Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “The Holy Faith, that is who the stranger serves,” a fat merchant declared while patting his belly. “I have seen more of that savage land than I dare count, and seen more of the pious sheep than even my hunger can handle, heh. They look at us like we are foes. Some fool got it into his head that he would slay our sentinels in the name of Mother God!”

  The imperium’s spies had often reported that High Priestess Lutessa barely clung to power. The excommunication of former Knight-Commander Ser Elin Durand divided the Faith. Few seemed to know what had passed, but whatever the knight had done, it rattled the Faith to their core; and each arm of the Faith was perturbed with the treatment of the heretic. More than that, the stranger had not a drop of piety. Naught more than merchant banter.

  “Pirates!” a well-dressed woman proclaimed. “The islanders were unscathed when King Marcus Marcanas thought to take our land. For three years we have paid Overlord Damian Dannars tariffs on every resource that remains—little as that is. What do you think he has done with that? Watch the coasts for crimson sails, and see that I am not wrong!”

  Aleksander thought the proclamation had no credence. The islander’s boots were to the throat of the imperium and the theocracy, mastering all trade east and west. The overlord’s pirate lords—the Harpy and the Corsair—were ruthless, honourless cut throats; and to squander their burgeoning coffers seemed unlikely.

  “Master Aleksander Avrill.”

  The discussions became no more than muffled sounds. Jeremiah stepped back while Aleksander stood before the tall, teak doors to the Mountain. The imperator’s own Black Guard stood at the fore, and their commander—the Black Wrath—towered above with arms crossed. His eyes were like chips of flint, his face was framed by a thick black beard, and he was armoured shoulder to foot in layered plate.

  “Imperator Argath Diomedes wishes to see me,” Aleksander uttered skittishly.

  “He wished to see you some time ago.”

  “I beg forgiveness.”

  “To him, not me, little shite,” the Black Wrath spat at Aleksander’s feet. “Ascend the Mountain.”

  The doors creaked open, and he felt hundreds of eyes turn from the long benches of dark marble. The lords and ladies of the Ruling Council were in attendance. To the left sat Lord Zachary Avin—the imperial treasurer—and beside him in a long flowing dress was Lady Melany Ducat—the mistress of whisperers. Lord Anthony Kinot and Lord Conlath Benet sat near the front; their long grey robes buoyed over their pot bellies. To the right, near the front, was Lady Laran Kilart—the emissary to Holy Dalia; she smiled faintly, before turning her head towards the throne.

  Aleksander halted half heartedly, staring upward at the Mountain.

  The Mountain split the chamber in half. It was a massive assemblage of blackened rock mined from Mount Cimmerii. Steps were cut down the middle that rose nearly thirty feet before it flattened, revealing a great throne of obsidian at its apex. Imperator Argath sat with one leg crossed. Wiry and craggy, his long grey hair nestled upon his chest. Leaning down from his right side was Lord Commander Rafael Azail of the Sentinels of Umbrage. Tall and broad, he was fully armoured in plate mail, and his right hand was on the hilt of his long sword.

  Imperator Argath nodded to Aleksander, beckoning his ascent.

  Aleksander took each step slowly. He felt the eyes of the chamber upon him—though none more than the imperator—who seemed to glare in cold, contemplative silence. Aleksander knelt upon the summit, and raised his eyes to the bony, sharp face of the imperator. “How may I serve the Mountain?”

  “Stand to my side, and speak when I call upon it,” the imperator declared sharply. He waved a dismissive hand towards an empty crevice on his left. Aleksander obeyed.

  The imperator turned back to the lord commander, continuing his whispered conference. Aleksander heard little of it. He looked to the assembly, and saw that few were taken by fear; most seemed to look on as if it was another calling of the council.

  They bask in the legends of the Black Storm, and think themselves invincible.

  The teak doors were suddenly thrown open, and all conversation ended. Every eye in the chamber turned to the entryway, and there the stranger stood with a retinue of Black Guard in tow. The man was tall and lanky, and his face was shadowed by a deep green hood. A long cloak draped behind him, and his worn and battered leather armour seemed to flitter in and out of the shadows. Beneath the hook of his left arm was an iron-banded chest that he cradled protectively. The Black Guard stood at the foot of the Mountain with hands upon their sword hilts, flexing their gauntleted fingers.

  The stranger stopped, but did not kneel.

  “Pull down your hood and kneel before the Mountain,” Lord Commander Rafael ordered. “The Mountain’s will shall be done.”

  “No,” the stranger croaked. His voice was guttural and raspy.

  The Black Guard drew their steel and looked towards the imperator. Aleksander trembled, cursing their ignorance.

  “Lord Commander Rafael Azail,” the stranger began, unflinching. “You would beggar a guest of the imperium as such? I am not a brigand with a broken blade pleading for scraps before your judgment. I seek the Mountain, and not the lesser blades who feign loyalty.”

  The lord commander stepped forward with his right hand upon the hilt of his sword, but the bony hand of Imperator Argath stayed the lord commander’s fury. The imperator seemed to weigh the stranger, and then, as if his black mood was no more than a mask, he spoke calmly. “So you sought, so you have found. We cannot trust a man whose face we cannot see, whose names escapes us, and who has slain sentinels loyal to my imperium.”

  The stranger turned his head slowly, and his crimson eyes flashed underneath the darkened hood. Aleksander felt the stranger’s passing glares, and he backed into the craggy wall, terrified.

  “There is much for you to learn,” the stranger declared. “I speak of the fire and fury that sears the soul; of trials that rip and tear the flesh—all at the beck and call of fate’s twisted talons. ‘Til that time has come, I have come to serve. I am Kaldred: a husband, a son, and a brother. To kin and kith I have returned to churn the Great Fate to your will, Imperator Argath.”

  “No loyal brother would cleave his brethren, nor taint the lifeless husks as you have done,” Lord Commander Rafael grumbled. “All for the twisted delusions of a madman.”

  “Much will be sacrificed ere our work is done, Lord Commander. Of all the men in the waste, I thought you would understand that more than most. T’were it not you that lay the bodies in that holy place, whilst you watched as another lit the pyre? I have not forgotten that—nor has any other.”

  “Your words are poison, Kaldred. You were not there—of that I know. Do not speak as if you were; nor of the acts of Dalian cowards.”

  “Was I not? Have you forgotten me already? The Dream has come to me, surely as it will you. None can escape it.”

  “Enough!” Imperator Argath frothed, and he slowly rose from his seat. “Commands are not yours to give, not before my will is done. You,” the imperator’s bony finger stretched out accusingly at the stranger. “You who would wander our mountains, take from us our treasures, spill the blood of our sons! You who speak of sacrifices and deeds done. What of your sacrifice, Kaldred?”

  The stranger began to shake, and a coarse, slithering sound came out from his body. “You speak of what was not yours. This Mountain is but a pale imitation of the strength all around you. Imperator Argath Diomedes, you shall bow and scrape and follow me: we will venture where none have dared to tread for millennia, and there swear fealty to the power that churns this realm. But know it does not serve you.”

  Aleksander wanted to fall back deeper into the crevice. Imperator Argath never let such speech pass. The Black Storm would surely stir, and that would be the end of three hundred years of history. Just as those sentinels. I cannot forget their faces.

  Plate footfalls echoed across the chamber. Aleksander wanted to cry out in terror, beg them to h
eed the stranger’s will, but he knew it to be useless. The Sentinels of Umbrage stood with the Black Guard, swords raised, intent upon Kaldred. The Black Wrath stood at the fore; the tip of his massive great sword inches from the stranger.

  “I am the Black Wrath, Kaldred. It is by the grace of the imperator that you walk upon this land, not yours. Mind your tongue, or I shall gladly take vengeance for my fallen brothers.”

  The stranger laughed sadistically. “You prattle on of death and judgment, though you are lost in a mire that consumes you, Black Wrath: you who are naught but a coward who hides behind a false name. Fear and terror seized you, drove you from whence you once had served. Your face I have not forgotten. You cannot run from the Darkness.” The council muttered fervently. Imperator Argath gripped his throne hard, and Lord Commander Rafael seemed ready to leap into the fray. “Will you slay me, or must you await the word of another?”

  The Black Wrath did not move, though his hand shook, and his blade was wavering.

  Now you see my fear and dread. Now it takes all your thoughts. This is not a foe we can fight.

  “You know what I am,” Kaldred rasped. “You have seen my kind before. Another survived. You may have run from it, but when you reach the cliff’s edge, what will you do?”

  “Vengeance,” the Black Wrath whimpered at the edge of hearing. “I will take vengeance for them. All of them.”

  “No, you shall not. You shall do what you always have done,” Kaldred laughed, but it sounded like a croak. “The Dream will take you, as it once took them.”

  “Kaldred!” Imperator Argath shouted, rising from his seat. “Death I pronounce to you. None saunter into our lands, spill the blood of our brothers, and is not left as carrion for the black beasts.”

  “What do you know of Death?” Kaldred mocked. “It is not I who will linger thus.”

  Aleksander saw bloodied faces on the sentinels with drawn swords, and the lords and ladies of the council. He knew it would start with those nearest to the stranger, as it did in Dead Rock. It all came back to him in an instant: the dark, the broken bodies, and the rivers of blood.

  He has come for us.

  Kaldred did not move. He lingered. The sentinels did not move towards him, or put their swords down. They were deaf to the commands of their imperator and lord commander.

  “They are taken by a fear they cannot understand,” Kaldred mocked. “As will the three of you, so proud, so vain.”

  “Slay him!” Imperator Argath shrieked. “Heed the will of the Mountain!”

  Kaldred laughed once again. “They are not yours to command. If you will not venture with me, I shall bind to you Its will here and now! Behold: the gift that your roaches could not understand!”

  Kaldred tore the lid off the chest and withdrew a palm-sized rock; and it cascaded in a brilliant light. Aleksander heard a voice in his mind, calling to him, compelling him to bask in the illumination, to give himself entirely to it. He thought it too sudden, but the voice was piercing and undeniable, and it issued commands; the compulsion battered him into nothingness.

  Aleksander looked at Kaldred, and saw what was hidden: a face scarred and torn, and eyes that were a deep-set crimson. Then a presence—like the voice—but transcending: a bitter sweet harmony, and unbridled power.

  Is that what you mean to teach us?

  Ascendance, yes, the voice replied shrilly in Aleksander’s head. To the Master of the Mountain, and foremost of those basked in an endless power.

  The imperator, he—

  No, that is you.

  I am no more than—

  Chosen by the Dark Will, to serve the Great Fate, though you know it not.

  I am but a humble servant of Imperator Argath Diomedes. I know naught of gods, less of prophecies. I am not who you claim.

  ‘Tis what you were born for, Aleksander Avrill. Whence the Time of Ascendance comes, it is you that I shall rely upon. The Bringers will do their part. You shall do yours.

  Myths, fantasy. The Bringers—

  You are One of Three upon this plane. Seize the pow’r I shall give you, erect the Brotherhood, and tear this realm asunder!

  The voice was silenced amid a chorus of steel crashing upon rock.

  The light still emanated in Kaldred’s hand, though encased in the palm-sized crystal. The Black Wrath’s had his arm extended, palm open.

  Kaldred said solemnly, “A gift freely given, willingly taken, is life anew, and not a slayer of spirit.”

  “Bring it here, Black Wrath,” the imperator suddenly commanded.

  The Black Wrath closed his hand, and the light glimmered through his gauntleted fingers. His ascent of the Mountain was the only sound in the chamber, and the light ensconced the only spectacle.

  The Black Wrath reached the summit, kneeled, and extended the crystal to the imperator. The crystal was a fine, pristine green, threaded with smoky veins that formed a glyph upon its front face. Aleksander never saw it before, but somehow knew it meant Cognizance.

  How do I know this?

  Imperator Argath clasped it greedily and protectively. Lord Commander Rafael grimaced, and turned away from the prescient glow.

  “It is a gift not for half-bred fools, but the true masters of the mountain,” Kaldred declared, and Aleksander felt the stranger’s impenetrable gaze. “It is yours by right of birth, discarded long ago from fear and doubt. No longer would you be under the yoke of pirate lords and bleating sheep.”

  “Imperator Argath,” the lord commander intoned. “We would accept gifts from a man who slays our men, spits in our face, and concocts lies of our history? I move to—”

  “You will be quiet, Rafael,” the imperator declared, glaring. The lord

  commander backed into the crevice with his head down. The imperator looked towards Kaldred. “What would you ask of the imperium for this gift?”

  “Naught but your ear, and your scholars,” Aleksander felt the crimson eyes upon him again, scathing and knowing. “So that I may teach them how to use It.”

  “And that shall restore our strength?” the imperator asked.

  “You saw it. All of you saw it,” Kaldred paused. The imperator relaxed and sat forward. Aleksander could not help but be enthralled by the words. “The knowledge that the ancient vestige possesses—whence I show you how to grasp it—will grant you strength unrivaled. It is you, Imperator Argath, who shall subjugate the pirates, defile the cathedrals, and rent asunder the blood thirsty warlords to the west. Is that not what you have always desired? A realm ruled by the strong, by your iron fist?”

  “We had lost much whence the pious called to us for aid,” he mused, fingering the crystal. “Sons and daughters by the score left, ne’er to return. I trusted a man I should not have. The Dalian Northlands were defended, but who defended ours?” The Black Storm’s face was strained, and his voice was rising with every word. “Murderers go unpunished, a mad dog covets our coffers, whilst disillusioned preachers fight each other, rendering us powerless against our subjugator.

  “If this gift, if you,” the Black Storm glared towards Kaldred, “if you but deliver us the strength long astray from my imperium, blood debts shall be forgiven.”

  “Then we hath come, Imperator Argath,” Kaldred croaked. “We hath come.

  We hath come.

  Chapter Two

  A Father’s Sin

  Elin sat up in bed.

  Dawn was still hours off, but he knew that sleep would not come again. Night after night he endured it. The daemons of his past were relentless, reminding him of his sin.

  I watched them die. Screaming.

  He heard Alicia sleep soundlessly beside him. It brought a slight smile to his face. She was like an angel made flesh: warm and kind and beautiful, even in the gloom. She is my pillar. My strength. She and my sons.

  My sons.

  “Why him? Timothy is just a boy. A scared, little boy!” Alicia stirred, and she wrapped her lithe arms wrapped around his bare chest. He could not feel her warmth; only his
coldness and grief. “I cannot lose him. Our son. They took everything else. Not him. I cannot. Our boy, Alicia. He is our boy. Mother God cannot have him, our dear boy. Not yet. Not now.”

  Alicia sighed. “We will not lose him. Sebastien will root out the affliction. You will return with Timothy today. Joshua and I will be waiting out back, by the hollowed out oak. So many memories of the children are there. We will sit together. All of us. Mother God will bless us.”

  “I cannot lose him,” Elin muttered.

  Alicia pulled him down. He did not fight it, lying entwined in her arms, feeling like a near lifeless husk. He closed his eyes, but sleep did not come, as he knew it would not.

  Alicia is more than I e’er deserved. I took so much from her. In return I have given, no, Mother God, why must it be this way? Why I must I give your angel so much pain and sorrow?

  Hours passed, and when the faint light of dawn crept through the window, he detangled himself from Alicia, and rose to dress.

  He replaced his undergarments and lightly brushed his fingers against his old studded leather armour. It was dulled and darkened, no more than a dirty brown. Once it was a vibrant maroon, bright and resonant. Strapping it on, it reminded him who he was, and how far he fell.

  He clasped an old leathern scabbard and cinched the long sword Judgment to his waist. Ser Johnathan Falenir gifted it to him upon knighthood, and though the Voice stripped Elin of cloak and rank, the sword remained his, though he seldom felt worthy of it. He knelt and laced up a pair of mottled black boots, and tied a ratted hooded cloak around his neck.

  He slipped out the front door of the secluded cottage, and the morning glares crept through the treetops, faintly lighting the dirt road leading east to the sleepy hamlet of Serenity.

  The road cut through the depths of an ancient, but sparse wood. It was nestled close to the north-west coast—far away from any port or harbour—which spared it the assaults that Trecht levied against the Dalian Northlands over the centuries. Elin knew the wood well; within it he shared the deepest concerns of his heart.