“The high servitor’s wards had not failed, then,” the Black Wrath mused aloud. “He has not betrayed us?”
“I can still feel them,” Lord Luc replied. A light near his breast pulsed and soothed, and the Black Wrath knew what it meant. “Heh, it is of His choosing, Black Wrath; and it is His will that I say unto you: bar the gate, and deliver the Dalians their doom.”
“They are legions, Lord Luc. I cannot hold them long!”
“You will not have to,” Lord Luc answered, smiling dervishly. “Ser Elin has changed much since he arrived upon your soil. So near to the dark god and the vestiges of His power, the fallen knight could not resist Its touch. The Dalian will stay his swords and challenge you to single combat. Bar the gate.”
“Lord Luc,” the Black Wrath said suddenly, concern for his sovereign flaring. “Does the dark god will my imperator’s survival?”
“Lord Kaldred would not have come here if he did not. Your sovereign will rule in the dark god’s name. If you but bar the gate.”
The last service I shall render.
The gate slammed shut. The Black Wrath withdrew Doom, and thrust it into the dry, barren ground.
The city was dark and quiet; the din of battle far and distant. All roads from the gate lead to the cross roads of the city, just beyond his sight to the south-east of the courtyard. The remnants would give battle, slow the Dalians down, but he knew that the stopgap would be him.
None shall pass lest my blood feeds the soil. Ser Elin, fallen knight, the Butcher, he will come to the Lord of Death with me.
The Black Wrath did not fear death; to him it was a consequence of loyal service long accepted. Though the lord commander’s failures wrought this end, the Black Wrath’s own resolve would preserve the imperial line. Imperator Argath Diomedes, Black Storm, Lord Sovereign of the Isilian Imperium. That was the only man who mattered.
The man who gave me purpose when I had none. I will grant him life when there is naught but death. Thus will I repay his trust.
The Black Wrath’s eyes loomed to the east. He did not doubt there were piles of corpses upon the north gate, but how they had come remained a mystery. There was but a small band of Dalians that roved near the mountains—or so the scouts had told him. He did not think it was them who lingered, and instilled terror to all who neared it.
Then who could it be?
Savants and zealots from the desert were likely to his mind. When their master was pushed down before the Mountain, the Black Wrath saw defiance and resolve, though High Servitor Jophiel’s words belied little of it. Much had been done in service to the imperium, but the Black Wrath believed if the Order stirred, Amos would have stretched his hand eastward.
Trechtians and Islanders were the others who raised the Black Wrath’s suspicions, but he did not think either would beach the wastelands until only one force remains. Prince Adreyu Marcanas and Overlord Damian Dannars were vipers, but cautious to a fault.
The Black Wrath raised his eyes, and espied a small band of black clad swords, spears, and bows quickly marching through the courtyard. The skittish messenger ran ahead, flushed and breathless.
I should not suffer such a worm to live.
“All that remains. Some one hundred. My captain, he—”
“The imperator shall choose among you, whence you come to his presence,” the Black Wrath replied dismissively, cutting off the wretch. “Fall in line.”
He counted and watched as the messenger sped away. Rare was the man who did not bear a wound, nor walked with pride as their service demanded. A desire rose within him to make an example of the weakest, but even if they were witless, the imperator would have need of every arm.
He endured impatiently.
Whence the last man passed through, his count was at one hundred and two. Far short of the of tens of thousands that stood defiantly upon the Dalians arrival.
It will be enough to speed my sovereign to the mountains. There Ser Elin shall never find him.
Time passed slowly, and his gaze never averted from the cobbled path leading from the crossroads. Voices rose and fell, and he waited and endured. He trusted his sovereign, who extended trysts to Lord Kaldred, Elder Amos, and Lords Aleksander and Luc. The Black Wrath did not understand all of what they said, or what he had seen in half remembered dreams, but Imperator Argath Diomedes was the Black Storm again, and the Black Wrath would welcome death long before disloyalty.
It was not long until there was the clangor of plate, and hundreds of feet poured into the courtyard. The Black Wrath was filled with resolve and pulled Doom from the ground, holding it aloft with both hands, meeting the sea of assailant knights, usurpers, and miscreants.
Crystal armour and silver and white tabards filled the courtyard. Emerging from the swath was a helmetless man, clad in crystalline plate, and a white cloak swirling. The man grasped a bastard sworn, and shouted, “Black Wrath! Judgment hath come, as I had warned it would.”
That must be Ser Elin. A whelp. Yet his eye caught the man standing next to the fallen knight. The long years would not give him cause to forget Ser Johnathan Falenir. The rest were nameless: an endless sea of white and silver. “This land is not your own,” the Black Wrath declared. “You will take your leave, or be a head shorter.”
“The Mountain does not rise so high that it has forgotten its misdeeds,” Ser Elin replied, stepping forth. “Upon orders of your sovereign, the sentinels came in the dead of night, butchering and burning as they went. Fields of children lay buried beneath the earth, others your kind let parch beneath the sun. Imperator Argath Diomedes will be called to answer for what he has done.”
More than once the imperator had told the Black Wrath that the Dalians would cross the sea bearing such lies, acceding their own consciences in the Light of their twisted deity. That was all he needed to hear.
“Black are your feathers, and hollow your words,” he said. “Was it not you that wrapped children in silver and white, and set a pyre within your holy halls? The Mountain is not blind, nor the loyal swords who serve it. We sailed west to reclaim what was rightfully ours.”
“Illusions crafted from your own delusions,” Ser Johnathan declared, stepping forward. Ser Elin was silent, acceding to the elder knight. “We have fought many times before, Black Wrath. You are a worthy foe. Honourable. I would not have your service ended in disgrace and dishonour.”
The Black Wrath bristled. “Disgrace? Dishonour? Hollow words, Ser Johnathan. Much Lord Commander Rafael Azail reported to the Mountain that were false, but three years past was no fable. You stood in that church, much as the knight-commander did. You have no honour. Do not speak to me of it.”
“And what of the lord commander? Did he deliver my warning to you?” Ser Elin asked.
“Words were brought to the Mountain, and yours were not silent. All that remains are the Black Guard.”
Ser Johnathan put a hand to his breast, but Ser Elin stood as if no words passed him by. “Did he fall by your steel, Black Wrath?”
“The Mountain passed its judgment upon him—as I will to you.”
“Too many lay dead at the feet of ambition,” Ser Elin said. “I would not spill any more blood needlessly. You are defeated, Black Wrath. Your imperium has fallen. Your sovereign all but lost.”
“Not while I still draw breath!” the Black Wrath shouted. “The Mountain has stood tall for o’er three hundred years. It will not fall today, not to you. My life for the imperator!”
Wordlessly, he leapt forward, and Ser Elin matched his stride, steel colliding in the centre of the courtyard. Ser Johnathan shouted out commands and the Dalians spread out in a semi-circle behind their knight-commander, swords drawn, standing sentry.
“Long have I waited for the heads of the Faith,” the Black Wrath growled, pushing back at his foe. “I may perish in the attempt, but yours I shall take.”
“Death comes only for those fallen under the sway of shadows!” Ser Elin shouted as he rolled away. He rose and arced his blade in
savage swings toward the Black Wrath.
He met each stroke, pushing back hard, turning in an arc to the other side, only to have his blade met. He barrelled forward, and Ser Elin rolled out of the way, standing up upon the other side. The Black Wrath charged forward, battering at his foe’s blade, but the fallen knight persisted.
“You are stronger than you look,” the Black Wrath said. “I thought you no more than a pontificating fool, commanding from afar.”
“And you are slow, old man,” Ser Elin said, slashing with quick, strokes. The Black Wrath parried, keeping his foe in front, but he could not swing without exposing himself.
Further and further he was pushed back, until he lunged a forearm out, blocking the steel with his own plate. The steel shorn the armour, and his blood coated the ground; but he grinned and arced Doom with his free hand, nearly landing a blow upon the fallen knight. His blood streaming down, he swung in hurried, frantic strokes. Ser Elin back pedalled, desperately dodging and parrying.
The Black Wrath pushed with all his strength into a savage side swing that knocked the fallen knight’s sword away, skittering across the ground. He heard the onset of feet and lunged towards his foe. He knew there was only mere seconds before the knights fell upon him. His foe was crawling away, but near at hand, and when he came down hard, steel met his stroke.
He gazed forward incredulously and saw familiar brown eyes looking back at him—in mail and boiled leather—not crystalline plate. “Harpy!”
Aerona Harkan pulled up her long, thin blade, leaping back. She extended a hand to Ser Elin and helped him up. “Recall your swords, Knight-Commander. I shall join you shortly.”
Ser Elin pushed her away. “We do not answer to your—”
“You will, lest you wish to face my Brood.”
The Black Wrath looked to where the Dalians once stood. Tall, lithe women in mail and boiled leather faced the knights, swords drawn. The answer to who held the north gate had come to him at last, but it offered no comfort.
He always knew that Aerona Harkan was ne’er far from the overlord’s ear, and if her consort willed war upon the Mountain, it would be the Harpy or the Corsair.
And there she stood.
“He is mine, Knight-Commander,” Aerona near shouted. “I will account all of it to you, but you must trust me, and prepare your knights for the battle that is to come.”
“There is no battle! They are broken. All that remains is the Black Wrath! Imperator Argath Diomedes is defenseless.”
For all your knowledge, Ser Elin Durand, you are a fool.
“Knight-Commander, we should—”
“I do not wish to hear it, Johnathan.”
“I want her head as much as anyone, but not here, not now.”
Aerona laughed, brandishing her steel. “Bold words from an old man, Lord Protector. Any one of my Brood would deliver me your head, or did you forget my mercy already?”
Ser Johnathan stared back at her. “Take those words back.”
“Enough!” Ser Elin declared. “Curse it all. Sheath your steel, Johnathan, we are pulling back. Pull back!”
Ser Elin shouldered through his knights, and the rest slowly turned away. Ser Johnathan lingered, leering at the Harpy, but he too, walked down the eastern road. The Black Wrath eyed the Brood, who did not turn to face him until the silver and white was but a distant shadow.
Aerona stood before him, brushing a free hand through her long hair. He intended to find out what game the overlord was playing. “’Til your ruin, you remain an obedient sheep to your consort. He has meddled long enough, as he will soon discover.”
“Your enemy knocks upon your gates, near all your defenders have fallen, and you would speak so to me?” Aerona laughed. “Had you forgotten that tithes were paid to Lanan for all these long years? No longer will you make demands—you or your imperator. The imperium will fade into memory now.”
The Black Wrath harrumphed. “And you have come to gloat?”
“No, not gloat,” she replied, moving closer. He kept his sword hand low, wary, and cautious. “There is matter that I wish to know before the end. I do not trust the Dalians, no more than I trust this decrepit imperium. Are you still Andrew Dunctap, or has the imperator taken my father’s friend from me?”
He raised his sword as she neared. “I am my imperator’s Black Wrath. You know why I left. Why I came here.”
“And you remain here for the same reason that you fled.”
“Guard your tongue, Harpy.”
“Guard yours!” she cried out, bringing her steel down upon Doom’s edge. He saw wrath in her eyes, seething with very breath. “It does not have to fall like this, Andrew. The Faceless Shadow, men in cloaks, it is taking Lanan as it has taken Isil. Give to me what was brought, and we can return together. You will rule, as you always should have.”
The Black Wrath did not question his sovereign. “I would die before I let you take from the imperial treasury,” he shouted, swinging madly, pushing her across the ground. “I will take you to the Lord of Death with me.”
“I take no pleasure in this,” she cried leaping back, two hands upon her blade. He pushed her back, and though she skidded against the ground. She leapt back, cutting low.
He pivoted, parrying frenetic cuts near his feet, never ceasing his movement. She sprang away, and he lunged at her, pushing her down towards the barren ground. “You are not strong enough. You never were.”
Aerona kicked her feet out, swept at his legs, and he staggered, and then watched ruefully as the Harpy skirted away. He turned the hilt in his hand, moved about, daring her to charge at him. She simply paced back and forth, and he felt she was mirroring him.
“I never knew you for a coward, Aerona,” the Black Wrath growled.
“I will not play into your hand.”
“You already have.”
The Harpy leapt suddenly. He squared up to her, and saw her steel come towards him in a vicious overhead slash. He put his blade up to meet it, and he thrust forward, and elbowed her in the chest, staggering her.
He barrelled into her, and brought his sword down but cut only into the barren ground. He felt a cut at the back of his leg, he turned swinging, and she knelt close to the ground, grinning. “I watched from afar as you fought Ser Elin. Him and I are alike, but I am not encumbered by plate mail. I will cut you down, Andrew.”
“Do not call me that!” the Black Wrath shouted. Rage coursed through him, and he charged at her desperately. She lay low to the ground, dipping and dodging, cutting low. “Stand and fight, Harpy!”
Aerona loosed a short sword at her side, leapt into the air, and narrowly missed him. He turned and swung down at her head, and she caught his steel with one hand on her trembling blade.
“I will break your bones,” the Black Wrath screamed.
“Not before I make you bleed!” Aerona howled.
He felt a sharp pain. The short sword found a gap in the plate. He let go, flailing back, pulling the blade out and throwing it aside. The blood trailed out, and he cursed himself for a fool.
“Argath Diomedes is not worth your life,” Aerona shouted out. “Is this all you have left?”
Without him I have naught.
Wordlessly the Black Wrath charged at her, intending to run her through. He looked into her eyes; all the rage and seething was gone, and he saw pity. Ignoring it, he ran harder, but then she was gone. Doom was impaled into the ground, and as he lifted it, all his strength had fled.
Blood gushed from his throat. The realm darkened.
He looked toward Cimmerii’s Hold, extending his arm. He wanted to reach the imperator, to speak, to guard, one last time. But he was so far away, and all he could see was fleeting shadows.
Flee…
Live…
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Harpy’s Brood
Aerona dropped to her knees.
The realization of what she did consumed her. Guilt, anger, and disbelief interlaced every thought. She told hersel
f it had to be done, but regret still gnawed at her. There were countless bodies piled up in the alleys of Lanan, and beneath the tides of the sea; all by her blade—or her orders. They were nameless foes. This enemy had a name. Andrew Dunctap.
I have slain my rightful overlord.
She forced her eyes forward, and it seemed like Andrew crawled with his last strength, extending an arm to Cimmerii’s Hold, reaching out for the imperator he had served so loyally. Aerona wanted so desperately to reach through the façade of Black Wrath, to bring Andrew back, to have him see the need against the looming darkness.
The attempt was vain and futile. He died the Black Wrath.
She clenched her fists and pounded the barren ground. We cannot all be lost to it. The Faceless Shadow’s reach cannot extend to all of us. If her hopes were not fruitless, it would lay in the hands of the Dalians, and their commanders who would rather see her dead. I must convince them, or we will join with you Andrew.
A strong, slender hand suddenly grasped her shoulder. “Mistress, there is much left to do.”
Aerona clutched her discarded blade and looked into Dominque’s big, dark eyes, rife with concern and understanding. Behind her was the tall and slender Lara, stout and broad Jessica, and the swarthy Claire. They were the most trusted of her Brood: orphans from the islands and utterly loyal.
“Yes, we did not cross the sea to end the Black Wrath,” Aerona said stubbornly, trying to push the memories of the man from her mind. “What have we learned?”
“The Dalians are still fortifying their position in the city,” Claire said hoarsely. “There is but a small contingent at the south and east gates. Our women at the north gate have not seen a hint of silver and white towards there. If I may be so bold, I would hazard it will not be long before they learn a battle was fought there, and not by their own.”
“What about the Isilians themselves?” Aerona asked. “Are they hidden in their homes? Who commands?”
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