“Stones and relics. Fantasy and myth,” Elin replied, wroth. “We found Daskin in Jakon. You left him there. He spun the same tale, and spoke of another.”
“I have searched for it, but I cannot find it.”
“His mind was a mire,” Elin replied dismissively. He refused to indulge his old friend in this fantasy. “How many days and nights did you beat him so that he would sing?! How many?”
“You are not hearing words, Elin.”
“You are spouting nonsense.”
“Your hamlet was much as you found it. Dead, all of it inexplicitly dead. The men and women I sent spoke of nightmares when they slept near Serenity. Some who did not wake from it. There is some power at work, and it emanates from these stones!”
“And what of the Isilian steel?” Elin pressed, unconvinced. “Three blades from Isilian forges skewered an old man. Samuel Taryn was his name. Old but kind, ever seeing the good in me that has long since gone.”
“Did you not heed a word I spoke?” Lord Commander Rafael asked, gripping the table. “Kaldred changed everything. I have no proof to throw at your feet, but I suspect the Black Guard, whom I have no ward over.
“There is naught left to salvage from the imperium. It is a land of deceit and daemons. I know what must be done. I will take whatever is left, and I will cut out his cruel heart. I remained at my peril to convince you to stay. I have not been taken by his influence, and I would not put you near his taint.”
Elin rose, turning his back. “Your country is not all that has fallen. You say that you repulsed the influence of this stone? You are a servant of it more than you think. In all our years of friendship, you have never raised your blade without cause or need. Zelen was regrettable, but this is unfathomable.”
“I regret the loss of your—”
“You will not speak of them,” Elin shouted, turning around. There were no words to salve the emptiness that he felt inside. “You speak of innocence, yet men who serve your sovereign committed the act. Your hands are bloody Rafael. It was in your power to halt it, but you were a sheep instead, obeying the words of a madman. We—we—did what was necessary years back to put a stop to madness. You would breed it.”
“Kaldred is not Adreyu he is…”
“Your words are poison, Lord Commander.”
“You doubt me?”
“You believe what is in your heart, old friend, misguided as that is” Elin replied. “You will scurry on home, warn your imperator and his counselor, and you will watch as I take from you what you took from me.”
“This is madness Elin!” Lord Commander Rafael shouted, and Ser Johnathan returned, barging in with Ser Geoffrey, Ser Kevan, and Lady Deborah. “You will not survive him!”
“You will take the cog you moored, and deliver this message to Imperator Argath Diomedes: I hath come. Fare you well, ‘til we meet upon the fields once more, Lord Commander.”
“Elin!” the lord commander screamed as the knight captains hauled him out. His eyes bulged, and he was near at tears.
I have no old friend.
“What did you learn?” Ser Johnathan asked when there was no other sound.
“That he is a liar. He claims corruption of his sovereign, on account of the Faceless Shadow; and the burning of the Northlands all in the search of some ancient relics that the imperator’s new found counsellor seeks.
“And you believe him?”
“Only that he fears this man who has seduced his sovereign, but I do not.”
“I will send word to the south, then. The shipwrights will have finished their work.”
Elin simply nodded, and the lord protector left.
But he was not alone.
Chapter Sixteen
Failure and Retribution
Rafael disembarked from the cog at the port town of Naran, to the west of Isil.
Dust swept through the bleak, cracked roads. Crooked windows from the last few hovels were shuttered. He walked past a broken-down tavern, and saw a man in dirty rags pass through the doors. His skin was weathered and stretched, and patches of his spindly black hair were missing. He hunched over like a beggar, and it seemed the last of his strength was fading.
“What has happened here?” Ashleigh asked. “We passed by Naran on our journey west, and it was not like this.”
Lord Kaldred’s influence has lengthened.
It was not a matter Rafael would broach with his sentinels with the city close at hand. “It is the price of our failure,” he offered instead. “The imperator prepares for war. We can defend ourselves in the mountains.”
Ashleigh wandered forth with eyes downcast, and Ian simply shook his head.
They know but will not guess. Elin left us with little recourse.
An elderly woman emerged from a hovel at the end of the row. She still stood straight, though she leaned on a broom, and Rafael felt her inquisitive glares. At first there was a glimmer of light that faded to scorn, as if the old woman knew he was to blame for the state of the town.
It is not far from the truth.
The old woman soon turned her face away, and swept the front of her home.
At the edge of town, a gate of grey wood arched over, and he heard horses further off to the right. A man held the reigns of three horses. He was garbed in leather from head to foot, and his sable cloak with a brown trim marked him as one of the Black Guard.
“The Mountain demands your return before dusk,” the man said sternly. “You will seek Cimmerii’s Hold with all haste. Three horses I have for yourself and your captains. One less than the imperator would have liked to send.”
Rafael balled his fists, thinking of his captain and friend. Zelen. My impatience had it all unravel. “We will return at once.”
“And Lord Commander,” the man said again, throwing the reigns to Rafael. “Do not keep him waiting.”
The Black Guard walked back to the gates and into the port town, head swiveling to and fro. What the man meant to find Rafael did not know.
He mounted up and rode forth with Ashleigh and Ian.
“The few of our order that the pirates did not harry,” Ian offered nonchalantly after some time. “They have been far too quiet.”
“Some were not harried,” Ashleigh chimed in. “I do not think you are wrong, though. Feared as the Corsair is, even he would think twice before attacking one of our dromonds, and a score of war galleys.”
“They are naught but observers,” Rafael said. He fervently believed that. There was little else to account for their absence. Whatever the overlord had planned, it would fall at the wars end. “If they would play even the smallest part, it would have been long ago; and if I am wrong, we will not be around to see it.”
“You are not admitting defeat, Lord Commander?” Ian asked.
I admitted it long ago. “I do not like this foreboding feeling. Much has happened in our absence. We must see to the imperator before it festers.”
“Rafael,” Ashleigh seemed to mutter, but said no word, and he did not ask after it.
As the sun waned in the sky, he called for a halt upon a hill that crested the southern approach to the city of Isil. Mount Cimmerii loomed in the distance to the north-west, casting a shadow over the hold; its sprawling keep and immense towers shone and glistened in the dusk. It looked much like crystal: a bed of black diamonds in the roughened caress of the hardened mountain. Below were cobbled roads, stone-wrought homes, and establishments built upon the eastern slopes. The walls ringed all around the girth of the mountain, rising into the sky, topped by spikes, guard towers, and the tips of trebuchets.
“The Black Guard has not been idle,” Rafael declared, slowing his horse to a trot, descending into the deepening valley before the southern gate. “We will be tested, and soon.”
“Ser Elin will break upon the walls as have all our enemies for three centuries,” Ian said proudly. “They cannot come from the north. We can fend off a siege for a long time.”
“Food and water will be sparse,” As
hleigh reminded the tactician. “Half a year now since we had any trade. Food stuffs are imported in, and we brought little enough back. They would starve us out before long.”
They could, but they will not give us the opportunity. “We will see what the imperator commands,” Rafael said.
At the main gates, a pair of Black Guards pushed open the massive doors. Rafael entered the city and took the northern road. He could not help but notice the quiet. No children were at play; nor were there masons, miners, or crafters coming home near at dusk. Candles were lit in some homes, though more often than not, the windows were shuttered.
I do not like this.
The road forked north and east, and there was the sound of footsteps to one of the great markets, though he kept to the northern roads. To his left were taverns, pubs, and mess halls. Lanterns were burning, though the people seemed to sit in silence.
Near the great mountain, he arrived at the cross roads. East would lead into the trade district, while westward was Cimmerii’s Hold. Black Guard littered the western road. He dismounted, handed the reigns off, and walked down a short path to the imperial courtyard.
Before a short gate, the hulking commander of the Black Guard walked forth, and two towering men stood behind him, hands clasped on their swords. Rafael waited, suspicions bristling.
“You have returned, Lord Commander,” the Black Wrath bellowed.
“Imperator Argath Diomedes would much desire to hear what we have to say,” Rafael replied, eying the men who stood behind their commander. “We need no escort, Black Wrath.”
“It is not your will that I heed,” the Black Wrath declared. “Lord Commander Rafael Azail, many of you left the capital and fewer returned. The imperator is wroth, and yet demands your presence. Just you. The others will be confined.”
The two towering Black Guard came from behind the Black Wrath, hands on their swords, sneering.
“What is the meaning of this, Black Wrath?” Rafael protested.
“You do not command in the city,” the Black Wrath spit. “We will soon be under siege, and you will be fortunate to have a head on your shoulders. The imperator is wroth, I had said. You will each be questioned in turn. Your captains will be taken to quarters until they are seen too.”
Rafael knew much had changed if the imperator ordered this.
“We will bear this, Lord Commander,” Ashleigh declared, bowing her head. Ian followed in turn. Rafael nodded in obeisance, though it grated him.
“Take them,” the Black Wrath commanded.
The commander of the Black Guard crossed his arms and glared at Rafael while the sentinels were escorted away. Rafael often had dealings with the imperator’s sworn sword, and the man was always solemn and hard. Yet he could not escape the feeling that there was some matter that Black Wrath knew of and would not share.
“Will you spare me news, at least?” Rafael asked, not expecting anything resembling the truth.
“Come and be silent,” the Black Wrath bellowed.
Rafael followed a few steps behind. He never lost sight of the two-handed sword Doom sheathed upon the Black Wrath’s back. Rafael flexed his fingers, but never drew his steel. He would not leave aught to chance when so much had unsettled him since landfall.
A pair of Black Guard opened the twin oaken doors at their approach. It was the only wood against the polished rock of the hold, and it gaped opened like a cavern in the dead of night.
It was dim inside the hold. His footsteps sent dust motes flying into the air. He could not remember when it was last so quiet. Councillors, noblemen, and traders had all come into the common halls to meet. It seemed like none met for some time.
Twin rows of pillars surrounded him, and the doors to the Mountain swung open. The Black Wrath pushed a hand against Rafael’s chest and spoke intently. “I will spill your blood should you walk out those doors before the imperator decrees it.”
There was much that Rafael wanted to say, but he inclined his head slightly, and shouldered into the chamber beyond.
The throne room was dark, with but two fluttering torches on either side of the Mountain. He looked briefly upon the empty benches, then turned to the throne, eyes slowly ascending the steps. At the precipice were three figures. Two were cloaked and hooded, flanking the imperial seat. In the middle sat a lanky, frail figure, bent over and hunched. Long, claw like fingers seemed to pierce the stone-wrought chair.
Rafael stopped at the foot of the Mountain, and saw the eyes of Imperator Argath Diomedes stare back, but they were not familiar. They were still gazing, searching, and dead shot.
“Imperator Argath Diomedes,” Rafael began, kneeling. He saw to the rites of his sovereign, whatever his reservations. If the madness would be averted, the Black Storm would have to awaken. “I have returned from over the sea. My captains and I are the last of the strength you sent to cleave the Dalians. I have failed in your charge. I will answer to that failure, here and now. By the Mountain’s will be done.”
The imperator seemed to stir in his seat, though the cloaked figure on the left bent over and whispered. When he straightened, Imperator Argath Diomedes spoke. “Yes, Lord Commander, I have called and you shall answer,” he said, fixating a tired glance upon Rafael. “You will account to the Mountain. You who were given the strength to conquer the realm over, to bring ruin to the twisted zealots we once called friends. They took It from us, and they must face death for it. You will tell me why you have returned empty handed, and without the whore priestess’ head upon your bloodied sword.”
Rafael rose and stepped forward to the foot of the Mountain. The words were harrowing, and he wanted to look closer at the imperator. A voice chilled him when he was a mere foot from the steps.
“Far enough, Lord Commander.”
That was a voice he would never forget. Lord Kaldred stood upon the Mountain’s Summit. Rafael could feel a presence in his mind, subtle, but unmistakeable.
“Your account, Lord Commander,” Imperator Argath Diomedes commanded, not moving from his seat.
“The Northlands fell quickly. We learned of the relic,” Rafael said, and darted a quick glance to Lord Kaldred. “We came to the Sister Cities, but were ensnared in a trap. We meant to take Zelen, but instead, it was burned to the ground with many of my sentinels within. Ser Elin Durand commanded. We have fallen to his strength.”
“Ser Elin Durand?!” the imperator shouted, standing up from his seat. The cloaked figure upon the right tried to take the imperator’s arm, but he brushed it aside, and stood tall and proud. “That whoreson is not dead? How did he come to live? You assured me he was dead! How does he come to dog my steps?”
The Black Storm is not as tractable as you may believe, Lord Kaldred.
“I do not know,” Rafael replied solemnly, supressing a smile. “High Priestess Lutessa diverged from her declared intent. I had not the time or opportunity to question why.”
“Where is he now?”
“Upon the Dalian coast, but not for much longer. It will take time for their fleet to gather. No more than a month and he will be upon our shores. I will see to his demise myself.”
The cloaked man on the left stepped forward and whispered once again into the imperator’s ear. Rafael bristled with suspicion, and as much as he wanted to lunge up the steps, he remained.
The imperator sat back down in his throne, hunched over and broken. “Lord Kaldred will see to that. I no longer trust you.”
Rafael knew now that the imperator was lost. Lord Kaldred in the months at war had broken the Black Storm. He poisoned the imperium.
“I must protest,” Rafael declared, desperately clinging to hope. “There are other men and women who have served you longer, and who would not break faith. They would defend your imperium. Lord Kaldred would destroy it.”
“Stay silent,” a voice commanded.
It slithered through Rafael’s mind. He knew it was the monster; for it was deep, harrowing, and gravelly. Looking to the Mountain’s Summit, the imper
ator seemed to shrink upon the throne. No longer a sovereign. No longer a man.
“What have you done to him?!” Rafael exclaimed as he began to climb the Mountain.
“Defiance is death!”
Rafael saw a great shadow flash before his eyes, and it pushed him back through the benches and into the wall behind. It was like a great war hammer crushed his chest. He rose intently and drew Vengeance, hobbling forward.
“Think that would avail you?” Lord Kaldred declared. “You have seen the change in the imperium. You who resisted the power of the stone. You would challenge me? It has long since we saw each other last, yet I did not think you sought the Lord of Death so greedily.”
The change seemed more than Rafael ever fathomed. No one would avail him any longer. He could not wait to do the deed. He pushed forward, ignoring the pain. “I would. I do not know what would happen if we were to cross swords, but I would die before you draw another breath.”
“Lord Aleksander,” the monster declared.
Rafael looked to the cloaked man on the right, who pulled down his hood. The man resembled the scholar, but he was more grim-faced and stern, utterly unlike the young man. The figure reached into the folds of his robes, and withdrew what Rafael thought was an over large crystal. It shone a brilliant yellow, but as the light grew brighter, he knew it was no mere gem.
I have seen that—no!
Suddenly a design appeared upon the stone floor. It was a dark crimson colour that seemed to sear the rock. He saw a broken M inside a wider circle. Then a cold wind pushed through a chamber, and a dark fog gathered, slithering towards the M. It began to darken, like shadows cascading together, and it shot up like a pillar. It peeled away, revealing the figure of a boy garbed in black trousers and a draping coat. The boy’s eyes were black as pitch, and Rafael felt like the lad bored a hole in him.
“You were my father’s friend, once,” the boy said in a deep, echoing voice. “You who would speak of death. You took his. Was it worth all your plotting and deceit? This is a realm of malevolence now; a realm that you bore. I serve it now, as you will.”
Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1) Page 17