Aerona was still, but she stared despondently at the overlord, weakened and defeated. “If we allow events to unfold, it will be our undoing. Trecht will not let this pass.”
“Lest you wish to bare steel against me, you will not speak another word.”
The Harpy was silent.
“The chains are moving, Aerona. The imperium and theocracy shall fall, and Trecht, in their hubris, will perish with them. Lutessa, Argath, Tristifer, they are naught but pawns who think themselves masters of the game, and it is I who lords above them all. See that you do not forget that, Harpy.”
Daniel did not concern himself with monarchs, titles or politics, but Luc’s involvement was troubling. The man was a soulless marauder, unfit for aught but warfare.
If naught else, Daniel would bring his pupil to heel.
“Leave us, Aerona,” the overlord declared.
The Harpy looked askance at the bloody mess that was Naomi Croever, before turning on her heel and leaving the hall.
“She will be no end of trouble, Damian,” Daniel remarked when the doors slammed shut. “We cannot depend upon the Brood.”
“The Harpy’s last stand must be channeled,” the overlord replied. “I will not risk any further entanglements.”
You are a cruel man, Damian, much as I savour those words. “What is your will in this?”
“Your man that you left with the fleet, do you trust him?”
“Jaremy Dahk is young, but knows our affairs.”
“Then you shall remain here and watch my consort. Tail her, and the old captain she speaks with. If she does aught but remain, I would learn of it.”
“As you command.”
Daniel did not make to leave. The cloaked men stirred in his mind again.
“I am no bloody fool, Daniel,” Damian said. “Save your breath. I will not discuss the cloaked men and the Faceless Shadow that they serve.”
The name was familiar to Daniel, but distant. Rumours spoke of a cloaked man who counselled Imperator Argath Diomedes, but of a name there were only whispers.
“That is where Davat is,” Daniel declared, carefully reading the overlord’s face. “To meet with this Faceless Shadow.”
“If you must know, yes, he speaks with my voice to this man. Argath Diomedes has felt wounded for three years. Honeyed words would not sway him. Heh, terror and fear will.”
“And who sways Lutessa?”
“I would rather not stain my sword with your blood.”
Daniel inclined head slightly, before turning his back on the overlord.
Chapter Six
A Leap of Faith
Elin dreamed.
He thought it an endless abyss—a void utterly bereft of light. Pebbles crunched beneath his boots, and as he groped the wall, it fell away in dust and dirt. Breathing heavily from near endless wandering, he thought the air thick and stifling.
What is this place? Where is this place?
He stopped to think. Hands on his knees, a shrill voice thundered in his head, screaming; the words lost in the intensity. He cried out lunged forward, and the voice dulled.
He pushed on in the darkness.
The path turned and twisted, slanting ever downwards, descending further into the impenetrable dark. His throat was parched, and his legs ached. He feared it would not be long before his body collapsed on the ground. The fear of that terrible voice kept him going.
I must find my strength. Whatever the cost. I must find it.
The endless abyss never relented. It went on and on.
It must end. A little farther. Just a little farther. I survived the Cleaver Prince. I can survive this mountain? Cave? Whatever it is, it shall not have me. It shall not.
On and on. It went on and on.
He felt the air choke him. He gasped, lost his footing, and stumbled down a slanting pathway; he dug his fingers into the floor, and it slowed him. Then the voice returned, searing and blinding.
“Out of my head! Out of my head!” he screamed, though the shrill voice railed louder. He pushed himself up and crawled, before rising to a knee, and the voice was cowed.
Some of it was common. The rest, I do not know. Altier? The voice screamed that the Altier will rise, ne’er to fall. Who or what is Altier?
He felt a gust of hot, oppressive wind, and some diminutive creature ran past. The creature turned, standing in the distance, grey against the sable realm. Elin studied the creature and thought it was naught more than pale, translucent threads knitting a living pattern: a boy with shaggy hair.
“Joshua?” The thought came sudden, but he hoped it was true. “Joshua, what is this place?”
The creature flittered and faded.
Elin ran ahead, enduring the burning aches, calling out for his son.
“Watch your step, Father.”
Elin suddenly teetered and gripped the wall, and watched as pebbles fell over a sheer drop. There was a lighter darkness below, and Joshua gazed back upon narrow, stone steps. “You are alive? What of your brother and mother?”
“Brother?” Joshua screwed his face, the way he always did when puzzled. “No. Brother is gone. He took him. I do not know why. He is always so nice to me. I can run about here much as I please. It is dark, but I got used to it. I always get used to it.”
“Who is he?”
“You do not know? He knows who you are—he told me so himself. He says you and him have been watching each other for years. Is he knighted, Father? Does not carry a sword from what I can tell.”
“Joshua. What do you call him?”
“Altier. Told me to call him Altier.”
The voice belongs to… him. “Stay with me Joshua. That man, that man wants to hurt me. Hurt you. Take my hand.”
“Oh, Altier never hurts me. He takes care of us. Mother too.”
“Has he, has he hurt her?”
“Oh Father, you do not listen. Come. Run with me.”
Joshua fled down the steps.
My strength. Joshua, I am coming.
Elin put one hand on the wall, placed his left foot down, then the right. The air seemed thinner and cooler on the steps, and he saw a grey glower below, piercing the dark. It gave only the faintest illumination of the flat, stone steps leading down.
If my son should show no fear, I shall not.
The steps slowly became familiar, and the sheer fall to either side a terror that creeped in his mind. The ancient stone stair seemed as endless as the impenetrable dark; but he knew his son was at the end, and he pushed on. Whatever awaited him below, he would see to his son. And to Altier. Whoever the man was.
As he descended he noticed that the grey seemed to grow, pushing away the darkness. There was a wide platform below, and seven other ancient stairs fed into it. He hopped down upon it and looked all around: the dark was endless above, the walls were far and indistinct, and the bottom was an abyss where the dark seemed to fester.
“Joshua? Where are you?” Elin called out, frantic.
“Right here, Father. Beside Mother.”
They stood five feet in front of him. Alicia was like his son: grey threads forming a whole. I finally found them. “Alicia my love, where is Timothy. Where?”
“In the grave, where you buried him.” It was her voice, but cursed and judgmental. “You would blame Sebastien. It was not him. You slew our son. You took his brother away,” and she put a hand on Joshua’s head, his eyes downcast. “I have stood beside you. It cost me everything but our two boys, and now, I do not want to look at you. This is our place. Leave!”
“I did not, no,” Elin stammered and he felt tears welling. “I did not slay our son. I love him. I love you. I love Joshua. I—”
“Oh, but you did, Elin, vows to kin and kith as meaningless as to your country. My son, my son’s chest was all bloodied, Judgment—your sword Elin!—was clean through his chest. You butchered him. You butchered my son!”
“My, my sword?” Elin recalled burying it in the ground that day: the day that Timothy passed, an
d Serenity burned. The day the presence in the forest came forth; who would do what he could not.
It was him. “It was another. I—”
“No one else has ever touched your ancestral blade,” Alicia rebutted. “In all the years, none but your hand has grasped it. My son’s blood is still on your hands.”
He heard a drip upon the stone floor, close, and resonant. He raised his hands and saw the bloody messes that they were, coating his arms. “I did not—”
“Stay back from us!” Alicia wailed. “Is it not enough? Would you have our blood, too? What did we do to deserve this? Stay back!”
“Alicia, no, please,” Elin cried out, collapsing to his knees. “I did not, would not.”
“You were always weak.”
He looked up saw a cloaked man, dark, so terribly dark; and his eyes were weeping blood. “I did not—”
“Always weak. Always weeping. They,” the man pointed a crooked finger towards Alicia and Joshua, “came to me too late. If you would not have scorned us, they would yet live. Joshua’s fate was never this, but you churn the Great Fate, deplorable as that is. The gods are wroth.”
“Believe me I could not have done this.”
“I do not, nor do the gods. You have betrayed Sariel. Bend your thought to Him and beg forgiveness. Bow and scrape before Sariel, the Darkness Rising!”
“I will never scrape and serve him. No.”
“You have Elin. You always have.”
“That, this, it was not my—”
The cloaked stranger laughed, and his mutilated hand pulled back the hood; the truth of those harrowing words stared back.
“Ser Elin. Elin!”
Elin sat up and rubbed his eyes. The dark and grey was gone, replaced by a dull orange glower, and a hard slab beneath.
Returned to my gaol. Another dream like the rest since I was here.
He remembered the voice, turned to the iron bars, and stared in disbelief. Three years had added lines to the old man’s face, but it was the face of Ser Johnathan Falenir. He sat with studious eyes, the crystalline plate gleaming
in in the darkness.
If he has come, my time is at an end. Alicia. Timothy. Joshua. “Have you come to escort me to execution, Johnathan?”
The old knight guffawed. “I would hand over my own sword before I sit idly by whilst you hang—or worse. No, my friend, I have come to talk. My apologies for waking you.”
“It was just a nightmare.”
“Then let us talk, boy. I think you will be much interested in what I have to say.”
The shades of the nightmare were so vivid, the gaol so dank and dark, Elin still feared what he could not see. “The gaolers—”
“Left them a couple bottles of brandy above. You and I are alone here. No one will bother us. Those men will be too drunk for much more than stumbling and snoring.” Ser Johnathan laughed, though the mirth quickly faded. “Much has changed, more than you can rightly imagine.”
Elin did not want to talk. So much was gone, ripped from him. Mother God or Her muse—whoever did not matter—took the last that lingered. “I am a dead man, old friend. I know what would pass ere I returned.”
“You returned here upon the command of the man who took your place. The priesthood can argue themselves into a bloody hole in the ground for all I care.”
“Then why am I in the gaols? They send heretics to die in here. I know where this is.”
“The realm has changed while Ser Tomas brought you south. Lutessa will be far too busy handling those affairs. You are here on account there is no other place for you.”
The ride south to Dale had taken weeks, and Elin’s thoughts often shifted to Serenity. There was little to account to Ser Tomas, and even less to the lord protector.
I do not know, Mother God be cursed. It is all a waking nightmare. “I do not know what befell Serenity. I know I cannot return there, even if I did.”
“I do not speak of Serenity, boy. Ser Jacob Merlen found no fault in you. Not a man or woman who rode with him did. Ser Tomas did not offer you false comfort. There is nowhere to send you, north of the sister cities.”
“What has happened?!” Elin shouted, gripping the bars. “It was not just Serenity, it was—”
“No, different. Sit down, the gaolers have left you weak. Here,” Ser Johnathan slid a bowl of gruel between the bars, and a flask of water. “Barely enough for the petitioners, never mind an anointed knight. I will feed you better soon.”
Elin felt unworthy of the gruel, but scooped it up anyway.
“I dispatched Ser Jacob to the Northlands when the trading cogs were late in docking at Zalan,” Ser Johnathan began slowly. “I thought it the Corsair at first. We had seen his sails closer to our coasts then I would like. The islanders talk little, that much has not changed. Still, it was prudent.
“North they went. Missives revealed little, and even the far ports heard naught. Yet the townships whispered of riders in the night making west. Ser Jacob followed their trail, and found you.
“Shortly after, he sent Ser Tomas south, and a rider arrived late in the afternoon. The northern coast was razed. The rider did not know by whom. The last word I received from Ser Jacob was of his intent to seek out Falen, learn what he could, then act.
“This morning, I was greeted by the knight-commander’s head dipped in tar, and his face slashed.”
Elin dropped his food and looked to the lord protector. “Like two cross swords?”
“Aye, two cross swords. Rafael Azail, much as like, and the priesthood are sitting on their hands. Even when threatened, they cannot agree on what to do about it. The sorry state we have been in.”
Elin recalled the men and women of the imperium. They were not unlike Dalians; more rough and coarse, though piety was of little consequence. Most of all undeserved of the scorn some of the more pious knights demonstrated.
Though it was long since he thought of their lord commander since they parted three years past. The man was always cold and ruthless, but they had broken bread, drunk lustily together, and spilled blood as one. To do this without provocation, seemed far too wanton.
“Am I to remain here, while you fight a war?” Elin asked
“Not if I have aught to say about it.”
“Do not jest.”
“It is like this, boy—bugger it all if you do not want to hear it. I am not the man I used to be. I can handle a sword as any young man, but to wage a war, to keep up with Lord Commander Rafael Azail, that is beyond me. The Order of Light is either terribly old, or woefully young. Been trainin’ lads and lasses e’er since they excommunicated you. Truth is, Ser Jarl Yanif, Ser Rupert Duvan, Lady Sophia Locklet, and all the rest, they were to be the ones to meet this threat, not old men like me, or the youngins I have trained.
“I cannot find them, and I doubt very much you know where they are either. Even if you did, I still would call you to the fore. We need you, boy. The cursed priesthood needs you, though they do not know it.”
“I—” Elin paused, knowing the only answer he could give. The answer that his old friend did not want to hear. “Cannot.”
“Ser Elin,” Ser Johnathan gripped the bars, rising. “We have spent three years bickering and plotting, with schemes failed and undone. Aye, the islanders were always there, we knew it, accursed that they are. Lutessa has been under siege—one bloody usurper after another. Each one thinkin’ they know better than the counsels, and certainly the Voice. Rueful pissants.
“We are not ready. Holy Dalia will be dead and buried. All that we fought for, all the men and women who died, it would be all undone. Sit on your sword as the priests do theirs, and there will be no memory of the good you did.”
Elin sat, and looked at his hands. They were dirty and smelt of piss and shite. No blood of his children, but of children, thousands of them, and he could never wash those away. He knew the priesthood would never be satisfied with pushing the Isilians across the sea. If the Northlands were razed, they would demand th
e same of the wastes. Rivers of blood would flow. His hands, arms, his whole body would be covered in blood. The nightmares would not stop.
“It is left to others to fight,” Elin said quietly. “My battles are long over. I sleep fitfully, Johnathan, and when I do, I’m plagued by nightmares. Worse since I came south. Alicia and Joshua, they have joined Timothy in the ground. I must mourn them or join them. I cannot stain my hands, no more.”
“Not even for vengeance?”
Elin stared despondently at his friend.
“Known you long enough to know when you are lying. Blame yourself all you want, but Serenity was not your work. I would not sit here if I thought otherwise. The Isilians have come, it is them that did this, all at the behest of our old friend. He spared you by mercy, for all that you had done for him. The Isilians slew your family. Time you accept that and stop moping.”
“And I am to take the blood of their children, that will bring them back?” Elin stood, near shouting “Will that please them in Mother God’s embrace? Whatever they may think of me, I am not a butcher. That is what you would ask of me. To butcher.”
“I am asking you to uphold your vows, ser,” the lord protector was intent, face red. “Imperator Argath Diomedes disbands his council, advised now by a cloaked man, and suddenly makes a move, islander wrath no more than a shade to him? The fires will find you boy, whether you want them to or not. Thought you might want to shield the weak whilst it rages.”
Elin closed his eyes, and put his face in his hands. In the dark he felt a presence, and tried to open his lids, but it was darkness. Ser Johnathan and the gaols were distant and faint. A cloaked man stood at the forefront. Cloth robes covered him from head to foot, though the cowl could not dull the crimson eyes.
Lakarn was once like your Serenity, the visage seemed to say. I soaked in their screams, culled the weak and deprave.
“Altier!” Elin wailed, crawling back. “Leave me. Leave me now!
“Elin?” A voice like Ser Johnathan’s rang out, far and coarse. “What in blazes are you going on about?”
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