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

by J. Edward Neill

  He looked across the chamber, expecting to see Dank lurking somewhere in the shadows, but he saw only Sara Gryphon, who drifted to his side across the carpet of furs. He could barely make out her face in the dark, but he knew it was her.

  “Mother…” he said to her.

  “Son.”

  “I’m back, at least for one more night. I know about Father.”

  Sara drifted closer. He saw her pain, her long lashes damp with tears not yet fallen. “I’ve waited for this moment,” she whispered. “I thought it would be him standing where you are. I thought it would be we who grieved for you. I’m so sorry, Rellen. I should’ve been the one to welcome you home, but I’m weak.”

  Two tears welled and slid down her cheeks. She clasped him in her arms, holding him so closely he felt the warm wetness of her face on his shoulder. “I know what you’re going to say,” she wept. “I can see it in you already. You’re leaving again, even though you’ve only just come home.”

  He hugged his mother hard. She felt thinner than before, meek as a sapling that might not make it through the winter. “I have to find Father.” His voice sounded harsh in his ears. “The enemy’s coming. Everyone else is dead.”

  She dried her tears, patting her cheeks with her gossamer sleeve. “I know. The city is so quiet, so cold, Rellen. It feels like death when you and Emun are gone. Even now you seem just a spirit, passing through on your way back to war.”

  She breaks my heart. This is the true cost of war.

  “Mother…” His voice cracked. “We’re not gone forever, only for a while. We’ll return, I swear it. Everything will be as before. I didn’t come here to make you cry.”

  A last moment of grief, and Sara shivered away her weakness. “Rellen, you’re the keeper of Gryphon now,” she said sternly. “The future of our house is yours to decide. I love your father; you know that. But it’s you who will decide our fate. I know what must happen. I’m not so old that my mind has crumbled like. I beg you this. If you must return to war, if you must fight, then do it well. Do it as a Gryphon man would, as your father would demand. Come back to me only when you’ve won. Lay our enemies into their coffins without mercy for their damnable lives.”

  Her strength, so suddenly formidable, rattled him. “I’ll try.” His voice wavered.

  “No.” She grasped him by the collar and shook him. “You’ll do no such thing. For love of home and family you’ll do more than try. You’ll prevail. You’ve no choice. I know these Furies. I read Lumaur’s letter, and I know what others have told me. You must break them. Wound them such that no soul will ever think to assail Graehelm again.”

  “Yes.” He swallowed hard. “I will.”

  “I know you will.” She released him and took two steps away, as though afraid to touch him any longer.

  But there’s more, and not to do with our enemies, he thought, backing away.

  “Mother, I didn’t expect this stranger of yours. You know who I mean: the house warlock, the one you and father kept from me. I met him here in your room. He knew I was coming. When I talked to him, he said strange things. He talked of musty old wars that have nothing to do with the here and now. I worry for the household. What if he spreads his lies to every ear? We can’t afford distractions.”

  Sara’s breath fled her lips. “Dank, lord of the cellars, the moth in Gryphon’s closets,” she uttered. “He was Father’s secret, not mine. But now I know him. Before Emun left with Jacob, he told me all there is to know. Dank’s a loyal man, Rellen. He would serve you and me the same as all of Gryphon. Father recounted all his tales to me. I know about the wars, the relics, and the horrors of yesteryear, though I can’tt tell you what to make of it. What matters is that your father believes him honest.”

  He braced his body against a pillar and wiped a few straws of hair from his forehead. “I hoped you’d say he was a liar, and that I’d not have to give him another thought.”

  “I wish I had the answer. If he distracts you, send him away. All his stories, all his talk of magic…only you know what you have to do.”

  A moment of brooding, and his mind was made. She’s right. Dank’s not the master of me. The war is what matters. Only Father and Jacob can save us, not some musty old man from the basements.

  “I’ve decided,” he said. “I’ll go to Mooreye and free the lords of Graehelm. I’ll save Father. The Furies will see what they’ve roused.”

  Another tear trickled down Sara’s cheek. She took a step back into the darkness, hiding herself from the light. Her fears were obvious, though she said nothing.

  She thinks Nentham will slay me, he thought. And he might. She thinks me rash. And I am.

  “This isn’t the return I expected,” he said. “It’s so brief, after so long a journey.”

  Sara conjured a sad smile. She floated back to him and took his hands into her own. “My sweet, sweet Rellen.” She smiled like the sun upon him. “I wish I were a soldier, that I might leave these halls to fight beside you. I hope a mother’s love is enough to protect you, for it’s all I have. I can’t tell you what to do or how to do it, and I can’t bear you to leave, but I know you can’t stay. Now, I beg you. Say no more of your father. Worry no more of Dank. Just go. Don’t stop until it’s finished. Come back to me when the Furies are destroyed. Please…”

  Stealing her hands away, she shrank into the shadows until he could only see her eyes. Nothing more to say, he understood. The longer I remain, the more I destroy her.

  Silent and sullen, he backed out of the room, not tearing his gaze away from her until the door was shut.

  Desolate, he descended to the hall and made for the stairway to his tower. Summer no longer held sway in Gryphon Keep, for the halls were lightless and cold, seeming grim as the dungeons beneath Verod. He crossed through the shadows unnoticed by all except Helena, who gave him her most timid smile. He smiled back, and then took to the stairs like lightning. Once inside his room, he locked the door fast behind him. The moonlight slinked through his shutters like pale daggers, painting lines like Fury blades across his barren floor.

  He trudged toward his bed, but it was then he saw a shape that startled him. A shadow stirred in the stillness, devouring all the light. Dank, he assumed. “You again,” he growled. “Always skulking, always sneaking. This is my room. Get out.”

  The figure stepped into the moonlight. It was not Dank, but someone much taller, much darker. “If anyone is sneaking, it is you,” Garrett remarked. “Few in the city even know you are here, and now you are leaving again.”

  Anyone else, I’d throw from the window, he thought as he brushed past Garrett and went to his bed, where his things were heaped. He tugged at the pile, drawing out a shirt, a satchel, and a pair of heavy boots. “We’ve no time. The hours move too fast. Every moment we wait puts Father closer to death.”

  Garrett remained in the moonlight. “Your mind is made, I see.”

  “What choice do I have?” He rummaged, finding his belt and a needle-sharp dagger.

  “None. We both know your father is in Mooreye. When you are there, do not let urgency be your unmaking. Think on your every step, on your every sound. Done right, your sword need never be unsheathed.”

  Rellen fastened his sword belt to his waist, giving Garrett the wryest of grins. “Why worry? You’ll be there with me. Perhaps we’ll storm the gates, just you and I, and hang Nentham from his own rafters.”

  “It would be so, were I going with you.”

  A sudden, deep quiet took hold of the room, a terrible tension tightening between two friends. Rellen’s skin bristled with a cold that was not there, his heart crashing against his ribs like so many breaking dishes. “So that’s it? In Gryphon’s darkest hour, you’d abandon us? ‘Garrett Croft serves no man,’ Father once said. I guess knew this day would come, but I didn’t think it would be now.”

  Garrett said nothing, and Rellen would not believe it. He wouldn’t leave me now. This is a rare joke at my expense. I’ll ignore it. “Come now, to
the kitchens,” he said. “We need provisions for the trip.”

  Snatching up his sword, his cloak, and his clothing-stuffed satchel, he slid out the door and stamped down the stairs. He heard Garrett following, which assured him all the more that a joke was being played. “Like before, we’ll travel by night,” he said over his shoulder. “If we leave tonight, we can make Mooreye City in but a few eves’ travel. We’ll go manor to manor if we must, putting swords to throats and such. Someone will crack and tell us where Father is.”

  Not waiting for Garrett’s answer, he opened the door to the great hall and turned hard to the left, moving like a hunted man. He soon came to the vast, circular chamber that served as the keep’s kitchen, within which was stored a wealth of foodstuffs few other houses could rival. Pausing at the entrance, he plucked a lantern from the wall and flung the door open with such force it squealed on its hinges. I’ll fill a bag with enough food for two. Then this jest will end.

  Garrett still shadowing him, he collected three loaves of bread and stuffed them into a sack. A short pause, a glance over his shoulder, and he stuffed three more therein. “For Father, Jacob, and you.” He showed Garrett. “A loaf of Helena’s bread will keep a man full for a week if rationed right.”

  Anxious that Garrett had yet to say a word, he gathered a variety of other foodstuffs: ten strips of salted pork, a small satchel of barley, and a fistful of carrots. Stuffing the sack near to bursting, he thrust the lantern into Garrett’s grasp and wandered back into the hall. “Anything you need, you should fetch now. Your sword, that black tunic of yours, maybe a spare dagger or three.”

  And still he says nothing, he thought fearfully. He’s too quiet. Something has changed. This is no jest.

  In the center of the hall, he laid his things on his father’s table. The thud echoed in the deep silence, loud as his heartbeat against his bones. “I see your mind,” he said at last. “You mean not to join me, not because you don’t want to, but because you think I need to do this alone. I always try to go alone, don’t I? It’s just like me to be rash. But you’re right, as ever. I need your help. Now go. Get your things and let’s storm Mooreye together.”

  Garrett stayed put. The solemn way he stared into the darkness told Rellen he had guessed incorrectly. What then? What’s he thinking? Why always with the silence?

  Garrett gazed past him and into the hall, where a small figure emerged, robed and silent.

  And now Dank. Just perfect. The middle of the night. What could he possibly want?

  Sliding out from obscurity, Dank swept across the hall. His sandals clicked against the floor, his jade cloak dragging. As he neared, he pulled back his hood. Rellen disliked the way the little man’s eyes shined in the dark, catching the light like two lanterns in a graveyard. “What do you want?” he asked.

  Dank seemed even more somber than Garrett. “Rellen, Garrett,” he greeted. “Seems there’re none besides us three to do the King’s work. Two tasks are at hand, both equal in importance. There must be an army, yes. But there must also be an end to that which festers in Furyon. My path is spoken for. I’ll go to Furyon. Will I go alone, or will you, Rellen, grant me a champion?”

  The echo of Dank’s voice died, leaving the hall in desolate stillness. Garrett? Go to Furyon? Nonsense. He knew then what had been decided. The truth felt so profoundly heavy that only one muffled sound escaped his lips. “Oh.”

  “I will join you, Dank.” Garrett confirmed his worst suspicion. “But only if Rellen gives his blessing.”

  He felt sick. Garrett was supposed to be his friend, the one he could count on during the direst times. Betrayed, he thought at first. Abandoned. I might’ve known. Garrett’s not a purchased man. He belongs to no one, to no house, and he owes my father nothing.

  He shivered, though there was no wind. “So this is what you meant by not going to Mooreye.”

  Garrett’s expression was grave. “If Dank is right. If we do nothing…”

  “And if he’s wrong?” He glared at Dank. “If he lies or is mistaken?”

  A long silence followed, a time between two friends when nothing was spoken but much was understood. The two stared at each other, warrior to warrior, a moment Dank dared not disrupt.

  “You believe in this?” Rellen asked.

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I have seen the storm. I have listened to Ser Endross, and I have gazed at the Furies, soulless through and through. Dank speaks no lies, only the truth undesired.”

  So sick he thought he might die of it, he gazed to the ceiling, where the moonlight poured through in long, lashing blades. “There’s no changing your mind, is there? No, I think not. You do understand I’ll still go to Mooreye, yes? Just because your sword points skyward doesn’t mean I’ll come running after you.”

  For once, Garrett looked wounded. “I understand. If there were others to go to Furyon, I would go with you instead. “

  “So you’ll follow this Dank, though you hardly know him, to wherever he takes you? To Furyon? To the end?”

  “I will. This is the only way. I would not do it otherwise.”

  His shoulders drooped. Then I’ll never see you again, he thought.

  “Good then. It’s decided,” Dank piped in, far too cheery. “Garrett, ours will be the long road. Even with you, we’ll need others. I’ve searched Gryphon, and most of the men-at-arms are gone. Are there loyal men away from here, but close enough to join us? Do you have friends the Furyons have yet to kill?”

  Rellen chanced upon an idea. It tasted ill in his mouth, but he blurted it out anyway. “Your path… will it take you near Verod?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Dank nodded.

  He clenched his eyes shut. His anger felt only barely containable. “Then you should go to the castle.” He hated himself for saying it. “If by some miracle it still stands, there are several fools who might join you. Marlos and Saul would be sorely missed, and yet...I’d rather them go with you than be slaughtered by the Fury storm. They’ll need more than a little convincing, especially Marlos, but Garrett’s known them long enough. They’re capable. You might ask them if you dare.”

  “Good.” Dank nodded again.

  Why am I helping him? This is madness. Where did you find this snake, Father? Why is he in our house?

  “You sure about this?” He looked to Garrett.

  “Not as sure as I would like to be,” said Garrett. “The odds seem against us.”

  Then don’t go, he thought. “Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t it,” he said. “I thought you and I were brothers. I thought you made an oath to Ande. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “We are still brothers,” said Garrett. “And the oath—”

  “…is broken, no matter what excuse you make. She’d slap you if she were here.”

  Rellen hung his head. His golden hair fell like rain across his eyes, though for as quickly as he slumped, he jerked his head back up and sucked in a great gust of air. No self-pity, no weakness, he told himself. If Father trusted this stranger, so be it. Garrett would likely die with me in Mooreye anyhow. If they want to run off and spear themselves on Fury pikes, let them. It doesn’t change anything.

  Garrett shattered his stream of thought. “You might take a few men with you to Mooreye, a dozen swordsmen perhaps. Easier to storm a manor with many swords instead of one.”

  “No, no others.” His mind was already decided. “No time for that. You were supposed to be my guardian, remember? No, I’ll go alone through Grandwood, using paths only I know. I’ll find a way. When you come back from your little trip, you’ll find a land free of Furies, a country free of Nentham.”

  Gulping down his dread like so many stones, he turned away from them. He wanted to slap the cleverness right out of Dank’s head and lock Garrett in the cellars so he could not leave, but did neither. Damn craven, he cursed himself. They stab you in the gut, and you can but walk away.

  He snatched up his things and slunk toward the arch
way, but took just three steps before stopping in his tracks. “Wait,” he said. “There’s one more thing.” Slowly, reluctantly, he loosed Lorsmir’s sword from his belt. The pommel felt oddly cool in his sweating grasp, the fire lost for want of battle. “Take it.” He offered it, scabbard and all, to Garrett. “Go on. It’s yours.”

  “Nay.” Garrett waved it off. “You will need it more than I.”

  “Take it,” he said firmer than before. “If I draw it, every fiend within a crow’s flight of Mooreye will see it and come running. But you’re wandering into the Furies’ nest, and in feeble company besides. You’ll need it far more than I. So take it. This is no request. Consider this a command from the Lord of Gryphon.”

  “No.” Garrett shook his head. “Your only hope of survival is in that blade.”

  It was Dank who intervened. Rellen hated that the little man was still present, and resisted the urge to haul him out the door and fling him into the moat. “Both of you, think upon this,” said Dank. “Rellen goes not to fight. He goes like a bandit, sneaking in the black into the houses of Mooreye. But Garrett and I are far more likely to see our enemies in the flesh. Rellen, you’re wise and selfless to offer this gift. I would take it were I you, Garrett. I know this sword, for I was the one to lay the flame within it. Take it. It’ll burn hotter in your grasp than in most.”

  “It is sacred to him.” Garrett gestured at Rellen. “It was a gift from his father.”

  Rellen stiffened at that. “Hardly. My friends are sacred to me, and I’ve lost enough of them already. Take it away. The damn thing pesters me, always wanting my attention. Even Ande talked about it, how it heated our tent like an oven. If this voyage is half as important as Dank says, you’ll need it.”

  Garrett took the sword, his fingers closing on the scabbard as though a king had laid it therein. Rellen felt the heat through the scabbard and was glad to be rid of it. “There.” He backed away. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? But here we are, and the night grows old. Seems I hate goodbyes as much as you do. I have to go.”