Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  Rachel decided to leave.

  “I would not do that if I were you,” Counsel El suddenly said, rising to his fleet. His was gaze upon her again, and his words echoed in her mind. “Stay your hand.”

  Rachel turned suddenly, and clasped the handle with her right hand. She wanted to pull it open and step out, but she could not will it. She met the counsel’s gaze, and there was a deepness, utterly absent in all the years.

  “You do not understand your peril,” he declared flatly.

  “Nor do you,” Rachel replied.

  She was thrown to the far wall, crashing into a book shelf. Her body ached; the books falling all around. She could not move. The counsel remained where he was, though he slowly rose. Rachel was horrified, watching him walk without a limp “What is—”

  “That is quite enough from you,” Counsel El said, cutting her off. His voice seemed to deepen with every word. “You will confess your sin to me here and now. Confess in the Light of Mother God!”

  Pain shot through her body, and a voice echoed in her mind, shouting, screaming at her. “Stop! Make it stop!” she cried out.

  “It ends with confession. Give it unto me Counsel Rachel Du’vron.”

  “No, I will not betray… her…”

  “You already have.”

  “No… I will…”

  “I will loosen your tongue in other ways…”

  Counsel El’s words trailed off, and the realm darkened. Rachel saw a deep, dark fog drift in from the windows, gathering at the old man’s feet; the priest seemed to grow larger with each passing moment, towering like a man a quarter of his age. The fog coalesced and darkened, and she felt beads of sweat upon her brow. She forced her eyes open, and the elderly priest was gone, and in his place, stood a cloaked figure with a darkened sword, its tip resting against her throat.

  “Tell me!” the figure shouted, rough and cruel, his voice searing and tearing. “Confess your sin to me!”

  The pain and the darkness interwove into a suffocating sensation. Rachel feared that death had come. She wanted to live, but against this amalgamation, she knew it was so vain, so futile. She tried to look for Mother God, but Her Light was nowhere in the abyss.

  Then there was an emptiness. A nothingness.

  “You will never understand the realm as we did!” Rachel shouted out, pushing back against the Void. “Imperator Argath Diomedes understood, and Lord Commander Rafael Azail. I spoke with him in secret. We knew it was wrong, Mother God I knew it was wrong. The Voice did not see clearly. She was blinded by Ser Elin. He had to die, I convinced her of that. We could not endure another Voice. He was supposed to die so that Dalia would remain strong. Strong. Strong to push back the pirates. My failure. Lutessa’s mercy. Put us all under the overlord’s thumb. Ser Elin was supposed to die for our future!”

  “You are a fool in white. Look upon me, worm.”

  The fog seemed to part and lighten, the cloaked figure dark but clear. His face was pale, scarred, and mutilated, though Rachel knew those groping, gripping eyes, and the terror that would not fade.

  “I am the Darkness Rising. You will burn.”

  “Please. Mercy.”

  “As you once showed him?”

  Rachel could not move. She looked into those eyes, searching for who it was, as if the name would weaken him, and give her a chance.

  All she saw was fear.

  “Fear the blade closest to your throat.”

  Rachel felt the dark steel cut through her flesh, and she dropped to the floor. She put hands to her throat, but blood trickled through her fingers. Her eyes fluttered, and she looked up, and watched the cloaked figure walk out the solar, sword in hand.

  Lutessa… forgive me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Judgment and Vengeance

  Elin dismounted and walked through the charred remains of Falen.

  He knelt at a crumbled ruin that may have been a hall or tavern. Stirring the ground with gauntleted fingers, he cursed under his breath. The sin has come again, but more rampant than before. We vowed to never cross that line again.

  There was another foundation further down, smaller and square. He uncovered a cloth doll, a red hoop, and a discoloured ball buried beneath the ash; it reminded him of what he lost: Timothy was taken by a sickness, but Alicia and Joshua were alive and vibrant, before the dark shadow of the Isilians came.

  The guilt was suffocating.

  Elin wandered down dirt and charred cobbled roads, and it was the same devastation. There were patches of scorched earth where once there must have been vibrant green grass. Trees were bent and broken, with tall piles of torn leaves, black dirt, and rotted carcasses.

  Zelen was to be the last time we burned it all to the ground. The last time we sacrificed the innocent against the will of tyrants. Where did you lose your way, old friend?

  Ser Johnathan crept from behind, putting a gauntleted hand on Elin’s shoulder. “It is time,” his old friend said softly.

  “He will pay for what he has done,” Elin replied weakly.

  “They all will.”

  Ser Geoffrey Rhuart stood attentively amongst the shadows. “Come,” Elin called. “I will have need of you.”

  The knight nodded and fell in.

  He passed closer to the inn and the docks, and heard hooves thundering against the damp ground. An outrider had returned. “It is as we feared, Knight-Commander,” the man said, dismounting, and bowing his head. “There is but one vessel moored at port. A trading cog. Near empty save for food stuffs.”

  “And the people who once lived here?” Ser Johnathan asked suddenly. “What of them?”

  “There are rows of unmarked graves to the south, Lord Protector. I fear they have been dead for some time.”

  More lives that Rafael shall account for. “What of the Isilians?”

  “Some were taken near the docks and warehouses, others in holes among the hills. There are still places to be searched, but there are three that Lady Deborah insists are left to your care, Knight-Commander. We found them in the cellar of the inn by the water. Their swords are piled up on a table, and they refuse to offer any words. Yet one of them bears the description of Lord Commander Rafael Azail.”

  Elin expected to find his old friend here, but up in arms, not in surrender. “I will see to him at once. Lead us on.”

  The shore was much the same as the outskirts, though the stench was more putrid. Off to the east was the small port, unburnt, with a small cog moored at the northern slot. Its hull was plain and unadorned, though etched upon the sail was a black mountain on a burgundy field.

  “Why leave one ship behind?” Ser Geoffrey mused aloud. “They must know that we could not pursue them.”

  “There is no place for them to run. Rafael knows that,” Ser Johnathan answered gruffly. “He knows that the Voice would command us across the sea, even if we advised against it. If he will fight us, he would learn as much as he could, before retreating. That boy is not a hard read—never was.”

  “He may,” Elin offered, not wholly convinced his friend had the right of it. “He fears what awaits him more than us. I will correct him of that before long.” He balled his fists. “Yet he may tell us aught of use.”

  “Lies, I would say,” Ser Geoffrey said. “He has slaughtered all of the Northlands in the name of conquest. There is little a warmonger as him would have to say.”

  “You do not know him as I do, ser,” Elin offered, though he wanted to say did. Whoever it was that was in the cellar, he did not think it was his old friend. “There is more to his mind than war and slaughter. He will account for what he has done, but there is some other matter at play.”

  “Madness. Just madness,” Ser Johnathan said.

  This realm has gone bloody mad.

  The outrider led Elin onto a seared green. Trees were uprooted and split asunder, and the inn rose in the distance. It was a simple two storey building, with a narrow patio, though planks of wood were broken and tossed aside.

&nb
sp; Elin halted in front of the inn and turned to Ser Geoffrey. “None will enter until Ser Johnathan and I emerge.”

  Ser Geoffrey nodded, relayed orders to the outrider, and called to the other knights near the inn. Elin stood near the door, and he took one last look at Falen, searing the destruction to his memory, and walked in.

  Inside the carpets were burnt or rolled up. Chandeliers hung crookedly. chairs were broken or smashed, tables and benches were crumbled or pushed against the wall. He walked down a hallway to the left, and stepped around pots and pans towards a small opening with a straight stair leading down.

  At the bottom of the stair was a cellar, lit by hanging lamps. Swords were piled up on a cracked table in the middle of the room; their hilts were of fine, polished leather, and the pommels were bejeweled with black onyx. Three sentinels stood despondently. One was a woman he had not seen before: long, dark hair flowing, grim eyes, mouth curled in a frown. On the right was a tall and wiry man, plain faced but intent—Elin recognized him as Ian Firget. Lord Commander Rafael Azail stood between them. He seemed to wrinkle like a mountain’s face, but it was still him.

  “It is not like you to discard your ancestral blade, Vengeance,” Elin declared, running a finger down the middle blade on the table. He wanted to grasp the blade, and thrust it into his friend’s heart. Yet he pushed it down, and looked towards the lord commander grimly, but the man did not flinch. “I know of your tactician, but not the other.”

  “Ashleigh Coburn,” the woman offered without prompt. “You are Ser Elin, I trust? You are brave to come alone.”

  “And you are without weapon,” Elin replied, and looked to his old friend. “It seems not all in your counsel share your intent, lest I read your lover wrong.”

  Ashleigh stepped forward angrily, but Elin drew Judgment swiftly, pointing the tip of the blade at the woman. She stiffened like a board.

  “You are a fool,” he said. “Your blade has not been stained for some time, but there are too many dead in this land for you to be purged of wrongdoings. I have lost more than you will ever know. Test my patience, provoke me, and you will suffer.”

  “You are not the only one to suffer loss,” Ashleigh said defiantly. “Heh, my lover has told me all about you. All the women and children that you slew, and mere excommunication your penance. Is that what you would cast upon us? Shall we hide in the shadows until called upon—like you? You should be dead for what you did.”

  “Not a moment goes by when I do not remember that day,” he responded, moving the tip of the blade near her throat. “I still see the bloody corpses when I close my eyes. The warm embrace of my love could not take it away. Nor will the grave when I find it. Do not speak out of turn, nor absolve your lord commander of blame.”

  “Hand me my blade and you will see—”

  “Ashleigh that is enough,” Lord Commander Rafael said.

  Ashleigh smirked before stepping back. Elin sheathed his blade, though he did not take an eye off her.

  “Your wish shall come sooner than you think,” he declared. “All three of you have much to account for, but if I know your lord commander well, it is he who will give all the answers I seek.”

  “Then let us parley,” the lord commander declared. “I would offer counsel—”

  “Counsel? Counsel?” Ser Johnathan asked, storming forward. “Did you offer counsel to the children, the mothers, and the fathers you slew? Did you offer counsel too the knights before you beheaded them? I have not forgotten Ser Jacob Merlen, nor do any in this land that you defiled. Your words mean naught to me.”

  “Ser Jacob Merlen died upon the field of battle,” Ian interjected. “The women and children are lamentable, but there is honour in death upon the battlefield.”

  “There was honour when the Cleaver Prince sailed south and declared war,” Ser Johnathan replied. “There is no honour in what you did to this land.”

  “Does honour bring you here, Lord Protector, or the whims of the holy mother?”

  Elin stretched his arm out, and held Ser Johnathan at bay.

  “What did I ask of you, Ian?” Lord Commander Rafael asked suddenly.

  “Forgiveness,” the sentinel replied, bowing low.

  “Is this your mind, my friend?” the lord commander asked suddenly. “Do you think us barbarians, utterly bereft of honour? Does the lord protector speak for you?”

  “I have been to Serenity, Rafael,” Elin said before picking up one of the discarded swords. “The bodies were left unburied, the men and women dead, twisted in terror,” he tossed one at the feet of Ashleigh. “Then there were the children,” he said tossing another at Ian. “Then there were those who were skewered by Isilian steel!” Elin tossed Vengeance to its master. “You speak of suffering, and honour. Yet you inflict suffering and wield dishonour. I will not take your counsel, but I will take your life’s blood with sword in hand.”

  The sentinels stood absently with nary a glance towards the steel at their feet. Elin loosed Judgment in its sheath, but the Isilians did not move. He was overwhelmed in a temptation to draw steel, and sever heads from their shoulders. It would have felt like justice for Alicia, Timothy, Joshua, and all those burned by the imperium’s hand. Instead, he let his hand drop.

  I am not them.

  “Leave us,” Lord Commander Rafael said sharply, turning to his sentinels. “There is much that the knight-commander and I must discuss privily.”

  The sentinels stepped over the blades at their feet, and walked past. Elin felt their judgment and scorn until they passed out of hearing. He nodded to Ser Johnathan, and the old knight followed the Isilians out.

  “You trust that I will not have them killed?” Elin asked.

  “For all your speech, you are not honourless, though the priests would sing a different tune,” the lord commander said while pulling a stool from the corner, sitting at the table. “This can be amicable.”

  Alicia. Joshua. Timothy. They are dead because of you. “The Faceless Shadow has driven you mad. This wanton slaughter took civility off the table. I will have answers and I will have them now,” Elin said, dragging a stool and sitting upon the other side.

  “What would you like to know?”

  Elin withdrew a dagger, and tossed it end over end, narrowly missing his old friend’s head, before piercing a casket of wine. “Do not test my patience.”

  “Serenity is not my work,” Lord Commander Rafael said flatly, with nary a look behind. “I bury the dead I slay in rows—or in a mass grave as time allows. Yes, I have slain townships and villages upon orders of my sovereign. Yet the dead do not lie before the open sun.”

  “Do you think I care a whit about graves? You will account for every life you have stolen, but whether you inter them or leave them to rot, I care not. Alicia. Joshua. Timothy. You know the names as well as I.”

  “That was not my work, Elin!”

  “Then who stole my family from me, Lord Commander Rafael?”

  The lord commander cast his eyes down, unreadable. “There are some doors you should never open,” he replied after a time. “This is one such. Leave it closed and let me speak my words. It is what must be done.”

  “You have no power to command, here.”

  “Then heed words from an old friend, Elin. Go home. Build a cairn. Pray to Mother God if piety ever found you. Leave this matter alone.”

  “I am opening the accursed door. I have lost all that I loved. Alicia took the excommunication along with me. Her mother and father yet live, and still they may as well be dead, for all the scorn they showed to me. I will not have silence from you. Answer me Lord Commander!”

  “Death is a reprieve we all should gladly embrace, to guard against what is coming. To know the answer to that question is to meet a fate worse than death. My defeat here ended the hopes of Isilians and Dalians alike,” Lord Commander Rafael sighed. “If you learn the answer from me, you will pursue it, but I will not sow the soil with your blood. Do not ask me of this. Do not press me.”

&nb
sp; “I press you. I will do what I must to learn the truth.”

  The lord commander stared back in obstinate silence. Elin saw pity and mercy in the sentinel. He loosened Judgment in his scabbard once again.

  “The Black Guard,” Lord Commander Rafael offered, and Elin relaxed, listening intently. “It was not long after we beached at Falen, that we learned of what befell your hamlet. Ian will swear by my words.”

  Elin was not convinced. The imperator’s guard would not bestir themselves for the affairs of a sleepy hamlet. “Why would Argath’s sworn swords commit this slaughter without your knowing?”

  “The imperator has new counsel, word of which I assumed has reached your ears, but not all has. This man hides his face in a cowl, and his very words pierce your mind, bare all that you are. He called himself Kaldred. Argath, he,” Lord Commander Rafael looked askance, pained. “he changed the day that the daemon arrived. Kaldred carried some ancient stone in a chest, and made a gift of it. So much has changed in the imperium since that day, and not just my sovereign. Thought and deeds that I never imagined possible were wrought, with no hesitation, guilt or fear.

  “Not a day passed when he removed his cloak or revealed who he was. His tongue is vile, Elin, seductive and unnerving; his voice dark and wicked, his presence perturbs any man who stands near him. Every thought he has concerns stones akin to what he brought. Naught else matters to him, and

  now Argath shares his mind upon it.

  “I was ordered to find an heirloom of the imperium, though I doubt it ever truly belonged to us. It was just another of these rocks, these vestiges. We thought we found one. Daskin, he knew of it, and the road lead back to Serenity. Yet it was not there. The secret monger swore it was in Sebastien Tiron’s charge, but of him or his house of healing, we found naught.

  “Whoever it is that did this to Serenity, took the stone back to Kaldred. That I am certain. If we are not of like mind, much worse will come of it.”