Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  The light burns and sears and destroys. It is just like the hamlets and fishing villages off the coast.

  Then it struck her: the bodies did not rot or decay. Hard as it was, she looked again, and it was much the same in the distance: men and boys, women and girls, faces wracked in terror; the bodies seemed like they were frozen in time, as strong and hale as the day disaster fell upon them. What that meant she did not know, and did not wish to guess.

  Her eyes looked to the ground, just before the broken gate. She saw markings in the dirt, writ in crimson. She did not think it was in the common tongue, or any language from the west. Some were the same; others different. One mark appeared to be a broken G with a circle around it, lines crossing. There was another to its right, a disjointed M in a wide unbroken circle. Further was a mark that looked like a P, and another upside down joining with it, and what seemed like a diamond surrounding the queer shape. There were many and more: each as incomprehensible as those that preceded them.

  The wards will speak to you, a familiar voice echoed in her head. Soon, very soon, you will know what they mean. When you are worthy, yes, worthy.

  Ashleigh heard the voice before: a voice heard every day following the calamity. She asked, “Will it let me pass?”

  Of course, of course. They will not harm you. Placed by a proselyte. He is waiting for you. A gift he will bear should you be worthy. Do not keep him waiting.

  Trepidation ruled her as she took a step through the broken G, and a screaming cacophony flooded her mind. It was like a hundred voices shouting at once, each message as incomprehensible as the other. Half a minute later they ended. She gathered herself, looked behind, and saw a wall of shadow rise before her. She saw a clear path of blackened ash and dirt. No markings, no blood, no signs.

  Find the proselyte, and all your questions will be answered.

  She cleared her mind of fears and doubts and walked forward.

  The path wound to the north-east. There were bodies blocking the path, others in what was once green grass, and near tall trees that looked like blackened skeletons. The homes were ruinous; they looked to have been built of grey rock, though their slate roofs collapsed upon them. There was pottery, wooden play swords, and cloth dolls strewn in the rubble. Life was here, once, but not anymore.

  Ashleigh came to a path that ran straight with wide ruined buildings to either side. Amidst the wreck lay long signs, wooden tables, and torn canopies.

  Blackened and seared like all the rest.

  She thought at one time it was a market road: hawker’s bellowing out their wares, husbands, wives, and their children trading hard earned gold for food or play.

  All gone.

  At the end of the market was a fork in the road leading east, north, and west. The dead reached out towards the east.

  Whatever they fled from came from the west. Whatever it was awaits me.

  The road was long with ruins of hearth and home to either side. At the end of a winding row, upon the right, Ashleigh saw a large clearing, and a broken gate. She came upon a tall, but broken home of three strong floors. The building fell towards the right, and a door on the left seemed unharmed. She walked past the gate and into the decrepit home.

  There was a pile of rubble to her right that took all the blackened hall. To the left was a wide-open room, with a hearth on the far side, long benches along the walls, and the remains of rich velvets, patterned rugs, and old pottery was spread about, charred and broken.

  Another time, friends and family must have gathered to share stories and exploits, to drink and laugh and tell bawdy stories. Taken away from them now.

  She discovered a short stair further north, and felt a warm wind blowing from below. She descended the steps and entered a wide space with pillars of stone rising. It was dark but for the faint light of a torch near the far wall. A single shape moved near it, pacing impatiently amid spilled crates.

  “You are long in coming, Ashleigh Coburn. I looked for you some time ago,” a voice declared, deep and frenetic.

  Ashleigh did not know what to say to the stranger, or who he was. She walked across the stone floor, placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, and said, “What creature are you who lives amongst so much death?”

  The stranger stood near the light and laughed a deep, echoing laugh. She could not see the shape of the man, but a pale light shone upon darkened eyes, peering out from a scarred, misshapen face. “Do they still call us creatures? Do they all say it with such revulsion? I am no creature. I am… like you are. There is a skeleton underneath my skin, and rivers of blood flows through my flesh. I am… different, though, or should I say, we are different. You and I are touched by the stone; by Its will you are brought here to this accursed town.”

  “You are the Shadow then?”

  “It is not so simple to account. The Shadow is much like the proselyte who came to Isil a year ago. I do recall trembling before him, wary of his darkness, and what he brought. That was before I was shown wonders.”

  Isilian!

  Her eyes widened and she clung desperately to a hope that her love still drew breath. He lived in my dreams. He dies but that is some deception of the daemon lords. Some cruel jest. If this cloaked man can lead me to him then—

  “No,” the stranger suddenly said. One simple word dashed her hopes. “My old vestige was taken from me before he met his fate. I knew him though. Oh, yes, I did. He was not tractable, but strong, noble, and righteous. I see much in you that I once saw in him. That is why you are here; did you know that?”

  Ashleigh grimaced and answered. “I obey the will of the stone. I was sent here to… to see what was left of this place, and treat with a proselyte.”

  “Is that what you were told? You were told you would come, and you would obey. Who told you, pray? Was it Sebastien Tiron, or that voice you keep hearing in your head?”

  She never understood the voice in her head, and did not want to. It was like the stone when it deigned to speak, but different. It knew things, but was far more chilling and grave. It was a voice she did not trust.

  How does he—

  “There are the proselytes and keepers, my dear Isilian,” the cloaked man said. “Keepers are the guardians of the stone: watchers from ancient lines, once destined to stand vigil in the Vaults. Yet now the tides have turned: they keep them secret, and wield them, as need requires; and that need has grown every day since calamity reigned in the wasteland. You will be greater than that soon. Not long now, and the stone will pass on to you, and you will do what it demands of you, and in turn, possess the wisdom of eternity, and the knowledge to wield it.”

  “Is that why I am here then? To walk among the dead, see if I am worthy? Have I not done enough already?”

  “What do you think you have done, child? You have been naught more than a pup following at the heels of a deluded scion who thinks overmuch of himself. The stone chose him in desperation, and he covets it. That man hears the call of the dark god, but he ignores it. He cares over much of his own glories. The stone will betray him, like It always has. When the pawns are arranged, he will let his guard down, and when he does, the dark god will call another to his place.”

  “He is naught to me,” Ashleigh said with conviction. “I will end him, if that is what is needed.” I would have the power to find Rafael. Together we will smash this nightmare, as we have done so many times before.

  “Such an ungratefulness, no? To reward such a man who blessed you with the gift of the dark god, and saved you from annihilation. You would be dead if not for him. He was only doing as commanded; he bears no love for you, do not be deceived. Yet one must not forget the action.”

  “You would have me thank the hunter who pushed me into the den of a lion?”

  The smile the cloaked man bore was hideous. “Now you see as things are, not what you would like them to be. Will you stand for me?”

  The truth is too important. “Yes.”

  “Then draw your sword, child, and turn around.”
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  Ashleigh withdrew Retribution free of its scabbard. She looked around and listened intently. Sounds were faint, but footsteps pounded above, coming down the stairs. Figures bore torches in one hand, steel in the other. Each of them were garbed in black from head to foot: tall, burly and strong, save for the one in the front. That warrior was tall and lithe with long hair flowing behind. The weapon she brandished was long and thin, with a deadly curve.

  The Harpy.

  “Away from him!” Aerona Harkan demanded. “I would not harm a guest of the overlord.”

  Ashleigh never saw who men called the Harpy, but of talk there was much. In the mess halls, they said she came back from the dead to claw out the eyes of the Overlord Damian Dannars. Sebastien had said the overlord was wroth with her; and that she was a thrall to him than aught else. Most of all they said: her Brood was destroyed in the light, all but her.

  How is she alive?

  “Stand aside,” one of the men said, face covered. “We seek only him.” He pointed past her at the cloaked stranger. “Leave him to us, and none needs know of your presence, yes?”

  They think you weak, a voice spoke to Ashleigh, clear as day. Scum such as these cannot pass. Bar their way and prove your loyalty. Trust in the gift you have been given.

  She would not move.

  “Slay her, yes?” the man declared.

  The figures leaped from the stairs, charging at her. There were five of them, and they moved fast. She raised her sword, parrying a blow from the side, then ducked and took the legs out of another, while his companion swung and missed.

  The three others came in hard. She pivoted her feet, slashing at legs and arms. One of them had grazed her hip, another the shoulder. Wincing, she ignored it, and met another. He missed, and crashed into a stack of wooden crates, and another stack fell upon him. She turned and skewered another, his blood puddling beneath. A third flung towards her, and she quickly tossed a dagger into his throat.

  The two remaining foes took wary steps back as they looked down upon their dead.

  Crimson Swords. Three dead, two remain, and then the other two.

  “If only all Isilians fought like this,” the tall man who spoke a moment before said. “Mayhap your country would still live.”

  Anger flooded her, and she charged at the man, only to have her legs taken from under her. Face down, she tried to pull herself up, only to be met with a knee in her back, grunting in pain.

  “Yield.”

  “Aerona,” the big man said suddenly. “He is gone.”

  “Tch! You two, go, and search. Be wary of the markings in crimson, go!”

  Ashleigh could not move. She heard footsteps going up the stairs, and the Harpy stood on her wrist, and wrenched her weapon away. She stood, then, but at sword point.

  “You…you died,” she said weakly.

  “Did I?” the Harpy grinned. “Do tell that to my consort. It would save both us a great deal of needless hostility. Nevertheless, I am very much alive. It takes much to slay me. What I would like to know, from you, Isilian, is this: what you are doing with the dead, and why was the Shadow here?”

  I will be damned if I ever tell you. Ashleigh looked back obstinately, scowling.

  “Take her back to the city.”

  The big man bound her wrists, and put a black hood over her head. Ashleigh wanted to resist, to push back, but she knew it was vain.

  They lead her up the stairs, and out of the broken home. She could hear men talking, but of what, and to whom, she did not know. All she felt were rough hands behind her, and grunts when she did not move fast enough.

  Whatever it takes, I must learn the truth.

  Chapter Ten

  The Corsair’s Gambit

  Daniel stood inside Smuggler’s Run.

  It was a hidden cove on the northwest tip of the main island. Great precipices of underwater mountains thrust up before its mouth, and the waters roiled and churned. Overlord Damian Dannars knew of the cove; all the scum did. Yet few men remained who possessed the skill to reach it.

  And that man too concerned with his own affairs to venture beyond the castle.

  Daniel did not fear discovery; what he would do, what he must to do, that was the risk.

  Five small trading cogs lined the dock, away to the north of where he stood. Burly men in cropped burlap shorts lugged long, heavy crates onto them. They had been working since late morning, and when the sun went down, they would shove off west. To where they went, Daniel would not reveal; only when they were well on their way would his men onboard confer the destination.

  The Old Coral approached gingerly, suspicion in his eyes. “There is much you put at risk. Pah. Overlord can do what he like with me. This a mess and you likely will not survive it, boy.”

  “If we do not have the strength to do what we must, there will be naught left,” Daniel protested. “The old ways are done and gone. Obliteration or life, that is the choice left to us.”

  Jaremy had warned him that the Old Coral was loathe to come to terms. The arrangements were promised years back, and though the old man was not one to renege, he had misgivings, and that meant delays. Daniel hoped it would not prove disastrous.

  “You risk too much, boy.” The Old Coral barked like a bear with a sore tooth. “I would not ask yer business; and you are as like not to give it, and I a man of my word and honour. Still, this was meant for you and yours. You sure of this course? A bloody maelstrom is what it is, if I do read it right.”

  Daniel made up his mind long ago. “Save your breath, old friend. Keep to your end, and you will outlive us all. You still have gold in those rags?”

  “These be princely rags—me best and me luckiest. Old men like me need that more than swords and the will to wield it. If you were any other, I would take yours and whore myself to an early grave.” The old man laughed as hard as his frailty allowed, though he furrowed his brow afterwards. “But for you I worrit. Do be careful, lad.”

  Jaremy made his way from the pier. The old man looked Jaremy up and down, as if he was some clumsy deckhand. “No doubt you two have your own secrets. I will have none of it. I be a mind to step on the deck again. Cannat be too careful with those crates.”

  As the Old Coral limped away, Daniel recalled a time when the old man was brave and bold upon his own ship. There were two scum a wise man avoided on the open sea: the Prince of Storms and the Coral. Age had come to claim the pirate, as it would for him one day. Yet the other—

  “My lord?” Jaremy asked.

  “Is all in order?” Daniel replied gruffly.

  “The weapons, armour, and the, more delicates, yes, it is all in order” Jaremy said quietly and slowly, unable to hide his disdain. “None of ours are where you mean to send this cargo. I know what you mean to do; and if we are not all bloody fools, I am not the only one,” he paused and looked for prying eyes and curious ears. “There is naught left of the knights but the Voice’s own guard. Even if you could bring them to your side, that will not stop him, it—”

  “You do not know my mind,” Daniel said wryly, walking towards the western tunnels. “I will not arm those knights. If men suspect as you do, the lot of you are fools.”

  Jaremy’s face belied confusion, doubt, and anger. It had been two weeks since Daniel sent his own men to ready the ships, and though Jaremy appeared perplexed, he never showed anger, or doubted that the order came from the overlord. As the days passed, and the requests became more secretive, the man began to question it.

  Yet here he stands with me amid suspicion and scorn. “Tell me, are the captains as angry as you?” Daniel asked.

  “They do not understand. When they learn of our intent, they will obey, cautioned as they are.” Jaremy seemed strained. “You know I have always been your man. Whatever you would ask, I would not balk. Even still, I do not want to be left in the dark no longer. If for no other reason that it would give the captains little to doubt, if I am not in doubt myself.”

  “Is that what you feel, Jare
my? Do you doubt the man who raised you high, who took you from a life of servitude?”

  “Not once have I forgotten what you have done for me. Other men would have left me to my fate. Not you. No, I would not be remiss. No. But my lord, If I am to do this, I would know what it is, and why I do it.”

  “The why will become clear soon. All the men of the islands will know what we do, and they will judge it rightly or wrongly, as is their wont,” Daniel said reluctantly, passing into a low roofed tunnel, dark, but for candles that lit the way. “The loss of the Harpy’s Brood was grievous, far worse than Damian would dare admit. This I do not have to tell you; we have warred with the Brood since our founding, and with them gone, we are worse for it.

  “Change is a prickly thing. The realm changed when the light burned and seared. No longer are we feared as we once were. The imperium stood high and immortal, never quaking, embodying the strength of the mountain itself. Now that it has fallen, and why not the islands? No Brood, an overlord that does naught but preserve his own self-interests. There will be odd bed fellows, and soon. It has to be done.

  “A man must make do with what he has, and however queer it may seem. Damian is content with the poor counsel of a man he does not understand. I am told to wait and be patient. That I will not do. Trecht will not sit and wait; for three years, they have nursed their wounds and rebuilt. The old king is passed, they say, and his son, a lusty young man, is surrounded by counsel who calls for the bells of war. Wait? Folly. I mean to act, even if the realm I forge is taken from me before the pincers are put to the flame.”

  “You mean to start a war,” Jaremy said. “The men will not obey such a command. We are pirates, not knights sworn to a god. It is fear that keeps these cutthroats loyal. When the overlord commands, and you countermand, they will not support you. No one opposes him. You sow our graves.”

  “You misplace their loyalty,” Daniel said, pushing open a heavy wooden door. There was a wide desk, and beyond it, a large metal safe that he went to unlock. “We are pirates, it is true, who learned at the feet of the overlord, also true. Yet they are men that I trained with. Fought with. Died with. Such men are loyal to those they serve with, not a tyrant who demands obeisance. The swords who are here will not balk; if for no other cause than a fear that I sow. Here, the orders.”