Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  Counsel Stephen Francis had one hand raised in the air, calling off the inquisitor. The eyes of Ser Johnathan Falenir raised to meet Lutessa’s in the distance, but she pulled the cowl down, hiding her face. It was an awful feeling, but the only course.

  I will remedy all of this. I will.

  A pair of barrel chested gaolers came from the side and dragged the knight through a rugged door on the left.

  “This is barbaric,” Lutessa half muttered in the empty chamber. “Whatever he may have become, he was a man of the Faith. A loyal sword. He does not deserve this.”

  “Without it, your wisdom would be lost to us all,” the counsel replied. “These are the bones you must throw to the hounds. There is still much we do not know, and more that we must. You do not have to be down here.”

  Three days past Lutessa had reluctantly released Ser Johnathan to the clergy. The Blessed Three did not dirty their hands in this, but urged the counsel of faith to handle affairs. She knew what they meant: the counsel would do what a sentimental woman could not. This journey into the dungeons was half grandstanding for the Faith, the other half a guilt that gnawed at her. If this was the will of the Faith, she would face it.

  We made a tryst. I have to uphold it…

  “This will not do, Ser Johnathan,” Lutessa had said in her solar. The knight had finished another account of his survival, and it was as infuriating and nonsensical as the first telling. “You should forget this fable, this delusion.”

  “When we came to blows, I never saw his face, but I knew it was him,” Ser Johnathan insisted. “That voice, it was changed, but it was still him. His blade was so close to my throat—”

  “If I have your account clear, ser, you fled from some dark power beneath the earth, and when you reached the throne room, every sworn knight turned against you, swearing allegiance to Sariel. Then, Ser Elin came from behind, emboldened by some dark power, and slew all of them, and you. Of course, you survived that and the light that burned and seared a continent to ashes. Stop lying to me!”

  “What would you have of me? Some lie that fits your predicament? I saw what I saw. I am not lying.”

  He believes it is the truth. “If there is naught you can say that will sway the clergy, I do not know what will become of you. They are like to believe you are the cause of that calamity, or sworn now to the service of daemons.”

  “This I know, Lutessa. You do not believe my account of your advisor. He was there, in Isilia, at the end.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  Ser Johnathan’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “What did he say?”

  Only the truth. “He said that he joined with the knights at Falen, upon the advice of Counsel El. Lord Gareth Polin eventually granted Father Stephen an audience. Ser Elin was dismissive, but my counsel shared the way into the mountain, and the knight nearly slew him for it. Then he left, and took a ship home.”

  “Upon my orders, though I reckon he left that out,” Ser Johnathan said, recoiling. “Ser Elin was spiraling downward. I do not know what the father did to cause such an affront, but I thought not to risk it.”

  “And you do not trust him?”

  “He knows too much.”

  A silence passed between them, and then Ser Johnathan reached into his rags and placed a dull green rock on the table. It looked more like a worn crystal with but a single design upon it: a broken X, writ in the blackest of ink that she had ever seen.

  “You know what this is, Lutessa?”

  Lutessa sighed, not knowing if an explanation was the right course. “There was such a thing in our hidden vaults. It has been here since our founding. Some say it was the source of Justine’s power, others her ruin. They all agree that it was here, in our possession, never to be used unless the need was great. It was red, and shone brighter. This is its like, or I am a fool. What is it?”

  “They are the treasures that Imperator Argath Diomedes coveted; though urged at the behest of the Faceless Shadow. I know that one of these were taken from the Northlands. It could be this or another, I do not know. What I do know is that the Lord Aleksander had it in his possession. When I found it, it lay between him, Lord Commander Rafael Azail and Aerona Harkan. Slew them, I do not doubt. In the depths, some terror was revealed; and the power of this stone was unleashed in all its fury. This is your cataclysm. No Light from Mother God. Destruction, death, and chaos.”

  Fear and dread cascaded inside her. She did not think the relic was not safe in any hands, not even hers.

  No one must ever find it.

  She scooped it up and said, “This will be sealed and you will not speak of it. Even if it costs us our lives.”

  The guilt overwhelmed her as she returned to the present and said, “If this thing must be done, I would not hide from it.”

  “As you wish,” Counsel Stephen replied calmly.

  Still cloaked and hooded, she walked with her counsel and left the hall, ascending the stairs to the lower dungeons. The gaols were a secret to all but the chosen servants of Mother God: it was a tryst that Justine the Indomitable deemed was necessary, and none who followed afterwards ever gainsaid it. The very first Voice believed that the Faith was only as strong as the fear it inspires. No man or woman was ever afraid of the pious in stainless robes, but only of steel and blood. Deep within the lower labyrinths of the city was a maze of stone and iron, far away from the eyes of the Faith: a realm of death, fear, and shadows. The paths were guarded day and night: secret entrances availed only to the Voice, her counsels, and the lesser known priests that the clergy called inquisitors. It is in these depths that Lutessa ventured, seeing the need, hating it all the same.

  When she reached the lower dungeons, she pulled down her hood and took a torch from the sconce on the wall. The dungeons were dark, damp, and reeked of shite and urine. Men and women that the Faith locked away were huddled in squat cells, cursing the torch light, but seeming to bathe in it. She could not help but look to them. They were dressed in rags; their bones protruding over stretched flesh, with hollowed eyes deep inside gaunt faces. They all betrayed Mother God, she was told.

  It was here that the Ser Elin should have come long ago.

  “What have you learned?” she asked her counsel. “What truth did our cruelty buy?”

  “Little more than your negotiations. He prattles on about a burning light, and a dark power. A light we all saw. Mother God’s Light. A dark power? Nonsense. It is not the Time of Ascendance, not yet; Sariel, Lord of Darkness, the Daemon Lord, He has not yet come, of that I am sure.”

  Not since Lutessa was a child in Truftan Monastery did she hear of the Time of Ascendance. It was among the oldest of the scriptures: foreboding and grim. It spoke of the rise of the Lord of Death, and dead rising with him, seeking vengeance upon the faithful, courting Mother God Herself. The goddess did not come; the realm wreathed in fire and flame, shadow and darkness. There would be one who did rise, a warrior sworn to the Faith, who wielded the Light itself. What came of it, not even Gabriel’s disciples could recall: the prophet himself thought it would be the end of all life; reborn in a realm they never knew, forever bereft of the Light.

  Reading about warriors of the past, legions sworn to the Light who serve you, and spending far too much time in this darkness. Are you the Lord of Death, Counsel Stephen, or misguided enough to think the legend real?

  “If the man had strength, he would spit on us, but that we have robbed from him,” the counsel continued in a tone that belied smug satisfaction. “The defiance will be beaten out of him, and soon; or he will die, and we can tell the clergy what we would like them to know.”

  “I will not lie to them.”

  “Harrumph. What other choice do you have? By peace or by force you have gained little, and the people hunger for truth. The Damsel’s sails have not been sighted, and there is little to believe that they ever will. You bought time on truth, and truth you lack.”

  She could not deny that her support was dwindling. It was said the peopl
e on the streets took heart with her oath of truth, and even those in the clergy who wanted to bring her down praised her conviction.

  Yet that was when truth was so promising, so seductive, so close. Today it seems like some far away dream that only the poets pay credence to.

  “Flay him.” The words hurt.

  “Pardon?”

  “Flay him. Leave him with naught but agony,” Lutessa said again, tears welling in her eyes. “We must. Mother God forgive me but we must. The people need it. I need it. We need it.”

  “As you say.”

  She passed through the hallway in silence. Her gaze lingered toward the cells of the cursed, the weakened shells, the disconsolate souls.

  Naught but worms eating dirt, she thought, sighing. Was it wrong? Was it just? Was it right?

  She could not bear it a moment longer. “Stop. Please, stop, and look.”

  She faced a cell and saw a man huddled in the corner; he clasped a tattered blanket, muttering inaudible words to the far wall. If the man knew she was looking at him, he did not show it. The light she held was life itself for these men and women who knew only darkness; and it seemed less effectual than her gaze.

  Mother God, what have they done to deserve this?

  “A man condemned,” Counsel Stephen intoned. “Kept alive only to serve penance. It is the will of Mother God.”

  “What did he do?” Lutessa asked.

  “Theft, murder, defilement, I know not. The cells are as long as they are dark, and after a while, one of these looks the same as the others. The holy magisters are sure of their guilt, and the inquisitors bring them closer to Mother God. We are better without them.”

  “They were born in the Light.”

  “And here they serve Her will, in penance.

  “As you do?” Lutessa said suddenly as anger took her. “Do the Faithsworn serve Her will? Tell me, lest I give you to your thrice-cursed inquisitors! Mother God be good, tell me before you join the Broken here. Tell me, Counsel!”

  “As you command.”

  She walked with the counsel in the dark, and he did not say a word for a time, despite the command. Lutessa would not look at him. Yet she knew consternation was the mask he wore.

  He fears what I know, and is afraid of what I would do.

  “We must defend ourselves,” Counsel Stephen said strongly. “Too long have we strayed from the days of our founding. It was hard then: war, famine, disease. In the days before Argath Diomedes rose to power, affairs were better. Or so we thought. Now affairs are worse. We must find our strength again. There are foes around us and no means to stem the tide. The Faith must have strong arms to preserve Her will in an ever-darkening realm.”

  “That is what our knights were for,” Lutessa insisted. “They are not all gone.”

  “They should be, for all their worth. Unbelievers and sinners filled their ranks. They were a mistake your predecessors should never have made. It is no surprise that Mother God brought down Her judgment upon them. That is the lesson of the Isilian conflict. Not your fool decision to arm Ser Elin. It is sin that they died for, not the ambition of a war monger.”

  “Your Faithsworn. They are fervent in belief for Mother God?”

  “Every man and woman I have put a sword in hand are true and faithful. I cull disbelief and sin. If we are not true to Mother God, Her Light will smite us as it did Isilia. The men and women in the gaols are no different. Judgment is for Her and Her alone, but we must not consort with such creatures.”

  The sound of laughter and the jingle of keys echoed in the distance. Lutessa stopped the counsel and whispered, “These swords I will command and not you. I am the Voice of Mother God. I will command Her warriors. Not you. Do you understand?”

  “Will you do what must be done?”

  I want to say yes, but—

  “You will not. Your eyes betray you. Every advisor that you bring into your own counsels, you do for a reason. I am here, standing beside you, for a

  reason. My faith is unwavering. My love for our people absolute. I will do for Mother God what She did for our realm. No matter how hard or cruel it is.

  “Do you—”

  “Do you understand, Lutessa? I have done what you have asked. I will keep you on the Crystal Throne. I will stop the Blessed Three from casting you down. I need your trust.”

  “Do you understand?”

  “As you command,” Counsel Stephen intoned.

  “You are my strength. Do not do this to me!”

  Lutessa did not wait for whatever words he had for her. She stormed past him and out of the gaols.

  We are going to war again. The people will call it providence; and if I should put an end to it, the clergy would accuse me of serving the Lord of Death, and that will be the end of me, and do naught to stop this fool dream.

  Mother God, show me the path.

  Please.

  Chapter Nine

  Servant of the Dark God

  Ashleigh sat down on an old log, and warmed her hands before a small fire.

  She knew there was a risk of being found, but she did not care. A dense thicket surrounded her, and Lakarn was still a half days walk.

  If the talk is true, no one willingly goes near that town. I can spend the night in warmth. Though I did not think to take this trip alone.

  “If not to the east, where will you go?” she asked the healer from Dalia the morning before. Sebastien had been withdrawn of late, revealing less and less. It was his prerogative, but she felt lost in a labyrinth, entombed by darkness. “Our voices will not be as one?”

  “No, no. You must,” Sebastien said hurriedly. “There is much to do. I am needed elsewhere, beyond the reach of the overlord. You, you do not attract his ire. Stay quiet, move where he does not see you, and it will remain that way. Lose your temper, and the least you will be concerned with is his wrath.”

  I do not fear the overlord. “You carry the stone. How will I know what to do when I reach there?”

  Sebastien ceased his packing, and reached into the pockets of his coat. The man stroked the relic, she knew. “You will find a proselyte. When you arrive, heed his will.” Then, as if naught was said, he resumed his search and finished packing.

  She sighed at the memory, threw more wood upon the fire, and crawled beneath thin blankets, thinking of Rafael as dreams took her.

  She suddenly felt hot and dry. Tall stone walls towered above her, broken only by thin slits, nearly thirty feet above. She could taste dirt and sand in her mouth, and a warm wind howled through the chamber. There was a tall man in long flowing brown robes; the design of twin serpents upon them. His face was smooth, kind, and warm; though she felt as if his eyes pierced her soul.

  “Where am I? Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Not long ago you would have known the answer to those questions. He certainly did, when he came to me half dead. Oft his thoughts turned to you. Loathe am I to deny him, now that you stand before us. Alas there are more pressing concerns than a man and his heart.”

  “You hold him against his will! I—,” Ashleigh stopped short, and went to draw her sword, but naught was there – nor her garb. “Avert your eyes!”

  That amused the man in robes. “You truly do not know who I am, do you?”

  Before Ashleigh could give an answer, the man looked different, as if he was like that all along. Gone were the robes and the warm face. In its place was darkened plate and a deep scowl.

  This person she knew.

  “You look for him here, little sentinel,” the man declared brusquely as he grabbed Ashleigh by the throat and lifted her up. “How many times must you watch him die before you stop looking? I have slain him on the streets of Isil, inside Cimmerii’s Hold, on the plains of ice and snow, in the pristine halls of the Faith, and in the lands above. I bring you there and you watch him die. What compels you so?”

  She beat down helplessly on the man’s wrists. It was steel plate, and with her bare hands, she only hurt herself. She tried to talk.
Any words for this monster. The words echoed in her mind, but the monster made no sign, as if it was naught but garbled and unintelligible grunts.

  “Naught to say? Then die! You will rot beside him. Die, little sentinel, die!”

  “NO!”

  The fire had burned low, and no voice responded in kind. Ashleigh sweated, yet the night felt bitterly cold.

  Just a dream.

  She dared not sleep again. She unsheathed her sword and took a whet stone to it.

  It may have been a dream, but I will face my foes with swords drawn. Ne’er again. Ne’er again.

  The sun rose hours later, bright and early. Ashleigh struck camp, and took a long gulp of warm water to parch her dry throat. She chewed strips of salted horse flesh as she walked.

  The forest was thick all around her; the floor a tangle of roots and leaves. She heard the sea further north, though it was lost to sight. She passed trees of oak, fir, and maple. Squirrels rummaged through the tree tops, and small birds chirped as if they heralded the morning.

  Whatever dread that people felt being so close to Lakarn, the wild do not.

  After a couple of hours, the trees began to thin, and a chill was in the air. In the distance, the land went down into a valley, with nary but an old oak descending down the hill. The shore was off in the distance, waves lapping against white beaches plagued by dark outcroppings of what appeared to be ports to the north, and natural harbours to the south.

  After a short descent, the land leveled off, and she saw a deep blackness in the distance, stretching beyond her view. A short fence went all around it, broken only by a fallen gate to the right. She trudged closer, and the ruined buildings became clearer. It was like the town burned to the ground, and all that remained was blackened ash.

  No, not burned. This is worse. This is—

  It was Lakarn.

  Ashleigh saw the decayed remains of a woman. Her clothes were rags, and in protective arms she clutched an infant. The woman had tried to use her own body as a shield, but it made no matter.