What do they mean?
No dawn ever provided a satisfying answer.
They were all false, as dreams were wont to be.
Never in her life did she see a man in darkened armour, and Rafael would take his own life long before he threatened his sovereign.
Oh Rafael…
She knew the light was not false. It was the only part of the dream that could be true. Sebastien took her far away from the mainland before it happened, but it did, she saw it. It was blindingly bright, colourless, and terrifying. The land looked much the same when it dulled to nothingness: scorched, burned, barren. Still, there was no doubt in her mind that anything living was now dead.
What does Sebastien know? Who is he?
The man was Dalian—that much she knew. His garb, mannerisms, the way he spoke, it was very much Dalian. Ashleigh did not think him a devoted man of the Faith, yet he was learned.
By book or by stone?
That was a danger in itself, she knew. The man could have owed all he knew to the stone, or the stone chose him for what he knew. She could not just ask him. Nor did she think it likely the stone would trust her with the secret, if the man would ever part with it.
The city beneath was bustling, and the noise of life drifted up the tower. She went to dress for the day’s trials. At the southern end of the chamber was a squat dresser filled with fine silk, velvets, and cottons. She put them aside, and eventually found soft boiled leather, dyed black, with a dark blue trim.
She felt the leathers fit snugly and would afford her freedom that plate mail could not. She threw aside the blackened silk face covering, and put her old tabard over the leather: a dirty, deep brown with Mount Cimmerii emblazoned on the chest.
If only I could but walk around and—
Men garbed in black guarded her door. They warned her to stay and wait; they said the overlord would want her when he would, and he would not search the castle looking for her.
She stood by the window and waited.
It was mid-morning when the door slammed open to admit Sebastien Tiron, muttering incomprehensibly to himself. The man wore the same garb as he arrived in: a faded blue coat and brown trousers that were tearing at the seams. His spectacles were halfway down his nose, and he pushed his long hair out of a face wounded by frustration.
“Do you have news?”
The man turned to her sharply, as if seeing her for the first time. “Much and more.” Sebastien shut the door, and placed a bar upon it. “The Crimson Swords report to their master eagerly. We must mind our words near them.”
Sebastien stood on the other side of the window, mere feet from her. He looked exhausted. The stone by his breast glowed faintly.
“He is here, the Shadow.”
The Shadow?
“Banish the thought from your mind, my dear, you will not exchange words with him, not yet. The stone will decide such things in due time. Serve and be rewarded. Seek your own goals and be destroyed. All things in time.”
“Yes, of course.”
“The overlord received him before we had arrived. The Shadow has some mastery over him, though the will in that pirate is strong, very strong. There will be questions asked, many of them, and we must not give any answer. Our boon is secrecy. When we lose it, we lose our advantage, and lives. Do not think the stone will abide by that much longer. We are all pieces on a board to them, even the unwilling overlord. They will be moved and soon.”
“Does he know of it—the stone?”
“Of its existence, yes. That we have it? No. No, child, if he knew of it, this scum infested city would be as dead as your home. No, he does not know of it yet.”
That reminder will not serve, you bastard.
“What of our purpose, then?” Ashleigh forced out, suppressing her anger.
“That I will know when night falls on this city again. I will meet with the Shadow, and you will be here, waiting for news. I felt a need through the bond, Ashleigh.” Sebastien placed a trembling hand on her shoulder. “You will be needed before this is over. It has promised much; you will not be without your answers. They will come soon.”
“I long to know what brought this ruin, return, and bury those I love with honour.”
“I know that—”
“You know naught!” She knew she spoke the words too loudly. The men outside remained silent. Sebastien’s hand withdrew hastily; his face was troubled and wounded.
What have I done?
“You must be hungry,” Sebastien said suddenly, looking her up and down. “Ah! You look like one of the Brood. Fierce and strong. That is you. Oh, but that tabard, it must go. Those with power know you are the last Isilian, best not let any others learn of it. The less people know, the better.”
“As you say,” Ashleigh said solemnly, hiding her face.
When she removed the tabard, there was a pounding upon the door, followed by, “Break your fast in the mess hall. You have leave.”
“Shall we?” Sebastien asked.
Ashleigh nodded and followed the healer out. She did not want any more rest—only strength to train and learn.
When the time comes, I will do you proud, Rafael.
Chapter Five
Calamity’s Tale
Daniel scowled when the guests took their leave.
They spoke long before the Overlord’s Seat. He could not have said how long. There were no windows in the hall: just stone walls and flowing water through long, thin basins. It could be midday or the dead of night. Not that it mattered to him; he rarely slept more than a few hours anymore.
What mattered had stood before him. Yet he did not know what to make of the speech of either man or creature. There was little to doubt in the news that Sebastien brought, but how he knew it was wrought in mystery. If the Dalian could be believed, he had fled Isilia before the light seared it; all the while retaining knowledge of the events that came just before and afterwards. It was an account of stones of power and the escape of those who left trails of blood behind.
None of it makes sense.
Daniel visited the imperium two weeks past, and he saw bodies stacked like mountains; the ground was dead and sere, ruins where cities once stood, and most of all: no stones and no blood.
The Shadow did little to assuage fears. The creature made it clear that Sebastien was his own servant, fulfilling his will. Both he and the woman would bring glory to the overlord, it had said. Little more would it reveal, and it cautioned patience; for a sign would soon scorch the sky, and counsel would be given then.
Riddles and misdirection, that is all it was; and cowards who fear to reveal what they know is false.
“Even if I were to believe this nonsense,” Overlord Damian Dannars had declared haughtily near the end of the discussion. “What would you ask of us?”
“The stone cannot be left in Dalian hands,” Shadow had replied. “Send this man to retrieve it, and the weapon shall be yours.”
“Why him?”
“There is much you do not know. This man is Dalian, and survived the stone. Lest you wish for the Voice to bury It so deep that you cannot find it, you will send him and him alone.”
“Do you threaten me in my own halls, creature?”
“The affairs of stone are what they are, Overlord. See my will in this, and be rewarded. Think it folly and reap that withered crop.”
The Shadow would not say more on the matter. He was pressed, yet the same answer would come, but phrased another way. The overlord eventually relented, and glared ominously at the pair of them.
Whatever truth that creature clutches greedily will not be shared. Likely there is no truth.
The overlord dismissed them from the hall.
“You saw the girl. What do you make of this farce?” he asked once the doors were shut tight.
“Whatever she saw, it frightened her,” Daniel replied solemnly. “More like it was some delusion; a woman’s sorrow. I doubt a dream will give her answers, less that she would share. That woman had a
will of steel. If she ever grasped the truth, she would die before sharing it. I would gut them, and send them to the Deep Below. They are not worth our time.”
“You would, Corsair! Heh. I would do the same, but that cloaked fiend, he is not a man easily slain. Whatever men you set to the task would come back to you as bloated corpses. No, they must remain alive; and we will be stronger for the men.”
Damian fears this creature. “Is there not a risk with the Dalian?”
“The Dalian is a thrall. He will not gainsay his master. What concerns me more is what he possesses. All this talk of stones and the fool clutches one to his breast. Our stone. Least we know now what happened to your man. He slew them.”
Daniel could not suppress his surprise. On stone and relics, he knew little, but it was his men that took the trinket to Isilia. To return it and—
“We must have his head,” he declared.
“Constrain yourself,” Damian said. “Heh, it is what I intended. The deed has brought him here along with his friend. When they have given us what we need, they will no longer matter. In the face of such power, what is loss? No more need to be mourned, lest you forget who you serve, and who you owe your life to.”
He was no mere man to me. A brother. I trusted you with his life. Now he is dead. Curse your hide, Damian.
Daniel moved to speak in anger. Before he could mouth the words, the doors creaked open, and Davat stepped forward in his gilded crimson plate and said, “Aerona Harkan awaits without.”
“Admit the wench,” the overlord commanded. “There is much she must account for. Lies and fabrications most like, but I will hear her all the same.”
Davat beckoned to his men, and the Harpy stepped through. There was a time when Daniel thought her graceful and deadly. Not anymore: she was a shell of that. She was garbed in blacks, bedraggled, with a limp on her left side. Her face was strong yet worn. The eyes said much: defiance, reservation, and fallen pride. She stopped at the foot of the steps, looking up towards the overlord, with hands clasped behind her back.
Look at the mural behind. Look at what he has done. And do not forget our tryst.
“What is it, Damian?”
“Mind your tongue, Harpy,” the overlord declared. “You are not shuffling into my chambers. You are brought before me to answer for your treachery. I would have the proper titles from you.”
“Overlord.”
“Insolent wench. Look at me when I speak to you; leave not your eyes down. You are much fortunate that I did not send for a headsman when you were brought back. Think I would care if you were asleep when I mounted your pretty little head upon my walls? Lucky for you I would have answers.”
“Lucky for you, otherwise you would have none.”
“Mind your tongue. I will not say it again.”
Aerona spat upon the crimson carpet that ran up the stone steps and said, “Ask your questions.”
“Why did you defy me?”
Daniel felt her eyes briefly upon him, passing in understanding. “To stay the erupting madness. You knew aught was amiss. Just as well as I did. Yet you did naught! What did you think would come to pass as our charges tore themselves apart? Yet you sit there, all pompous and arrogant, taking in your pleasures and your vices. Isilia is yours, you have always said it. You watched her burn. If you are so desperate to take your life then do it; but do not take the rest of us down with you in your delusions!”
Incensed, Damian stood and drew his sword. Daniel kept a hand on the hilt of his.
Fall upon her in wrath, Damian, and you will never rise again.
“You would talk to me this way!” the overlord shouted, spittle flying. “’You of all people. Of my affairs, you know little. Think an imperator is tractable? He found a trinket old and ancient deep within the mountains that emboldened him. Heh, their end was long coming; and it is I who would have stood to end him once it was done with, and taken whatever he wielded. Now it is lost, gone to our enemies, few as they may be. Your idiocy has paralyzed us; forced us to bow and scrape to cowards and fear mongers. You could never see past your nose, miserable wretch.”
“I—”
Do not speak! Thrice-cursed wench, do not speak! I should slay you for what you did. You are no more than a treacherous snake! Cut your head off and no longer will your venom poison us.”
“Then skewer me you bastard. Wet your blade. Gut me, cut off my head, feed me to the dogs. Do what you will. I care not for your deluded fantasies.”
“Heh,” Damian suddenly laughed, sheathing his sword. “Who would warm my bed at night? You are of some use. Repair your treachery, here and now; and tell me what happened there. Tell it quickly and be done with this insolence.”
Daniel took his hand off his sword, disappointed.
Aerona answered. “All that remained of the Isilian Imperium was there. It was a bloody battle at their doors; the Dalians only scraped a victory for the exploits of my Brood. Cimmerii’s Hold was dead when we entered—a tomb had more life in it. I went down into the depths. It was as if they built another castle under the dirt. There was a stone and three men. What they meant to do with it, I know not.”
“You did not have such a treasure on you,” the overlord said sharply. “Heh, treachery met with treachery most like. You see what betraying me has wrought you? Heh. What did this stone look like? Be quick with it.”
“I could not tell you its shape. It was suffused in a blinding glow, yet for a moment it was a faint green, before its colourless hue absorbed it.”
What are these stones?
“Heh, to think you survived what felled so many,” Damian said, grinning. “Least deserving of the lot to come out of it. Ah but cowards always do find ways to live when better men die. So, tell me, how was it you came back to me in a litter and not a coffin?”
“I do not know. I remember reaching for the stone, and then my sight burned.”
“I will not have—”
“I am not hiding aught from you, Overlord.”
“Do not interrupt me again.”
“Overlord.”
“Hear this, Harpy. Your Brood are dead, never to be made again. You are shipless, titleless, and wrathless. You serve the Crimson Swords, and me, me most of all. You cannot fight with that limp. Best that it heals, and fast. Soon you will serve, without your rank impudence. Prove your loyalty, or join the rest of your Brood.
“Now leave my presence. I tire of looking upon you.”
“Overlord,” Aerona said curtly, limping her way down the long hall and through the doors.
Daniel looked to Damian who sat in silence for minutes on end. The man was brooding. The Harpy did not give him an answer that agreed with his own intentions.
I still have an ally in the Harpy.
“I know what you would do,” the overlord suddenly said. “I would have your head on a spike if you did it. You are a friend. Do not risk your rank.”
You do not know my mind—or hers. “She lied to us.”
“Did she? I am not convinced. There is some trifle she is not telling us; I will grant you that. Yet her story gives credence to the accounts of Sebastien and the Shadow. Yes, I do think this presents us an opportunity.”
“They lied to us as well,” Daniel replied, incensed. “Are we to believe the words of drunken prophets? Madmen who think their dreams visions from Mother God? All of them spit in your face. I went there. I saw death, no more. None of them were there. Open your eyes.”
“Must I warn you as I did the traitor?”
You have fallen so far. “No, Overlord.”
There was a disquiet. Daniel feared that Damian knew more than he let on.
“Much has changed,” the overlord said. “We must move and move quickly.”
“What are we to do, then? There are more stones in play.”
“There are many of them. More than you know, heh. That does not concern me. Do not think on it. It is not worth the thought. For the nonce we will wait as Shadow has instructed. Our eyes and e
ars are everywhere; should events befall, we will act, with his consent or not. Meanwhile, I will need your mind on another matter, and your discretion.”
“I am sworn to obey.” For now.
“You will put your most trusted men on the Harpy’s tail. Do make sure they are competent this time—for I would know where she goes, who she talks to, what she is thinking. The whisperers are not enough, and she is too elusive. I want you also to attend to our Dalian friend. Not one of your men, you. I would know his mind. Whatever she withholds from us, it will not be for long.”
I have a man in mind. “Your will be done,” Daniel said as he walked down the hall.
“Corsair,” the overlord called just as he neared the doors. “If your sword is stained with blood, it is I, not Shadow, that will slay you. Do not forget that.”
I will not.
As Daniel left the throne room, the guards were whispering to each other, laughing mercilessly. Davat broke his mirth and spoke. “Enough rats for the day?”
“If only they would be drowned,” Daniel remarked, and he walked towards the eastern stair.
He came to a long hall just below the Overlord’s Seat that his men had come to call the Edge. It was long and dank, with tall windows letting in the late morning sun. His own men patrolled the halls, their eyes ahead and into open quarters that servants attended. Then he came to the war room. The far wall was covered with tomes from the old kingdom and new. His men would never be mistaken for learned men, but knowledge meant much for survival. Weapon racks adorned the eastern and western walls, and wide, high windows towered above them. There was an enormous maple table at the centre of the chamber at the bottom of a low sloping stair. One of his own men stood there, pouring over an aged tome.
“I have been here all night,” the man said. “I expected to wait another. Does the overlord lack words?”
“Jaremy Dahk. We have much to do.”
Dressed all in black, cloakless, but a gold trim adorned his boiled leather: a sign of command. The man was terribly young, long faced, tall, and lithe. Years back, Daniel did not think the man could best a peasant with pitch forks. Yet Jaremy had a will of iron inside him, and tremendous fortitude and resolve.
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