All but one.
“You paying for that drunkard?” the bartender bellowed. He was big and strong, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Aerona pulled a pouch of coins from a hidden pocket of her draping brown cloak, tossing it to the proprietor. “That will do. Mind your affairs. I will not have ye run off more of my patrons, y’hear?”
She shouldered her way to the back of the tavern, far away from the fires. The men she passed seemed to be deckhands, and from the empty mugs on the table, she thought it likely had been ashore for some time.
Gregory was not wrong.
She kept her eye out for crimson cloaks, but none were there.
Not yet.
Her back to the wall, she sat down at a squat table and plopped another pouch of coins on the old wood. That hastened a tall, slim man of ordinary features to scoop up the coins and asked, “What d’ya be wanting?”
“Ale. Brown and thick. Keep it coming.”
“It is enough for some time.”
Aerona did not pull her hood down. She placed her elbows on the table, and when the ale did arrive, she gulped down mouthfuls, watching and listening. E’er since the audience, she had questioned many and searched the castle looking for some clues concerning the cloaked men who had visited with the overlord. She uncovered little, and thought the commons might have some useful leads.
At least until my tail arrives.
It was a muddled mess of noise, but some voices were clear.
“I have half of mind to waltz into that throne o’ his and tell ‘im a man must be at sea,” a broad, balding man said. “We are god be cursed pirates. I will shove me steel up his arse if he do need reminder.”
“You would be a head shorter,” a taller man replied. “And soil good steel besides. Them Crimson Swords of his do not leave their vigil. Not like he would not do it himself. He enjoys it, if tales be true.”
“Bugger that, and bugger ‘im. I still mean to do it.”
“Whoever would share drink with me?”
“Pah. Cannot let that happen, you old sot. Lucky for you I am a kind man with a big heart. Ha!”
The pair crashed their mugs together and laughed loudly.
There is naught to learn from them. They are men who would just talk, and talk loudly. They never know anything.
Her eyes moved towards a nearby table where three men were cloistered together. They were all big and strapping, but spoke with a wisdom that lacked among common deckhands.
One man spoke more than the others, and she guessed he was a trader of sorts. “Embargos. Nigh on five years I never heard aught of it, and now we must face it. I would hire your ships if I could. None of you would take the gold or my risk; nary could I blame you for it either. Strange times.”
“Five years?” the shortest of the men asked. “Not five. No. Do you not remember Lakarn? When the livin’ were no more, that is when it started. You be just a clever smuggler that flirts the law. More like Damian respects that. He respects little else.”
“That the ghost town?”
“Aye,” the third man answered in a solemn voice. “Seems like only yestereve. I docked there ‘fore it happened. Best fish markets in all the islands, and the flesh was not too bad neither. No scum. Simple folk who were there before the overlord; too far south to be concerned by any of us. Then one day came it was all gone. I nor any of my men saw it, but we heard it: loud as thunder it was. Not a soul dared walk to it. Not until Damian’s men showed up. Never saw them again.”
“Southern weaklings,” the first man spat. “No good came from there.”
“Speak not ill of them,” the third man warned. “They did not die naturally. No good comes from that.”
“It began with that, whatever you two want to think,” the short man said. “You seen the shore holds? More bloody crimson cloaks than you would ever believe. The overlord be readying for war, I say, and I say we need to finds our way out.”
“Much profit to be had in war,” the trader said. “Aye, when it starts, I would have jobs for both of ye. We will make a mint. Might even make enough to set the islands straight. It was better before the overlord. If he will not go nowhere, gold rules any man’s heart, even one as black as his.”
“You do not know the overlord as we do,” the third man said. “He may respect your cunning, merchant, but do not think that keeps ye safe. Them crimson cloaked bastards, theys who rules here. Say one wrong word and your blood is spilled on the street. Any soul asks after ye, he be dead too. Him, his family, everyone he knows. No one steps out of line here. I only be talkin’ to ye out of desperation. Do not think I be risking my neck against him.”
“And you?” the merchant asked the short man.
“No different. P’rhaps a chance will surface and soon. ‘Til then, keep your head low, and let it pass; and pass it will. May not like what he has done, no doubt you will be safe. What be better than that? Lanan has its pleasures. Whore yeself.”
Aerona banged her mug on the table, frustrated with the cowardice. The slim man hurried along with a fresh mug of ale. “Two more. It’s all your gold is good for,” he said.
“Two more then,” she replied, and he hurried off.
She looked around the tavern. It was the same everywhere: men and women frustrated with the overlord, fearing a war, eager to leave, but knowing the Crimson Swords would never let them. She thought they knew little: war was not a distant specter, but inevitable. Trecht would not wait long, and if her consort had any sense, he would strike and strike hard; scare off the Marcanas boys. All the wealth and prosperity of these fools would mean naught when that comes to pass.
Aerona then noticed a man from the days before the overlord. None on the islands knew his proper name, but they called him Old Coral. The man was a smuggler and flesh trader. Few thought the old man would remain, yet here he was spending his coin. He was still broad and squat, grizzled, with a stern face. The old man was talking closely with a thinner man wrapped in a grey-green cloak. They were too far away to make out the words, but the Old Coral was none too happy with whatever the other man had to say.
The door to the tavern suddenly slammed open. Rain drifted in from the outside, and the bartender bellowed to get in and close the bloody hatch.
A man entered: tall, long of hair, and he walked with a swagger. His cloak puddled behind him, leaving rivers of water behind. The stranger spoke to the bartender, and pointed to the back of the room—to her. The man barked for another, and the stranger took long strides towards her. She chose to sit and wait, lest she let the lot of the commons to learn of her affairs. The hilt of a sword peek outed beneath the stranger’s cloak. His face was hard and stern.
“Leave,” Aerona said to the stranger.
The stranger said naught, but swirled his cloak around a chair opposite her, sat down, and stared back intently. The serving man returned, and plopped a tankard for the stranger, and in turn, he lopped a gold piece and said, “Away now.”
The serving man’s back turned, Aerona pushed her cloak out and brandished her own sword. Whoever it was, she had no mind for words. “I told you to leave. Think I am afraid to bloody you in a place like this?”
The stranger took a long swig of ale. “You saw mine.”
“I will gut you here if you do not stand up and leave,” she declared whilst baring an inch of steel. “See that I will not.”
“Kill a man in his cups? Cruel.”
“What do you want?”
“To know who you are. Pull down your hood, lest you want leering eyes.”
He is not going to walk away. Poxy arsed bastard. Aerona knew that if she remained hooded and cloaked that it would draw unwanted attention. None of the men and women here wore crimson cloaks, or even their informers. It would be safe. She sheathed her sword and did as he asked.
“The Harpy lives. It is as the old man said.”
“Would you like to speak louder, stranger? I do not think they heard you.”
“Darelle. My name i
s Darelle.”
She growled. “Crimson Sword.”
“Now who is talking loud, my dear?” No patron looked towards her. “I would like you to look behind me. There is a man on the far-right wall: chair tilted back, swigging ale like he has not a worry in all the realm. He is plainly dressed in browns and blacks. He looks dreadfully drunk, but I would not challenge him on that.”
“I see him. What of it?”
“He is sworn to me,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “Now, look to the far left, near the door. Do you see the long table with five guests? They are making quite a clangor, save for the man nearest the door. He is drinking, yes? But not speaking much, yes? He has served me loyally since I was old enough to wear a sword. My oldest protector. Terribly fond of me.”
“You do not scare me,” Aerona declared, irritated.
“If you easily scared, we would not be sitting here. I want you to know that I am not alone. Whatever comes of this, you and I will leave quietly without a fuss. It would not do for either of us to have our affairs heard by the overlord. I do recall that he is quite wroth with you. Let us not aggravate him further, yes?”
Bloody Corsair how could—
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Darelle. Did I not say so?” he answered, leaning close. “I am known to the old captain. Him and I have known each other for many years, long before he took sight of you. We share concerns for our country. I do think we are walking down a dangerous road, unarmed, at the mercy of outlaws.”
“That did not stop the overlord from dragging him to questioning.”
“I am not without flaw, nor can I walk as freely as I used to. We are all bound to a fate, and we do what we must. Most men here would let affairs pass them by, oblivious to the dangers their ignorance places them in. No man you are, truly, and I doubt that you are the same.”
“You hear much and understand little Darelle. I moved against the will of the overlord—did as you say I should—and all I reaped was death. What would you know of such things? Your words mean naught to me.”
“You wound me. The Harpy is terribly overzealous, I see. Not a common word here, but fitting for you, I think. I know of your little excursion and what it cost you. When first you vanished, I sailed with the Corsair, and he sent me to find you. I scoured the isles, and nowhere were you to be found. There was but one place you could have gone, though our friend dare not let me go, even if he were to only lose my own life. Fate, as it seems, kept me alive for you on your return.”
Aerona allowed herself a brief smile. The Corsair had not abandoned her. She saw it in his eyes standing beside the throne. Though it did seem a small risk sending this Darelle.
It could be a lie. I cannot trust him. “You talk too much. Claim friendship I know naught of. You are worthless to me.”
“To the heart of it, then. What do you know of Lakarn, my lady?”
Lakarn. When men spoke the word, it brushed off her. It felt so real to her now: like a ghastly scar that would never heal. It all fell apart four years ago. None knew what happened. The overlord sent a small party of Crimson Swords to see what was left, and they did not return. Her and the Corsair were ordered there next, and she went. The memories were still nightmares.
What was once a thriving port town was turned to blackened ash. Men, women, and even children lay sprawled over fences, steps, and harbours: stretching, reaching out—they all bore looks of terror on misshapen faces.
All but one. The man called himself Luc. He was young and scared; guarding two bodies behind him, terrified to move. All the growls and threats only emboldened him.
He was so scared, so frightened.
“The fear. The fear is real,” the boy stammered, swinging his sword to and fro. “It will come back for them. I cannot, cannot.”
“You must,” Aerona had said. “It is gone now. Come.”
“No, no, no! It will come back and find them. It knows them, It sees them. Nowhere is safe but here. I kept them safe here. Long as I stand here, they will be safe. Let me protect them. I must protect them. Leave and let me protect them.”
She nodded her head, and a score of Crimson Swords and Brood descended upon the lad, pinning him to the ground. He squirmed and cursed, blaming them all. The lad still fought fiercely when they dragged him away. He was strong, stronger than he looked, flailing and screaming. Yet what was behind him perturbed her. It was sick and gruesome. There were two misshapen bodies, barely recognizable. Their faces had been beaten in, bones stomped and shattered. All she could hear was, “I had to. I had to ward them. No, It sees them now. I must ward them!”
Death and horror; that was Lakarn. Luc grew into a young man. Into a slayer of my Brood, at the beck and call of Damian. A cloaked man now, like as not, or worse, far worse.
“I know of Lakarn,” Aerona said after what seemed an eternity of silence. “It is a memory that I have tried to forget.”
“It is what spurred you to action. It could not be aught else.”
“He is old and what Gregory told you he—”
Darelle unfolded a worn parchment and pushed it towards her. She looked on it with dread, knowing in an instant what it was, what it meant. Mother God, she knew what it was.
“You have seen it before?” he asked.
It was a drawing from a crude hand. It looked like a G, with a broken circle around it, and two lines that crossed through it. Aerona knew it, but where had she seen it before—
What did they form? A man? No, not a man. No man was ever that tall. No man was ever that twisted. That sword, no, it was no sword. It was the work of nightmares and terrors.
“Aerona.”
“What you seek it is—”
“You saw it in Isil, did you not?”
“Yes. It is a faint, fading memory. It was there. I am sure of it. But where did you come across that mark?”
Darelle sat back as if telling a tall tale, casually glancing around the tavern. “I was in the south when that light appeared. Not a day after it, a bird came from the Corsair, demanding our return. My men urged me to return, loyal as they were. I asked them not to, not yet. I asked for a day’s delay. They gave me that.
“You see, Aerona, when that light blinded the sky, all the realm was a pristine white, save for one place. Lakarn. My men thought I was seeing only what I wished to see; that I was but only making sense of a puzzle that I so wanted to solve. Still we went there. It was just half a day’s ride.
“It was the same as you left. No rot, no crows or vultures. It was as if it was timeless. My horse, the old girl she did not want to go anywhere near the town, and nearly unhorsed me. I sent her off and went in alone; told my men this was my risk, and to flee at the nearest sign of trouble. So I creeped towards the town, and when the burned grass gave way to black soot, I stopped and looked down. That inscription was there upon the ground, writ in blood, or I am no man. Not just once but from all that I could see. The light burned it into the ground, I be cursed if it did not.
“I dared not go further. I heard a sound ahead, not behind. It was a shuffle of robes sweeping across the ground. Then I heard a voice in my head; I did not understand the words it spoke, but I will never forget such cold and harrowing words. That was enough for me and I ran and ran. The voice grew louder and louder, until I was well out of sight and back to my men. We did not wait. We rode hard across the island. Near killed the horses. We dare not stop ‘til we reached Lanan.
“I brought this to the Corsair himself the day he returned with you. He would not hear of it, not for a moment. ‘Lakarn is dead. Let it stay that way. We have the living to look over.’ Is what he said. I am not so sure that it should be dismissed.”
“You come to me for the truth of this? My Brood are dead and buried.”
“Of swords, I have plenty. The Corsair will know they are missing, but if the truth we find there, it will not matter. I owe much to the overlord, but our foes are not to the west. They are here.”
“What makes you think
we can go into Lakarn?”
“You will find a way.”
Aerona was not sure what to think or do. That marking took her to a place that she did not wish to go. Yet Lakarn was a queer place, and if that light she survived gave truth to what happened back then—it might be the answer that she needed.
Damian must be stopped and if this but guides the way…
“In three days, you will bring your swords to Ashen Falls. Until then, leave me be.”
The swordsman drained his mug and walked out of the tavern, never looking back. Not long afterwards, the two men he had pointed out left as well, one after the other.
In bed with a rogue. If I value my life, I should gut him.
Yet I need to know. For their memories.
Chapter Eight
The Inquisitor
Lutessa cringed at the screams.
She gripped the tall iron bars as the inquisitor did his work. The chamber was dark and damp, and her eyes were still adjusting to the faint light. The sun never touched these halls; yet she prayed the Light did, and that gave her some hope until she heard the screams again.
“Where is it?!” a man demanded through the sounds of torment. “Who do you serve? What did you trade for your worthless hide?” No answer came but the sick sounds of steel tipped leather on skin. Rivers of blood flowed down from the man’s breast, arms, and cheeks.
He has not given in for hours, days…
“You will talk traitor!”
Again. And again.
“I have—”
“Speak louder, worm! You address those sworn to the Faith. We are not the sinners of the east. Speak!”
“I have, I have told you all. The light seared and burned. There is naught more to say.”
The inquisitor lashed a blow to the man’s head, and he hung limp and lifeless.
Lutessa wanted to cover her ears, to look away, but she looked on; the guilt was ravenous. A man who was once tall and proud was bound by thick chains, clothes stripped, and as much blood puddled on the floor as matted his beard.
Ser Johnathan, you obstinate, stubborn fool. It is hard, but you serve the Faith well. May Mother God embrace you in this. Hold out for now. I need more time.
Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1) Page 32