, black swords, and slave-takers, they say. Dark, hulking men with armor like black mirrors. Sounds bleak. Verod’ll be hard pressed to defend itself if half of what Adarros’ men say is true. Even if Barrok should come tomorrow, can we hold out against a siege? I have no real answers. Mind you, I haven’t said any of this to any of the men. Garrett says half-truths are better in the beginning, that soldiers who know too much make better deserters than heroes.”

  “If you only know pieces of the truth, why tell them anything?” She clasped his fingers inside her tiny hands.

  “Because it falls to me. If I say nothing, the men will think me afraid. But if I spread doom like manure across their hopes, Garrett and I might be the only ones left. I have to spread the truth carefully. A little here, a little there. Hopefully more riders will come down the Crossroad, men with information. Better still, maybe the enemy will hear of us and think better than to come closer.”