Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “Bold words.” The voice was softer, and muffled, and the woman in black uncovered her face.

  The Harpy.

  Only a brief moment passed, but when Lutessa glanced to the right, she saw incredulity on the face of her counsel of faith.

  “Bold words for a man who betrayed his own people and my Brood,” Aerona said. “Step down from your seat, and I will do what this entire country should have done.”

  “One matter at a time, Aerona, heh,” Overlord Damian said dismissively. “Ease your anger. You will have your turn with him, that I have sworn to you. Heh, unlike these bleating sheep, my word still means something.”

  “Say what you will,” Lutessa said sharply. “My counsel of faith speaks under the Light of Her will, and that truth none can gainsay. If this man is yours, it is no concern of ours.”

  Overlord Damian erupted into laughter, bent over double. “You are as pretty as you are foolish, Lutessa. Four years ago, you were just as obstinate and stubborn. The only sworn swords that remain to you are these pups at your feet. Heh, that paltry ensemble that guard your people in these marble halls of debauchery, they will not last much longer. Heh, finding them was easy; your face gives it away. Do not look so surprised. You will do as you are told in this. You will come down these steps, comfort your dog, and slay him for all of us to see. When that is done, you will hand over Gabriel’s Gift.” The overlord smiled widely. “Then we will leave you in peace.”

  “You have lost your mind!” Counsel Anastasia shouted out.

  “Have I? Have I?” Overlord Damian broke out into a maniacal laugh. “What do you think your precious country means to me? This is a land of zealots and fools. Naught would be lost if your halls would burn to the ground. Heh, deny me and your city will be naught but rubble. I will do what that sot from Isilia should have done. What he could not do. Oh, and your precious Ser Elin, the vaunted hero of your country—who is dead and buried. Submit, or join your brothers and sisters in the whore’s embrace!”

  Lutessa did not hear any more. It was naught but shouts and screams, threats and demands. She should have stopped Counsel Anastasia, but Lutessa did not. She could not. The others would see to the roving chaos. All that concerned her now was Gabriel’s Gift.

  Of all the treasures and freedoms I have surrendered to his madness, this cannot be one of them.

  There were so many stories concerning it. The God Stone it was called by some, the Pillar by others. Some thought it a weapon, others a shield, fewer the end of the realm. The stories would come and go, contradicting themselves endlessly, and nowhere was it to be found. But Lutessa always knew; and all those who sat upon the Crystal Throne.

  Hundreds of years before she came to be, men and women spoke of Gabriel’s Gift. The scholars believed it was a font of knowledge and wisdom, blessing the realm with the Mother’s gifts. More orthodox thinkers believed it was the means to which Gabriel himself communed with Mother God, and shared Her blessing with the children of Dalia. Whatever form the gift had taken, all the scholars agreed that upon the moment of death, the prophet asked for the treasure to be sealed by the ordained Paragon of the Faith, ever guarding it. “None must bask in its radiance,” the prophet had said. “I fear of the harm it would do to those not of Her divine seed.”

  That paragon was Justine Duvan, the first Voice, and Defender of the Faith.

  To those beyond the White Walls, the Voice had sealed it in the Catacombs of the Faith. Yet in the years following his death, the people cried out to Justine, begged for her succor, and called upon her indomitable will. When she saw the Great Foe and the death that followed in His wake, her resolve wavered. Justine met the approaching Darkness, but not alone. When she took to the field, her enemies cried out in terror. It was said she swung the sword of Light itself, and carved out the lands of the theocracy, liberating thousands from the dark god, Sariel.

  They were just stories that people latched onto for hope. Stories that became legend. A legend that became myth.

  No myth. Those who shoulder our mantle know that.

  All anyone had to do for hundreds of years was to remove the stone from her final resting place. Then they would know the truth. They would learn that even in death, Gabriel’s Gift was still affixed to the steel of her blade.

  Woman and treasure both were sealed in the crypts: five floors beneath the Cathedral of Faith. Under pain of death, the fallen Voice was undisturbed, until Trecht came, and defeat seemed all but inevitable. In a moment of weakness—or perhaps hope—Lutessa removed it. It was strange to her. It was like crystal: clear, a pristine, purifying white. Whatever it was, it seemed to speak to her. Gabriel? She recalled asking herself, before putting it away in a thick, burlap sack. It is not for me to know. It must go to him, ere our ruin.

  “Overlord Damian Dannars,” Lutessa said suddenly, and every other voice was silenced. “You seek a treasure that was sealed hundreds of years ago. No record, no trace of it was ever kept. A day may dawn when Mother God sends to us a worthy vessel, and she will unearth it. Until then, it is our treasure to covet. Gabriel’s Gift belongs to the Faith. It will not be yours, even if it means our death.”

  “If that is your wish.” All the men and women in crimson and black drew their long swords. Some had short swords in their spare hand, others held on with two. The overlord drew his bastard sword, Turmoil, brandishing it in front of the throne. “Over your cold, rotting corpses, we will burn this city to the ground, and I will find Gabriel’s Gift. I will have your birthright. I will build my power atop your bones.”

  “You would draw blood in the halls of Mother God?” Counsel Anastasia shrieked.

  “Mother God will not forgive you for this,” Father Buchanan declared. “This will not go unpunished.”

  “Father,” Overlord Damian replied, grinning. “I would not seek forgiveness of Mother God, only Her death.”

  “Heathen!” Father Augustus accused from his seat.

  “Mother God defend us!” Father Dominic plead.

  “If I may offer a comfort?”

  Lutessa thought the voice hard and high pitched. The sea of crimson parted, and a tall woman stepped forth, blade drawn in hand. The overlord seemed amused, and asked, “Heh, this some jest of Davat’s? No whore should ever don crimson. Heh, return to the slatterns. I will teach you the meaning of respect, woman.”

  In an instant, the edge of her blade was by the overlord’s neck.

  Mother God she is fast.

  “That is not the life I have chosen, Overlord Damian Dannars. If your men move towards me, I will end your reign, butcher.”

  Not a single man in crimson stirred, and the overlord licked his lips. “They are no fools. Any man who needs protection from the likes of you does not deserve their loyalty. I will let your little game play out. It is the last one you will ever play.” The overlord smiled a sick, sadistic smile. “What have I done to wrong you, oh you harmed little shite?”

  “You slew my people. You took everything from me,” she said, ripping her face covering off. “I would have justice for my people. You will join them, and atone for your crimes.”

  “Sebastien’s pup. The last Isilian. He did say that you were upset. At me now, that is rich! I call you an ungrateful wench. Piss on Isilians and their greed. Piss on you.”

  Sebastien? Sebastien Tiron? He died in Serenity. Ser Johnathan, what else did you hide from me?

  “Heh, well, I will tell you that I have not stirred from Lanan in years,” Overlord Damian said. “Awfully hard for me to slaughter a country who paid me handsomely. Did you not know your imperator paid tribute, as these pious sheep do?”

  “That did not stop you from—”

  “Stop me from what, woman?”

  “I have been to Lakarn. It was the same as, it was the same as—”

  The overlord raised a mailed fist and knocked away the Isilian’s sword. She tried to round back on him, but she was overpowered and flattened to the ground. “You made your last mistake woman. If you
ever threaten me, see that you stick me before I know you are there. Not that it will help you now. You are dead. Dead, as they all are. DEAD!”

  “Do this, Damian, and you are no better than Ser Elin,” Lutessa cried out, fearing what would come. “The fate of all those who defy the will of Mother God are writ in their own blood. Her judgment is absolute.”

  “Piss on Elin, piss on you, and piss on the judgment of Mother God.”

  “If that is your will, defiler, then Her judgment you shall have!” Counsel Stephen boomed from his seat. “Faithsworn, the Mother calls upon you!”

  Men in silver plated amour stood atop the tiers, charging down towards the men and women in crimson. There were others that appeared on the upper balconies, long bows in hand, raining death from the parapets. Not a soul who sworn their sword to the overlord ran, but found a man in silver, ruin in their hands, dancing the dance of death.

  Blood coated the walls of the Chamber of Judgment, and Lutessa did naught but watch it ensue. She wanted to do more, to stop it, but felt powerless.

  Not here. Not in Her halls. Mother God forgive us. Mother God have mercy. Mother God STOP THIS.

  She looked desperately to Counsel Anastasia and the Blessed Three. They were in disbelief, scared. Counsel Stephen’s eyes were intent on the carnage, bellowing orders.

  I told him I command the Faithsworn, not him. They obey him, not me. My words, even if I could speak them, would be useless.

  One man in silver stooped low, shattering the bonds of Lord Daniel, and placed a sword in his hand. The man did not hesitate, and sought out foes in crimson, whomsoever caught his gaze. His fury was savage; his lust for blood and glory unending.

  The overlord held his ground. A group of Faithsworn came upon him at all sides, lunging with quick, sharp feints. He was fast, faster than any of them, and wickedly strong besides. His movements and prowess were like death itself; blood, broken bones, and screams of pain marked his path.

  Where did that Isilian go? He did not cleave her, or—

  There was so much blood and guts, screams of agony, and cursing from the men in crimson. She thought back to Ser Elin, his crime that was so heinous, and the bloodshed before her eyes was the same, no worse, than what he ordered all those years ago.

  When this is done, his sin, the sin which haunts us all, will be naught more than a fleeting dream. We have done more than profaned and defiled here. We spit in the face of Mother God. Stephen, where is your faith? Where did you lose it?

  The bodies began to pile up. Lutessa saw something strange. The man brought to her in chains, he was no longer attacking the men in crimson, but defending the woman who had the overlord at sword point. There were deep cuts on her left arm and right leg, blood pooling on the ground. There was little life left in her, whoever she was.

  Why does he protect her?

  Of the men and women who still stood, there was more in silver than crimson. The swords from the islands became desperate, launching at their adversaries without fear or regard. They were cut down or feathered, fighting with hatred in their eyes until they could no longer move.

  The Chamber of Judgment bore white walls no more, only red. Where there would be monuments, statuettes, and alters to the Faith, there was only broken men bleeding out. The tiers were red, torn limbs and feathered corpses in the seats. The faithful no longer wore robes of pristine white, but darkened garbs of fleeting life.

  What have we become? Lutessa reflected, painfully.

  The sound of steel and broken bone ceased, and only two remained of the invaders. Man and woman. Overlord Damian Dannars and Aerona Harkan. A handful of archers still stood, bows bent, and a score of knights, swords up. They did not move against the overlord, not yet.

  They are looking to the Seat of Faith.

  “Do it you cravens,” the overlord shouted. “End this or I will end you. Think you would be spared, outnumbered as I am? I will take you all to the Deep Below with me!”

  The Harpy put a hand to his shoulder, and whispered fast words.

  It is too late to calm him.

  “Slay the bastard and his whore,” Lord Daniel demanded. “Slay them now and put an end to this bloody affair. They are a scourge; treason is aught that sustains them. Treason not to country, but to their own kind. Slay them both. They have enslaved the islands, brought naught but misery and sorrow. Slay them and forge a peace: strengthen in the face of our westward doom. Do what that blind bastard could never do.”

  Inside, Lutessa shook; her resolve cracked and broken. Somehow, she found the Voice, and spoke. “You will make no demands of the Faith. You have much to answer for, now that you have survived this savage dance.” That silenced the lord, and he looked away. “Enough blood has been shed in our hallowed halls. I would not bleed us further.”

  “High Priestess!” Counsel Stephen’s voice seemed strained and desperate. “We are fortunate to be alive. They will return with more swords. The Corsair has the right of it. Slay them.”

  “Who commands the Faithsworn?” Lutessa asked as she glared at her once stalwart friend.

  “They are yours, blessed by the Light of Mother God,” the counsel intoned.

  Bows were no longer bent and swords were sheathed. The pair of islanders stood up slowly. The overlord needed Aerona’s shoulder, walking gingerly.

  “Fools,” he croaked. “Bloody fools, all of you! Did you learn naught from your past? Did none of you learn? The doom is coming. Only these traitorous dogs left to defend you. Ser Elin Durand is dead. Gone. All his kind, gone. There is no shield anymore. Pah. I will return and swim in your blood.”

  The words were haunting and harrowing. Dark as the cloud that the overlord cast over them, Lutessa could not help but to see the vaunted pirate lord limp away, propped up by his consort.

  There is a victory here, but what we lost is far worse than death.

  The islanders lost to sight, the assembled frantically pondered the words that were spoken, and what they meant. Lutessa ignored the chatter, and looked only at Counsel Stephen Francis.

  Do you even know what you have done?

  You are faithless.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Secrets of the Storm

  Aerona woke from a dreamless sleep.

  The cabin she shared with Damian was still dark, though she thought the faint rays of sunlight were not far off. The sheet had slid down, revealing his naked, muscled body. There were scores of bandages wrapped around his chest, both arms, and right leg. For all the pain and shame he suffered in the White Walls, she thought his love making was as strong and fierce as it ever was.

  That is what he is. The man I fell in love with. He’s still there, despite what I tried to do.

  Aerona slipped from bed and dressed in woolen blacks. Her sword was propped against the near wall, beside Damian’s Turmoil. She stared at them, and the memories came flooding back.

  What a bloody mess that was.

  It had all gone the way she had planned it, until the counsel of faith stood tall and proclaimed their deaths. Ashleigh, the broken sentinel from Isilia, had played her part. The look on Damian’s face was anger, amusement and condescension. The sentinel provoked him, made him complacent and arrogant. Even when he disarmed her, the plan was still in play. She loosed a thin dagger from its sheath, yet before she could act from a sea of crimson, her own sword came up, defending herself from the Faithsworn.

  All undone by the ambitions of a priest.

  Aerona pushed open the cabin door and took one last look at Damian. The man never snored, and stirred only a little in sleep.

  I was once lost in that man. Now I-I cannot fathom it. He has changed, or has the realm changed him? Whatever is true, all I feel is a fleeting dream.

  She pushed her thoughts aside and climbed a short ladder to the deck.

  The Reaper was a massive war galley—the largest in the fleet. It possessed five massive masts with enormous black sails, with a scathing long sword etched in white. There were rows of canons a
top and below, with a crew of over two hundred. The hull was painted a deep black, even the deck. “They will cringe and fall when my Reaper comes for them,” Damian had told her once. “When we ride upon death itself, none can stand against us.”

  There were a handful of men who worked the deck, all dragging, seeming to be half awake. They checked the rigging, sat atop the crow’s nest looking out to sea, or navigated towards the islands. None of them took note of her; the men looked more to the end of their labours than aught else. The lackluster effort did not bother her. These men of the islands knew their waters well. They could find their way home blind.

  Aerona walked towards the prow and stood beside the shape of an enormous mermaid, immense trident in hand, arm outstretched as if to skewer whoever stood in her way. She looked out and saw the slightest glimpse of the morning sun, and the faint outline of the islands.

  They will rise soon. The dawn will bring about the wrath and the fury. That is what he wants.

  “They will wish themselves dead,” Damian had said the night before, while Aerona cleaned his wounds and wrapped his hurts in linen bandages. “I will find those captains and all others who aided them. I will find them and they will answer for their treachery. I am the overlord, gods be cursed. My will is absolute. That shite called me a butcher. These traitors will see a butcher, of that they will not doubt.”

  “Look ahead, Damian,” Aerona said not unkindly over muffled grunts as she tied a bandage around his arm. “These Faithsworn will be on the islands soon. We must stand together—or fall.”

  “Is that your counsel? To forgive the traitors and call for them to stand with me?”

  He understands naught but the point of a sword, as usual. “Discover whose influence was greatest, and cut their heads off. Men lose their nerve when those they believed in have their heads atop spikes. The rest will fall in line, and we would be stronger for it.”