Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “He will show you the way.”

  “I am no pawn of yours and—”

  Ashleigh awoke in a round stone chamber with high, thin windows. She lay atop a tall bed, dressed in blacks from head to foot. Her fingers brushed the garb, and she felt boiled leather.

  Islander garb. How did I… another dream? No, I was taken. To where and when? How long have I been asleep?

  No answer came to her mind. She studied her surroundings, looking to see if she saw its like before. There were crimson carpets, racks of long, thin swords, and the sound of the sea breaking against the shore.

  Lanan. In the den of lions, again.

  She recalled being disarmed and taken after visiting that nameless man. Her thoughts turned to the sword she wielded.

  Retribution. Who takes a prisoner and arms them again?

  She heard footsteps.

  The chamber door to the east opened slowly. A tall, lithe figure stepped through with long flowing hair.

  The Harpy. My gaoler.

  Ashleigh grasped Retribution, leapt from the bed, and swung from above her head at the intruder, but the blow was parried just as fast, and the Harpy stared back intently. She pushed forward, and Ashleigh felt her arms waver.

  Her strength is immense.

  “Is this how you offer greetings in Isilia?” Aerona Harkan asked.

  “You are no friend, Harpy!” Ashleigh replied.

  “That moniker!” Aerona screamed, pushing back hard.

  Ashleigh lost her footing, scrambling back near the wall. Stepping up with sword raised, she watched the Harpy’s movements; continually waiting and wondering. The woman did naught but sheath her sword, lock the door, and gaze out the southern window.

  Why does she trust me after… she could have slain me, but did not. Even if she deserves it. “Why do you turn your back to me?”

  “Isilians, Dalians, you both are so droll,” Aerona replied, looking out at the city below. “I told a Dalian once that not all his enemies wear black. He heeded it for a time. Would an Isilian do the same? Or are you so occupied trying to find ways to slay each other that you would not listen to sense?”

  Ashleigh reluctantly sheathed her sword. Another time, Harpy. “I once called friend many who garbed themselves in black. More than friends. You captured me.”

  “These are strange times, sad to say. There was a time, not long ago, that I could trust my consort. We were bonded, after a fashion, though doubtless you would see it as two adversaries forced to come to truce. Even so, I had trusted him. As man and sovereign. I do not trust him any longer. I must—will answer—for what I have done, but now I fear he will lead us down a path of ruin. Lakarn. All this, it will be like Lakarn.”

  That town was so dead, so horrible. What of my country, of my imperium? Lakarn was small. An entire country… that you brought down, Harpy, and you do not have the good graces to name her! “The affairs of your tyrant mean naught to me. Do not forget that it was you who lead your armies to ruin my homeland. I was not there, or we would have fought, and you would have fallen.”

  “You ran. Heh, I will not deny your skill.” Even in the face of threats, the Harpy did not turn. “Damian had taken near all the strongest of us, and garbed them in crimson. Do not think over much of yourself for slaying green boys. Boys with potential, but boys all the same. If Darelle or I had moved against you from the start, it would have been much different.”

  “Bold words. Show me or I will not give you the chance.”

  “So much anger.” Aerona turned just then, unlatched her sword belt and threw it on the bed. “I do not mean to fight you. If I have wounded you so, then take my life’s blood. Take my face covering when you slay me, and run far away. If that is what you want, do it.”

  “Honour.” Ashleigh tossed her blade aside. She wanted to weep just then. “I will not dishonour his memory.”

  “I met him once before, your—” Aerona stopped at the word. “Your Rafael. It would have been four years ago now, some time after your country was brought to heel. I was a constant companion to Damian then. We discussed and drafted our declarations and decisions. The imperator would not bestir himself from the Mountain. We knew what that meant. A man of high regard had to be sent in his place—in protest. It did little and less. Rafael near overstepped himself, my soothing words kept him alive, and his arrogance in check.”

  “Am I to bow and kneel and offer thanks for your cunning in years past? I am your prisoner, am I not? Spare your breath and lock me away.”

  Aerona sighed. “This all was not done the way I had wanted it. I have wanted to seek you out ever since you arrived here. That was difficult to do. The eyes and ears are everywhere; and the gaze of the overlord was never far from me. Then you were in Lakarn, when my own intent put myself there and… Darelle. We should not have been there ourselves. Whilst you did defend a man I do not understand, I would not hold you prisoner. I want your aid.”

  Aid? Who does this woman think she is? “I have no cause to render it. I serve my own purpose, and that does not involve you or these wretches that you call people.”

  “Our minds are not as much apart as you may believe, Ashleigh. Your protector—what a sot who thinks himself that—he has fled from Lanan. If it was not for a betrayal we have suffered, that act would have been the end of me. I will not feign friendship or elicit sympathy for you. Still, I risk everything in what I do. Will you not listen to my words? For all our sakes.”

  The news hurt, though Ashleigh dared not admit it. She thought Sebastien would have gone to Trecht, and what he possibly hoped to gain she did not know. Friendless, alone, the comforting voice of the stone so far away, and the cloaked lord let her fall into the Harpy’s embrace.

  When one finds herself without a rudder. “Speak.”

  “My consort has heeded the counsel of a cloaked man. The Shadow he is called. I have ne’er seen this man, but he is not unlike who you met with. Likely the same man. He has ruled the overlord’s counsels ever since. Damian is… he is different. He is still there, but keeps like someone else. I fear, I fear for what may come.

  “Some days ago, we learned our armouries were misplaced, and our westernmost port burned. The Corsair—a dangerous, deadly man who commands the Crimson Swords—he put men to the sword, and sent such weapons west. I saw him returned here, bound and chained, and it all but confirmed what I feared: there is an ally in Dalia. Who this friend is, what this person means to do, he would not say. I do not think Damian means to find out from his chair.

  “War is coming. The first stone has been thrown. Your country learned years ago that the Eastern Lands must stay strong if we are to remain whole. There will be naught but despair and suffering if the Southern Nations and Dalia went to war. Whoever survived the encounter would be weakened, with enormous swaths of land that could not be governed. It would no longer be a matter of if—but when—Trecht sailed east and put an end to us all, as they tried years ago.”

  There is truth to what she says. Is it war that Sebastien means to wage? Blind the Nations with feints and misdirection, all the while resurrecting the Order of Light and end this country once and for all? The pieces fit. Is that what the stone desires? Sebastien, if I do naught, I could undermine you, or if I do something, all you have could fail. Or the reverse is true. I trust the man in black, why, I do not know. I have to. If I but sit and wait, you may be too well guarded for ought to be done.

  “Quite the story, Harpy,” Ashleigh said after a time. “How do I fit in?

  “You slay the overlord.”

  Ashleigh suppressed her surprise and quickly clenched her jaw. This was an eventuality that she could not imagine being presented to her. If the overlord was buried six feet under, there would be an uprising; a play for power in the islands. It could very well lead to the end of this country.

  She realized that Sebastien’s machinations—whatever they were—would be all undone, and in the chaos, no one would stop her from slaying her protector. She would inherit t
he stone. She would find her beloved.

  “You stand the most to gain from this, do you not?” Ashleigh asked.

  The Harpy put her hands up. “That is looking at it too simply. My Brood are all dead, my friends here, less. The men and women here will not support me. More like they will see to bring me down with him. Whatever comes to pass, I deserve no less. This is about the realm. We must be strong, not weak.”

  I must trust her. The rewards are too great. “I am your sworn sword in this. Retribution is my blade. Fitting. Once the deed is done, so is my involvement with you and this country. Are we agreed?”

  “We are agreed.”

  The door opened suddenly, and a bent old man walked through, right hand resting on a weathered cane. His face may have been care worn, but all it showed was distress.

  There is something else. Something beneath the surface.

  “Gregory. I meant to call on you,” Aerona said soothingly. “I did not want you to risk these steps.”

  “I am old not frail Aerona,” the old man replied. “This could not wait. The others could not risk the climb. It is time to go. You will be needed. Yes, time to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “To the ships, girl. Damian’s orders. The whole fleet has been called. They all depart, soon as they are all manned.”

  The Harpy hatched her plans too late. Ashleigh looked upon the islander, and it seemed Aerona did not agree.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riders of the Storm

  Lutessa awaited the inevitable.

  Whence the sun rose, she did not know if it would set under the Light of Mother God.

  It was near dawn when it all began. Counsel Anastasia rushed into her solar, breathless. “They have come, Lutessa. They have come.”

  “Who comes?” Lutessa knew the answer but asked anyway, holding firmly to hope. “Who comes at the break of dawn?”

  “Overlord Damian Dannars.”

  Lutessa gave the order and the streets of Dale were awake in the predawn gloom. The few knights who remained in the service of the Faith knocked on every door, looked down every alley, and scrounged through every wood. “Foes have come from the east,” they had said. “But Mother God protects Her children. Hurry!” They were rushed into the Cathedral of Faith amid tears, confusion, and anger. They were lulled on only by the promise of answers by the servants of Mother God. The libraries were never as busy (or as loud) as they were then, but it was the only safety for the people of Dale. The pirates cared not for the children of Mother God, and Lutessa would not place them in harm’s way.

  Of the stewards, scholars, priests and priestesses, she sent some to the libraries for care and comfort of the people, others in hidden catacombs of the old city. If the worst should come to pass, some of the faithful would make for the towns and cities further north: to warn all those who remained, seeking the hidden causeways and coves that the islanders had yet to discover. That was the least that she could do.

  If my sins would bring the Faith low, I would have it live, however sparsely.

  The rest were secluded in the Chamber of Judgment, waiting with her. Lutessa sat upon the Crystal Throne, masking all her fears beneath the robes of her station. To the left was Counsel Anastasia. On the right, Counsel Stephen Francis. On the three tiers of Judgment sat the Blessed Three: Fathers Dominic, Augustus, and Buchanan. Lutessa was loathe to have men who wished her ruin so close, but honour and faith demanded their presence. At the foot of throne, staring outwards towards the doors, were the sworn swords who swore their lives to hers: Ser Harbert, Lady Tiffany, Ser Mattias, and the small assortments of the Faith Templar that remained.

  I will test their will again. All our wills shall be tested.

  It was not yet mid-morning, but hours seemed to pass quickly. Lutessa said naught, nor did any other. She knew from their silence and solemnity what was coming. Memories of four years past came to her mind: Overlord Damian Dannars, the Harpy and the Corsair arriving in the dead of night, on the eve of victory against the kingdom. Ser Elin and the Dalian knights were still upon the plains of battle. The pirates were unopposed then, as they would be now.

  The overlord would have words, she did not doubt; and she knew what he would say.

  Years ago, we bowed and scraped and kneeled. Not today. Today we will stand tall and proud. Today we will be defiant. The Light of Mother God shines upon us. Our faith is all we need. Whatever comes of this, it is the design of the Mother Above.

  Threats that he may level towards her meant naught. The blood he curdled meant naught. If her life was to be taken, it was no more than divine will. It is what she had sown in Her name. Whatever would come, she would accept it.

  That is what I must believe. As Lutessa. As a devout follower of Mother God. As Her Voice.

  There was but one matter that Lutessa was not sure of: what the Blessed Three would do. The zealots were cold and distant, and entirely stubborn when it suited their needs. Oft she wondered if Counsel Stephen’s plans involved those three old, conniving men. She considered that they were puppet masters, pulling on the strings of her counsel of faith.

  No, he is too strong for that, he—

  Lutessa pulled her thoughts away from Stephen. He had reached beyond his station, but she needed him.

  None of that matters, not anymore. The end has come. He will answer to Mother God, surely as any of us will now.

  The silence was broken, but not by speech in the chamber.

  She heard the sound of broken glass, hewn wood, and deep booming commands.

  He is here, then.

  Lutessa could hear footsteps on the marble floor, louder and louder. The voices became clearer. They were mocking, bawdy, and rife with arrogance. Among the cacophony was the overlord’s deep, scornful monotones. The knights drew swords from gilded scabbards. Lutessa had commanded them not to assail the invaders—save whence it meant life and death.

  It will be hard, but you will watch me die. ‘Tis providence.

  The chamber doors slammed opened. Overlord Damian Dannars was at the head of a score of tall, burly men garbed for war in their own fashion: mail over boiled leather, lacquered in a deep, dark crimson. There were long swords, short swords, dirks and sword breakers on their hips. Their faces were covered with crimson silk (save for the overlord). Lutessa spotted a big man in black, cloak swirling, though his hands were bound in thick chains. He was thrown towards the dais.

  “This belongs to you, Lutessa, heh,” the overlord declared haughtily. “How the bleating of pious sheep ever swayed him, I will never know. It was clever, I will give you that, but foolish. Heh, did you ever believe that you could move my armouries across my waters and I would fail to notice? I may spend my days whoring and counting, but of smuggling, I know a far bit more than you. Come now, come down and pet your dog, tell him he did well. The sins of the son are the sins of the father, is that not what you say? What of the mother? You are not blameless, of that no man can doubt.”

  Lutessa looked down at the man who was thrown before her. Like the men in crimson he was tall, broad, and well-muscled. When her eyes met his, she could see sadness in a strong, hard face. It seemed this man was once proud and powerful, brought low by a single unwise decision: all that he had, all that he was, it washed away.

  Broken. That is what he is. A man who tried to stand before the overlord and met ruin for the attempt. How many does that make? Still they ever try. How many lives must be shorn for that man’s ambition?

  “I said come down!” Overlord Damian commanded. “Or must I drag you down by your ankles, heh?”

  “Any closer and you will die, Overlord Damian Dannars,” Lady Tiffany declared.

  “What does low born sloth know of combat? Think you would last long against me? I would skewer you as my cook does meat, and feed the scraps to my men. Even you must have some redeeming qualities beneath that boorish guard,” the overlord sniggered and laughed. “Your sheep are awfully obedient, Lutessa, here and when they wander onto my isla
nds. That is all that is left. Sheep. Ser Elin took the shepherds and slew them all. Naught here but men and women of lesser seed.” He spat.

  “This man is not one of ours,” Counsel Anastasia said suddenly. “We have no dealings with the men who came east.”

  “Do the lowborn speak for you now, Lutessa? Who is this old crone who bleats at me?”

  “My counsel of state,” Lutessa said, rising from her throne. Wayward thoughts unnerved her. “She speaks with my will in this matter. I have not seen this man before. None of us have. Lay your charges at the feet of the guilty.”

  “You surely recall a ship called the Damsel, Lutessa?” Overlord Damian asked, sniggering. “Trading galley, fat hull, a single gold stripe, white and black sails? Her captain had coal black hair, illiterate, speaks with no respect for his betters, though he thinks overmuch of himself. Marst or some other pious name. Brother died in Isilia. Do you know of what and whom I speak?”

  No. Oh Mother God no.

  “I will take your silence for stubbornness, and a yes, Lutessa. You know of this ship. Heh, it seems that my orders were circumvented, and this dog burned Zalan to the ground and all my ships. All for some quest for this Damsel. The captain was in this hall, asking leave to sail west. Tell me again that this man does not belong to you!”

  “I-I failed. My regrets.” The words were weak, hard to hear, but it came from the man bound and chained.

  Now I know the fate of the Damsel. Who was he speaking to? It is true that many a man comes to the Crystal Throne, but of this, no, I was not being spoken to. What secrets are hidden from me?

  “Heh, see how good of a dog he is,” the overlord said. “He tries to curry favour. Futile. I would have much for this cursed treachery.”

  “You would have us answer for treason committed by your own right hand,” Counsel Stephen declared solemnly, fingers entwined beneath his chin. “I know this man: Lord Daniel Baccan. Or the Corsair, as others know him by. I have traveled much, Overlord; a man is not like to forget the swordsman who is dwarfed in power and influence only by you. I will not stand by and let you cast treason upon our feet for the acts of your right hand.”