“I will have Ser Kevan retrieve the lists and make the changes ere the sun rises tomorrow,” the lord protector replied, clasping his hands behind his back. “Who shall take the mountain road?”
Elin knew he would not descend himself. There was only one he could trust. “You will, Lord Protector. Choose who you would take with you, but only those that you trust. If you fail, the whole realm falls with you.”
Ser Johnathan nodded, and stepped out of the tent.
Elin stood around the map, studying it once more. He moved each piece from outside the walls to the steps of Cimmerii’s Hold. “I am coming for you, all of you,” he said solemnly. “You are as false as my nightmares, these visions, as is Altier. I will bury my daemons, then I shall slaughter yours.
“Your reign hath ended.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Descent
Johnathan stared at a broken G carved upon the mountain: crimson, in the dead of night.
“Lord Gareth Polin,” his call grated against the still air, and the attendant knights parted to let the lord steward through all the same. “Have you seen its like before?”
The lord steward traced the design with his finger. “I have not seen this rune before, but of its kin, yes. There are many ancient treasures with broken markings like this. The words make little sense when put together. Each letter symbolizes a word, but what they could truly mean? We do not know.”
“Is it the path?” Ser Geoffrey Rhuart asked impatiently. “We are under a shelf, but the sun will rise soon. We are dead if they see us.”
“If what the people professed to the father is true, yes, it is the path.” Lord Gareth went down upon his knees and chanted a hymn to Mother God, soft at first, but rising steadily.
The knights fidgeted and glanced about nervously. “They will hear him, Lord Protector,” Ser Nalthaniel Seten, a young but stalwart knight protested.
“Stay your voice, ser,” Johnathan replied. He would have shared the same reservation, if not for the visit from High Servitor Jophiel months past. It was long since that harrowing visit, but the words were seared in his memory. “The lord steward knows what he is about. Leave him to his work.”
The young knight turned and looked outward, joining at sentry with Lady Melissa Herin, Ser Marc Garth, and Ser Geoffrey Rhatin.
Johnathan felt guilty bringing them here, but they understood what it meant. What must be done. Even if they did not know that the knight-commander was slipping away.
The madness from the command tent left Johnathan frozen and wordless. Yet the pain in Ser Elin’s voice was so real—even if it was ruled by a ruthless determination. He knew that words would not have penetrated that cold exterior.
Ser Elin was just like the priests he despised.
Naught remains but to let affairs come to pass.
Johnathan knew that Klara still lurked in the shadows, waiting for the war to be all but won. He no longer desired to avert that end. He knew it was cold and callous, but it seemed the only course. The only course that lead to life.
The Faith would not fall with the imperium. It would remain strong, and whoever was left in the aftermath of the campaign would stand in defiance against the Island Nations and Trecht.
He would not stand with them. He knew this was his final service. The affairs of the country he spent his life defending were in the hands of the Voice, and all others who stood strong.
All that remained was the lord steward, and his master from the sands. Johnathan never acceded to the wishes of the high servitor. There was yet any consequences from it, but it was a brief reprieve. One way or the other, the desert dweller would have his relics, and what would happen to the realm then?
Beyond my concern, all of it! Johnathan thought staring towards the engraving on the mountain. I am too old for any of this. I did what I could for my children, for my country, but it has never been enough. I can only trust in whoever follows afterwards.
Lord Gareth put his head down, his chanting at an end. After a brief silence, Johnathan heard a grating sound, and pebbles drifted down before a hidden door. The engraving was gone, and it seemed like a slab of rock thrust upwards, revealing a dark passage beyond.
“Prepare the brands,” he commanded. “We will not waste any time.”
Ser Marc unslung a pack and started a small fire, while the other knights wrapped cloth around long strips of wood. Lord Gareth came near to Johnathan and spoke softly. “It is a Vault. Empty or no, I cannot say. The high servitor would be most pleased to recover a relic, if the Isilians had not plundered it already.”
“It will be empty, if there was aught entombed,” Johnathan replied dismissively, whilst wrapping a rag around a thick shaft. “We are here to find a path. I will not sacrifice lives for your vain and futile searches.”
“Vain and futile?” Lord Gareth bristled. “It is the cause of conflict, even if Ser Elin refuses to believe it. I cannot say for certain, but it is the source of the imperium’s corruption. Finding it, and bringing down the Mountain are one and the same.”
I have no time for this nonsense. Johnathan shoved the brand into the lord steward’s hands. “Light it. You will need it.”
Lord Gareth pulled away without further argument. Johnathan did not care a whit what the high servitor thought, nor did the sorcerer seem to care that none of the Vaults had been uncovered.
He lit the brand and entered first, crawling on hands and knees. The dark seemed to enclose all around him. He stood up and saw that the walls were little more than a shoulder length apart, and the glower from the brand did not penetrate through the darkness above.
The knights followed, feeling all around them. Lord Gareth was last,
who seemed comfortable and at ease; his curiosity appeared to be a discarded thought.
He knows this place. If this is a trap—
Johnathan was about to speak, but the grating sound returned. The knights cried out, but he silenced them and watched as the path sealed shut. “Was that you, Lord Gareth?”
The lord steward shook his head. “The way shuts when all who It permits to pass are beyond the threshold. We all pass again by the grace of the master of the mountain, but not before.”
“Did you hit your noggin on the way in?” Ser Geoffrey asked. “There are always two ways to open paths. Your prayer, and strength of arms. We have war hammers that will knock that stone down if we must pass. By this door or the others that we are led to.”
“Do not speak lightly of what you do not understand, ser,” Lord Gareth insisted. “There are trysts known only to the faithful.”
“We do not have the time for this,” Johnathan declared. “We will stay silent. The air is thick and hot. Save your strength, or there will be none left. Even our priest in tow.”
The knights bowed their heads, nodding in acquiesance. Even the lord steward inclined his pious head slightly.
“Keep the brands burning, and your free hand upon your sword. We do not know what is within, but we will meet it with sword in hand,” Johnathan announced. “Come. We will walk for some time.”
The glower from the torch lit no more than a few feet. Johnathan walked slowly, eyes upon the floor. Pebbles crunched beneath his boots, but the way was solid. The path twisted and turned, and slanted briefly before leveling off again. It never rose.
The air seemed to thicken, and he was stifling under the leathers that he dared not discard. He wiped sweat off his forehead every minute. His whole body seemed to shake of fever, but he pressed on.
Once or twice he looked over his shoulder and saw his knights slouch, though treading onwards. They did not say a word, but looked distraught and weakened.
We will have to stop soon. But not yet.
A fear itched in the back of his mind. A foreboding. A premonition. He tried to dismiss it and push forward.
It is a mountain, not a hallowed hall of some fell sorcerer. I did not take to those tales as a young man, I will not do so at age.
On and on
it went. The dark did not thin or fade. The turning and twisting of the pathway lead only unto the same dark. He wanted to stop and rest, but knew time was at hand; every delay meant more dead upon the walls. There were foes beyond the imperium, and every sword would be needed.
He pushed on and on.
Hours came and went, and the aches in his arms and legs flared. He abandoned his own advice and switched the brand to his sword hand, and used the other to steady himself against the wall. Near listless, he barely heard a thud behind. Ser Marc had fallen, and he tried to push himself up, but could not rise more than an inch off the dark ground.
“We need to rest, sers,” Lord Gareth proclaimed, helping the knight up. “This path will be the death of us if we push any farther.”
“Sit down,” Johnathan said weakly, pointing to the ground, whilst slumping down against the near wall, strength all but fleeted. “Not long. Until we get our strength. Rations and water. Just enough.”
Not a word penetrated the gloom. He took no more than a few bites of hard bread and cheese, but he drank more water than he should.
It is so unbearably hot.
He desired sleep more than aught else. To rest, to dream, was all he wanted.
His thoughts drifted to home, of the woman who gave him so much, and the children they abandoned.
Johnathan, we must, Lauren plead in a half-remembered dream. They will be hunted if word caught wind. You know what your son will be, and that puts your daughter in danger. If you love them, you will give them up and leave me be. Please Johnathan. Leave us be.
“Lauren… I… There must be another way,” Johnathan begged, stretching his arm out.
He will take them away. You know he will! Her eyes reddened and tears dripped down her face. Johnathan just wanted to wipe them away. If we hide them, they will be safe. Please Johnathan. Leave them be. Leave me be. Please!
“Lauren…”
“Lauren?”
Johnathan fluttered his eyes open, and saw Lord Gareth stooping over him.
“Memories. Naught more,” Johnathan replied dismissively. “A woman from my past—who will remain there, steward.”
Lord Gareth slid down beside him, grinning. “You do not have to share with me. Mother God knows that you care for me little.”
“Not even to those I trust.”
Lord Gareth shrugged his shoulders. “Do you feel It, then? The master of the mountain?”
“That is your legends and myth. This is an old mountain, and we do not understand it.”
“No, there is some power here. Whoever it is awaits us.”
“It is just the heat. No more. I will not hear your fancies.”
“You will see when we get there—”
“What does that mean?” Johnathan asked, grabbing the lord steward by the collar. “What do you know? What does Jophiel know?”
“That name is not safe to—”
“Do you think I fear to say it? Jophiel! We are in half stupors, all of us, but I still have the strength to see through your tricks and deceptions. If
they,” he pushed Lord Gareth’s head towards the knights, who sat with heads down, arms drooping to their sides. “If they but caught wind of your sacrilege, they would not hesitate to slay you. Whence your master did not stir while we passed by the Vaults, I should have taken your head for a traitor.”
“Do you think that I lost my faith in Mother God while in his service?” the lord steward asked without a hint of fatigue. “There is much you do not understand, Lord Protector, but know this: the high servitor is closer to the prophet Gabriel than any in the White Walls will ever be. The prophet is kin to the high servitor, and through him, I have learned much.”
“More that you keep secret.”
“Some trysts must be kept hidden. Think to the Marcanas family, and Argath Diomedes. Do you truly think it some coincidence that they both come to the Northlands looking for relics of the ancients? It is corrupting them, as it would any man or woman. I am warded from it. It is why I am here. So that this madness can end.”
Fancies. Myths. Legends. Lies. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“No,” Lord Gareth shook his head. “You are a man who believes what he sees. You see the high servitor as a daemon. It is all you can do to account for his power. Yet you would not believe the opposite exists—the Light, Mother God’s embrace? I am Her servant, whatever you may think of me.”
“Curse you, Lord Gareth. Curse you.” Johnathan relinquished the lord steward, and put his head in his hands.
“The Vaults are old, older than Trecht, or so he believes,” Lord Gareth whispered, brushing down his coat. “I do not expect for you to believe stories of the relics and their power, but they have a will of their own. Whence they manifest, they turn men and women into daemons, bound to the will of the dark god. Whatever trysts were made between the dark god and the imperium, it is in this mountain. This is more than heat. It is a presence. Can you not feel it?”
Johnathan felt doubt creep into his mind, like an untold fear. It would be long before he believed it would be more than the unknown. “Get them up,” was all he said in reply.
He pushed steadily on, denying the words of the lord steward.
It is a twisted heart that corrupts the powerful, not relics of the ancient realm.
On and on the path went. The sound of footfalls behind was steady. It was enough to know that the knights pushed on.
We cannot give up.
On and on it went. No longer did the path twist and turn; it went straight and down. He put an arm along the wall, too afraid that he would stumble and trip. He did not look back to his knights to see if they did the same. He trusted them.
On and on it went, ever downward. The dark near endless; the heat was nearly suffocating. Behind the knights hacked and coughed, their faces pale. “Stay strong, we must press on we—”
“Ser Johnathan!”
Johnathan teetered on the edge of the path. The burning brand fell from his grasp into the grey haze, soundless. He staggered back and gripped the wall.
Ser Geoffrey stepped forward, and stretched out his brand. A black stair lead downward, piercing the grey. “We found the stair.”
“Yes,” Lord Gareth said, peering downward. “It is as the father described. There are eight of its like.”
“Ser Geoffrey and Ser Marc, take the lead,” Johnathan commanded. His heart still beat rapidly, but he would not show weakness. “Walk down in pairs. Lady Melissa, take the middle. Lord Gareth and I will guard the rear.”
He took the stair slowly. It did not sway or shake, but each footstep felt unsteady. Lord Gareth seemed to take each step without reservation or trepidation. It made him suspicious. “Do you not fear, Lord Gareth?”
The lord steward ne’er raised his eyes as he spoke. “You still doubt me? Mother God gives me strength. Father Stephen was right, Lord Protector. It is the absence of Light that leads men to sin and depravation. Even here, in the bowels of sin, I still feel the Light. Whatever servants of the dark god await us, I do not fear. She will protect me.”
Johnathan never shared that comfort, and he would not now. The devout of Mother God had shattered his faith more than once, and the deity never answered a prayer. Not when he was young or in these older days. “Whoever awaits, you will leave to us, Lord Gareth; and do not forget, we seek a path through.”
“Of course,” Lord Gareth replied solemnly. “That is why you are here.”
“And why are you here?” Johnathan asked sharply, nearly missing a step. Lord Gareth’s hand was on his shoulder, steadying him. “Why?”
“If you will not believe my fervor, then believe this: I do not trust Ser Elin. Nor do you.”
The knights ahead did not hear, nor make any sound that they did. Johnathan thought of pushing the lord steward off the precipice, but stayed his hand. “You are less safe than you think, my lord.”
“Is that a threat? I will follow his—and your—lead. Have I not when you strayed from your
duty? I may be subservient, but I am no fool. You will answer for what you did—and did not—do. I am simply a keeper, Lord Protector, and no relic will be found on a battlefield.”
I doubt that much.
The grey seemed to deepen as Johnathan pressed onwards. He felt a cold wind that pushed the hot air away. Then, through the haze, there he saw a darkened platform in the distance.
“There, do not wander far,” he called to the knights.
He hopped down on the platform. It seemed solid without crack or crevice. He turned and saw there were seven stairs that joined to rock, all leading to what he thought was east and north, not west. “Ser Geoffrey. Where would you lead us?”
The knight looked all ‘round before answering. “We must have travelled north and west, I would think. The far northern stair, that would lead into
the valleys north of the city. As would the two stairs beside it. The middle stairs, it is hard to say where they would lead, perhaps to the hold itself. But there, two stairs south of the nigh eastern one, that should lead us to the city.”
“I do think he is right,” Lady Melissa put in. “The east stair may avail us as well, but the captain has a good guess.”
“Lord Gareth? What does the divine tell you?” Johnathan asked mockingly.
“I do not think we are going anywhere,” the lord steward said, craning his neck upwards. “We are not alone.”
Their cloaks flapped, and Johnathan turned his eyes upward. The grey haze was pushed away in a maelstrom of sable and shadows. He did not know what it was, but he felt malice and hatred tumbling towards him. He drew his sword instinctively, but the presence pushed his steel away and o’er the edge. It churned above and spoke, thundering in his mind.
YOU ARE NOT WHO SHOULD STAND BEFORE THE DARKNESS RISING!
Johnathan collapsed to his knees, holding his head in his hands. The voice filled all his thought, and his whole body was wracked in pain. He pried his eyes open. His knights lay prone: squirming and writhing. Lord Gareth stood before the presence.
Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1) Page 20