Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  Daniel held out six rolled parchments, sealed in black with a single long sword engraved—his own mark of office. Five were for sworn brothers, the other for Jaremy. “One is for you. Read it.”

  The missive contained a short message, no more than a handful of frugal lines. Daniel learned his letters in his younger years, but no more than for inventories and figures. A man of the sea needs little else.

  “You trust this man?” Jaremy expressed with incredulity. “He will not betray us?”

  “The man is prickly, overzealous, and above all, conniving. He is our sort of man. I put my life in his hands.”

  “I never thought I would see the day when we would ally with them.

  “Nor did I. See to the captains, and quickly. We leave at dusk.”

  As the man left, Daniel realized that he was at the point of no return. He did not lack courage or resolve, but he could not shake the grim foreboding in his gut.

  Either we do what we must, or we die as traitors.

  The afternoon passed uneventfully. Daniel could smell the fish the men were cooking in the later hours, though he passed on a plate when it was offered. His stomach rumbled.

  The main dock of Smuggler’s Run was quiet, and all the cargo was loaded on the ships. There were few men running about. They saw to the rigging and checked the ropes, all the while the first mates inspected the work. His most trusted warriors stood on the stern of every cog, hands on the hilts of their long swords.

  At the end of the dock, the Old Coral spoke to a swarthy deckhand, seemingly awaiting Daniel. “Just give yer word, and we be off.”

  “It is given.”

  The swarthy man took a long handled, smooth wooden staff with a stuffed head and banged it three times against a bell behind him. Men began to put out fires, finished their bawdy jokes, and bragged about what they would do upon their return as they boarded the cogs. Long handled oars came out of each boat, and away to the north they went, his own men disappearing beneath decks.

  Jaremy returned whence the ships left dock, whilst the Old Coral waited expectantly.

  “We be done then, ye young fool,” the Old Coral exclaimed, embracing Daniel. “Come see me when this be o’er. I do not have that much gold left. I rather not pay fer the funeral of you and yours. Do not deny it. A man becomes sentimental in his old age.”

  “A drink on me, then,” Daniel offered.

  “Har! To be drunk with ta Scourge of the Deep. Thas what they called ye, in years gone by. There was some fool deckhand who thought to take ye hisself. I drove me sword into him, see what I thought of that. Reckless fool he was, that is a sure path to the Deep Below. No such a man would stand on my deck.”

  “All men are fools, old man.”

  “Wise fools as us live long. Come back to me alive. I will not outlive ye. Cannat stand the thought.”

  As the old man walked away, what the remaining men stepped forth.

  “Any man who is not ready to follow, draw your blade and lay the challenge here and now,” Daniel declared. “You know what we are about. You know that we will turn the sea red. You know that the overlord will call it treason. Draw blade if you would stand for him.”

  “Piss on Damian,” one swordsman declared boldly.

  “When he falls, not before,” Daniel laughed. “He would cut your member off before you knew it.”

  Laughter erupted, but no swords were drawn.

  “Had enough of this overlord,” another said sternly. “Rather put my trust in a man I can see and bleed with. Man such as you.”

  “Whatever we must sacrifice,” a third said. “Is better than this. No more secrets and deception. I follow what I can see fer myself. We follow you, Corsair.”

  ‘Tis time we start taking our islands back.

  Daniel emerged from the cove under the cover of night, his swords in tow, and moved along the sharp, steep rock of the northern coast. He crossed a wide beach along the shore, and a thin but dense wood that wound across valleys and hills toward the port town of Zalan. The trek took hours, and he called a halt when he spied the lanterns in the distance. It was one of the smallest towns on the islands: a middling port far to the west, surrounded by storehouses to the south, and a small hamlet to the north fronted by pubs and taverns. A narrow iron gate broke the five-foot walls.

  Under the cover of trees and darkness, he waited. His men were anxious; hands on hilts of their swords. He waited for the sign. It would scorch and sear and burn. It would come.

  Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. He could hear the crickets chirping, birds flocking from one old tree to another. He thought it just like any night: quiet, at peace, solemn. His thoughts turned to old friends, and the freedoms he had before the coming of the overlord. He desired a return to that life. To a simpler life free of rules, politics, and order.

  A life taken from me.

  The land seemed to take a deep breath, and then it shattered in an instant.

  A loud crash echoed in the distance, and smoke began to rise. He knew men deep in their cups would be up and out in the street, gaping wide eyed, fearing for their own skins, feeling guilt for not taking up the sword. Then another crash to the south, and a third to the north. The whole realm was naught but burning crashes.

  It would be panic.

  Daniel moved his men fast. They leapt over the walls. Some went to the storehouses to root out the workers, others to the taverns and inns, marching out the captains to be brought to question. He walked towards the docks to see his work, and to do what the overlord would not.

  The paved streets were aflame with fire and hysteria. Men and women cursed, though their wagging tongues ended their lives. The wiser ones huddled in corners, or barred their doors.

  Most were not wise.

  The main strip was a river of blood. The docks were just ahead in a wide opening, or what was left after the canons destroyed and the flaming arrows burned. It was hot and smoky and the fires were spreading.

  Ships were sinking that were not a ruin. Men were drowning. Fires raged behind and before them. The men were taken from the water, and the deckhands were shoved towards the inns where they would be quartered. The only ships that did not burn were in the distance: black sails and red striped hulls. Vindicator, Whore’s Mouth, Victory, Mother’s Jewels, and Knight’s Bane. Daniel smiled, knowing that their captains would be shouting at their crews, demanding a hard return to the northern waters. They would not get far: his own men on board would take care of the rest.

  Now for the treason.

  Men were brought to Daniel: bound and shoved down to their knees. He counted twelve of them. Most were drunk, others sober. They were big and tall, short and fat, middling and well-muscled. Islanders for the most part, but one or two from Dalia. None from Trecht.

  “If any of you wish to die painlessly, I would answer my questions, and clearly,” Daniel declared. “Deceive us—any of us—and you will beg for death.”

  Silence greeted him.

  “I am looking for a Dalian,” he continued. “Tall, portly, and bespectacled. He goes by the name Sebastien Tiron. The man would have come here alone or under guard, asking for a brave captain to defy the overlord. Does he remain? Did some fool grant him passage?”

  Silence again. He nodded, and his men thrust daggers into the captain’s backs, twisting and turning, scraping bone. To a man, they winced in pain, and some called out insults.

  “Needs I ask again?”

  “No Dalian ever came here,” a short, squat captain said weakly at the end of the row. He was one of the men who cursed him. “None have dared show their face on the islands. None. None!”

  “Is that what you believe?” Daniel asked, walking over. He knelt, brandishing twin daggers with bone hilts. “He was in Lanan. I saw him with my own eyes. Since you are not using yours—,” and in one swift stroke he skewered the man’s eye balls at the edge of the blades, blood puddling amidst screams of agony. “A man who does not use his eyes to see, need them not a
t all. Your mother would be ashamed to see you waste such a gift.”

  Over the screams and the searing haze, Daniel spoke to other captains. “All we require from you is knowledge. Eyes are wonderful for most men in the realm. Not for you lot. Nor do you need hands and feet, arms and legs. Have you ever seen a man lose a limb, untreated, and hear him scream? You lot will scream and scream until I have the truth from one of you. All men are craven. By will or by pain, you will turn, and give up this man who means naught to you. Talk,” the sound of steel scraping against leather echoed in the night air. “Or must I be a butcher?”

  “A quick death, you said?”

  The voice came from the middle of the row. The man was light haired, and garbed in whites and blues. Daniel did not think the man an islander; he was fair of face and too soft in speech and manner. A Dalian.

  “That I will give you and these other poor sots, if you would tell me what I wish to hear,” he said as he went to one knee, and brushed the eyes off his daggers. “Do speak the truth.”

  “The Damsel—some trade ship out of Kallen took him as part of his crew, my man swears. No affairs do I have with such fools, aye, that is what they say, and I will say it, oaths be cursed.”

  Daniel knew of Kallen: the port town lay near the south-east tip of the Dalian continent. No more than a fishing village, but the safest path by cart to the White Walls. In the days before the war, the merchants in Zalan would have seen that ship on many occasions, and her captain.

  “What oaths?” Daniel asked pointedly.

  “Men in crimson. They made us swear it before they took all our goods and grounded us here. They did not give names. They were garbed like you. Did you not know of them?”

  “Men in crimson,” Daniel mused aloud as he stood up and laughed. “Crimson. Crimson. CRIMSON!” The Dalian had a dagger deep in his throat; his blood gushed out like a river. “Slay them all! Now!”

  Swords pierced hearts, severed heads, and the twelve captains lay dead. Daniel looked out toward the sea, shouting in frustration.

  Out played. By Damian or these cloaked men, I know not. Curse his foul hide!

  “My lord?”

  It was Jaremy.

  “Tell them to burn the port to the ground. None left alive.”

  “What then, my lord?”

  “If we cannot evade the net, then… we will reap what we have sown.”

  Is this what death feels like? Daniel asked himself as his loyal man scurried away, blade in hand. Is this how it all ends? Is this the price I pay for no longer obeying?

  Damian, you accursed fool.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Warden

  Stephen saw the port town of Kallen in the distance

  He thought it foolish to call it such. It was little more than a hamlet by the sea, with a small port moored beside it; there were no strong walls built around it or paved roads: just muck and dirt, houses of wood and log and dirty slate. The people were huntsmen, loggers, and growers. The Faith had built the port for its straight run from the coast to Dale—in times when the capital’s own harbour was more secret than serviceable. Whatever the decision may have been, he was unduly grateful. The eyes and ears in Kallen were few, and the less who knew of his business and purpose, the better.

  He dismounted, and noticed the hamlet was quiet, near deserted. He saw a man or two working on the dirt streets, atop of homes, or in the gardens, none of which looked towards him or the handful of men and women in crystalline plate.

  The docks were busier with dock workers pounding up and down the planks, though they unloaded no more than two small merchant cogs.

  Only fools sail the waters whence the overlord grounds all trade.

  There was a light breeze, and Stephen took in the smells of sea and salt, wondering what could have been. The Faith called to him, but his mind oft wandered to the sea. He thought the smells sweet and liberating; the swells of the water soothing; and the cerulean blue breathtaking.

  The harbour master broke his contemplation and greeted him. “These trading cogs ‘ere, they came no more than two days back. Captains would not tell where they came from, nor where they were going. Do not expect them to sing a different tune neither. Would not expect another ship. Something is off. I can smell it in the air.”

  Stephen smiled, and rested a gloved hand on the man’s shoulder. “I thank you for your concern, child, but a ship will come today. Mother God has willed it, so it shall be.”

  “Mother God be praised,” the man bumbled. “If you have nary a need, call to one of the lads. They will fetch me quick.”

  “I shall not hesitate,” Stephen remarked, and the harbour master took off down the pier.

  Time passed intermittedly, and not the slightest discolouration appeared on the horizon. The knights fidgeted behind, their milling about clanging against the serene air.

  The Damsel shall return today.

  Hours faded into the next. Then, placing a hand above his eyes, he looked out and saw the slightest spec of brown. As it came nearer, he saw black sails and a hull trimmed with a tinge of gold.

  The smuggler returns.

  The harbour master clamoured about red faced and breathless. The dock hands swarmed. Stephen let them do their work with nary a remark.

  “A worthy welcome,” the captain shouted down whilst his men extended a plank to the dock. “Long our journey has been: rife with sadness, but much we know now that we did not before. The Voice will want to hear it. Counsel, will you take us to her?”

  Stephen spoke solemnly. “You will come to the White Walls as heroes, Captain. Your men as well. The Voice has needs of what you know.”

  The captain shouted to his first mate, and when the order was relayed, the men moved quickly, shouting bawdy jests at each other. Soon Donnel Marst found his way to dock, with his men in tow.

  “The Faith will know the respite that I feel, Counsel. Where do I begin, I—”

  “Not here, not now. I would hear your words when the ears of the commons are not among us. Such things must be framed and phrased as best befits our country.”

  The captain nodded and shouted instructions to the dock hands until he found the harbour master. They were quartered briefly, and he returned to his crew—no more than a score of deck hands—and they were told to keep their mouths shut. Then they took the road west out of Kallen. The knights at the fore and back, the captain never far away from Stephen.

  Near the shores, the Dalian lands were flat and clear: grasslands for miles in every direction. Short hills would rise and fall to the left and right; there was a sparse outcropping of trees until they came closer to the southern reaches, where a few dense forests rose in the distance.

  Stephen followed a wide dirt road thick with cart tracks. It slanted to the south, carrying itself ever westward. Often goods were unloaded in Kallen, then taken by horse and cart to the capital, returning once again. The goods often were foodstuffs from the north, immaculate silk and fabrics from the islands, and fine steel and ore from Isilia.

  War and suffrage never shows upon the road. It persists even in the darkest night.

  He quietly confided with the young captain, speaking barely above a whisper. “The theocracy will be better off for the news you bring. The souls of the dead have long gone to the embrace of Mother God; yet that is not so for the furtive people who have lost much. You will give them peace, and the Faith will be much stronger for it.”

  “I have known peace with my own discoveries, Counsel. I long for my brother’s voice, his antics. Oh, such a god fearing, pious shite he was—begging your pardons. He was more fervent in his beliefs than I was. He found Mother God in a way I cannot.”

  “All men can find Mother God if they know where to look, child.”

  “To where would I look?”

  “There,” Stephen declared, pointing in the distance. It was faint, still so far away, yet the white towers of the Cathedral of Faith could not be missed. “The history of the Faith counts over three centu
ries, good captain. For three hundred years those towers shone bright and powerful. There have been war mongers and murderers in our ranks, the people have been slain, crops burned and destroyed, our own monuments to Her will destroyed and defaced. For all the sin that man has inflicted, those towers stood tall and bright. The cathedral is Mother God. As long as She stands bright, harm we may feel, but never will we be shorn of Her Light.”

  “Is it really so simple, Counsel?”

  “The truth of life is simple. So too is faith.”

  The beaten path wound south, but Stephen informed the knights to cut across the grasslands to a dense, thick wood. He later called for a rest under a canopy of trees. A fire was made, and the knights dug out caches of meat and onions and barley. Ale was passed out, warm, but the men drank it greedily. Stephen led Donnell away to a clearing, asking for news.

  “Of the land, it is what the rumours said. Desolate, sere, and dead. Very dead. We thought it best not to go deep to the land itself. We passed countless villages and towns along the coast; hearth and homes were no more than ruins, taverns smashed. It was like some great storm had surged through it. Whatever had come, it had come and fury and took the living quickly. The people were lifeless, but very dead.”

  “This brings you respite?”

  “In its own way, Counsel. A month ago, I knew little more than a flash of light and a brother lost in the midst of it. What befell the fool, how he died, where he would be, I knew none of it. Now that I have seen it, well, that land had a way of telling you, as it were. I know he is dead and that is enough for me. I have mourned, and I will move forward. Yet the further we were from shore, the more I thought on it and—”

  The captain grew strangely quiet, as if lost in thought, or unwilling to speak of a matter to give it life and vibrancy. Stephen placed a hand on Donnell’s shoulder. “Speak your mind, child.”