“Heh, we left him alive in those white halls, woman.”
“Did we? He is dead. Craven until his last breath, when he surrendered the names of those who aided him in his treachery. Tell them that, then slay whoever you wish. When Dalia comes to heel, do for the rest of them. Tool for every task, Damian.”
“You are wicked. Heh, we will reign long. You and I.”
Only if I fail again, she reflected as the sea turned and churned. The islands were more visible now, and the sun a sliver above the horizon. She heard pattered feet behind her, and the curses of men rising to face the new day.
I have little time.
She wanted to ponder and decide.
War had begun. The islands would have no choice but to respond; the Faithsworn made sure of that. Even Damian could be talked out of it, not even a swordsman as skilled as he would live long once the truth came out.
And it would.
Yet she knew the realm would change, or fall to Trecht’s influence once more.
That, no, I trust the Marcanas’ less.
To her it was either the blood thirsty pirate, or the pious, unbent woman prone to desperation.
For as long as Aerona could remember, her Brood oft thought of the islands without the sway of the overlord.
They are gone now, all of them, and Damian is all that gives us strength.
She did not think much of the Voice, despite their past. Much as Aerona wished it, she knew that path led only to worse fortunes. That woman would break before she bent. There was too much history and death and mistrust between her and the islands. If aught occurred, it would have to be from the islands.
In times of peace, Damian’s death would have meaning. If the Corsair would have remained, we could have prevented the rise of a tyrant, and the theocracy would have no cause to wage war. Yet now he is in the hands of Lutessa. Whatever she means to do with him now, he is beyond my reach. The overlord must remain, and he must be brought to heel. How I will manage that, I do not know.
She thought of the means to war, and what she should insist. The Faithsworn were armed and eager, though lesser now than they were. The Faith were not keen on building more ships than they needed for trade. There were a few scores bred for war, but Ser Elin had taken all of those, and the overlord had them burned after the fall.
If we but harry their shipyards, that may buy us some time. Then they would have to decide to defend or invade. I know what that fool man will demand.
So much to think about, and so little clarity.
“So eager to reach home?”
Damian. “We must be prepared.”
“That we will. The Shadow will know the men you mean to sacrifice. Heh, I would heed his counsel now more than ever.”
As you always do.
The shores of Lanan neared, and the overlord sauntered off, shouting orders. Aerona remained and watched. The waters were fierce near the northern port of the city, though she thought it more a cove: formed against tough, weathered rock on either side, lodged beneath the low hanging cliff that the castle was built upon. The large docks bobbed and swirled. No other ships were moored.
Lost to us now.
Beyond the docks, she heard the sound of water falling from the roof, echoing through the gaping cavern. Large rock spires jutted down from above, some no more than six feet from the ground. Just out of sight, in the throat of the cavern beside a stair of rock and salt, stood Davat. Garbed in mail over boiled leather and dyed a rich crimson, he wore a sweeping black cloak with a design of a long sword etched in silver, dripping with blood.
Damian’s new right hand. I never wanted this.
“Question every man Davat,” Damian commanded. “Every man. Those ships made it to Dalia. I will know who captained them. Who sailed on them. Who loaded the cargo. Where they sailed from. Every cursed detail you will unearth. Bring them all to me for my own judgment. Heh, my own sword.”
Davat merely nodded his head and said, “Aye, I had some notion of it. I questioned some drowned rats already, they gave up a sweet tune. I will send them, soon as I bring them up from the dungeons.”
“Heh, our bloody justice starts today. Root out the rest of the shites. I will not be defied.”
“They will learn our reach is long.”
The men spoke of ships and captains, traitors and captives, of the men who could be trusted, and the shores that were most vulnerable.
If it was up to them, the ships would sail today in a fool’s quest, mired in the face of defeat.
The stair gave way to a long hallway through the main floor of the castle. Torches from the night before still burned brightly. The overlord dismissed Davat on the second floor. He bowed his head, and assured victory was at hand.
At the top floor of the castle, the fires were near guttered, and Damian muttered something inaudible. Aerona thought the air felt thicker here, hotter, and the water from the basins running east and west seemed low.
The overlord pushed forward and threw open the tall oak doors to his throne room. He stopped and gaped, incredulous. There seemed to be a fog at Aerona’s feet, and dark marks along the murals, like char. The water in the basins were steaming. The stone lions beside his chair were smashed, and a single cloaked figure sat atop his seat, one leg lazily atop the other, bright eyes gazing out from a deep cowl.
“If you think that I—” Damian seethed, but was cut off.
“I think you will listen to what I have to say.” Whoever it was that sat upon the throne, he spoke fast, deep, and guttural. It was a familiar voice to Aerona, but also distant and foreign.
“Heh, you would try me here, in my hall,” the overlord said as he loosened the bastard sword from the scabbard. “Be gone from my presence and I will forgive your insult; see that you do not anger me again.”
“The sword that served you so well in the shrine to Mother God.”
Damian bared three inches of steel for the guest. Impulsively, Aerona beseeched the cloaked figure, “What do you want?”
“What else do these pissants want?” Damian screamed. “Steel up their arse!”
The cloaked man spoke sternly. “Whatever value the dark god may place in you, Overlord Damian Dannars, if you draw any more steel your life will end. The Harpy will serve our purposes as well as you.”
The overlord and the cloaked man stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. Aerona was tempted to reach for her own sword, but Damian spoke steadfast and obeyed. “Bastard.”
“Good. Your men did not fail you.”
“Speak bloody sense,” the overlord blurted out.
“Those poor men, they drove the rowers near to ruin. They caught those cogs loaded them with weapons armour and… treasures they should not have had. What is it that you call us, creatures? We creatures made sure that these cogs were unharmed. We creatures averted a disaster at your impulsive hands.” Aerona heard a deep, throaty laugh. It made her cringe. “What is it you call your realm of death? The Deep Below? Yes, those swordsmen you sent were rewarded for their leal service. They have meat and mead plenty with the Lord of Death.”
“You,” Aerona shouted. “Treasonous snake. We trusted you.”
“For the crow to call the raven black,” the cloaked figure mused. “I have been in this land only briefly, never once in this hall. I am no counsel to either of you. To call my action treason…. no that is not what it is. But we do know all about you, Aerona, far more than you would care to think.”
“I should have your bloody hide,” Damian proclaimed. “You will not seem so arrogant when I hang you for all men to see.”
“Is obedience so hard for you now, Overlord?” The voice belonged to another, and a second man in black appeared to the left, where the broken stone lion should have been. “You can be torn now as likely as any other man. See that you do not provoke me.
“For you see, Overlord,” a third declared, appearing to the right. “The dark god has many pieces on the board. You cannot be consulted on all of them.”
“Who… are you?” Aerona asked, fearing the answer.
The cloaked man sitting atop the throne spoke. “We are the Dark Brotherhood. Born as all men are, and born again in the Shadow of Darkness, serving the Dark Will. We are the proselytes sworn to the Dark Will of Sariel. We are the manipulators, and you are the subservient. We understand the stones, and you obey It.”
“Ruin, all you have bloody done is rent ruin.” Damian spat and pointed a crooked finger at these men. “Whatever delusions you think you have, it ends here. Leave my country, or I will send you off in pieces.”
Damian…
There was a sudden glow beneath the fold of their robes and each drew out a stone with a crystal sheen: black, grey, and brown. They were so bright, so seductive, all that Aerona could do was stare at them. “Spherules of Entropy, Plague, and Twilight. Unsealed by the fall of the imperium, foretelling the fall of an empire.”
All the pride, all the arrogance, all the power Damian had was gone. He bore the look of a defeated man, helpless to the will of the stones, and these cloaked figures.
Memories reached out for Aerona, and she tried to block it out. It was like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle fitting together. She knew who the man upon the throne was. In the heart of Isil, in the hidden tunnels and chambers he stood with stone outstretched, and ensnared her.
“What is it that you desire, Overlord?” she heard the fallen Isilian lord say at the edge of hearing. “Do you wish to join your brothers in the death? Or will you rule in Sariel’s name?”
“A simple question, a simple answer,” another had said.
“Serve or be slain,” a third added in.
“We are not as kind as Lord Kaldred,” the fallen lord insisted.
“I-I-I h-have,” Damian stammered. “I pledged before, need I again? I…”
The voices faded away, as if they fled from her.
My voice must be heard. Damian…
Yet before she could speak, a blinding light surrounded her.
Aerona found herself a wide stone chamber with twelve small balconies all around; each backed with symbols she did not recognize, emblazoned on fields of colour that were never the same twice. The chamber was dark and dank, and she could see no way out. “Release me Lord Aleksander!”
“You are beyond his reach, for now. Not for long, no. There is only so much that we can do. Our strength is not what it was. Millennia ago we did much, averted more. No more. Time is short.”
At the northern end of the room she glimpsed an old man with long white hair, dressed in thick red robes. “Not long now.” She thought the voice was the same, but from another old man, and him in brown robes. The voices repeated and again until twelve old men stood, looking down.
“Who are you?”
“We are the twelve borne from the Seed of Life,” the man in grey said. “And the one who we cannot speak of.”
“Those who cannot touch but see and guide,” said the man in white.
“We who bless the Dawn,” they all had said.
“I do not understand,” Aerona protested.
“Thousands of years ago,” the man in black began, “there was one who birthed twelve, the twelve hundreds, the hundreds thousands. The genesis of all life upon the ice and the cold. By the will of the Pantheon, life was born, and given to us were twelve gifts.”
“They had knowledge and wisdom, mastery and aptitude. They gave us fire and food. Walls and protection,” the man in brown declared.
“Then the Bringer of Dusk came,” they all said at once. “He brought us down, turned our gifts to nightmares, and we fell, never to stand again.”
“The relics,” Aerona blurted out. “You speak of the relics.”
“Emperor Archelaus can no longer stem the tide,” the man in green declared. “We have tried to stir him, but he will not move. Cannot move. We must have the Bringer of Dawn!”
“Bringer of Dawn!” they all said.
“Who?”
“You!”
“I do not understand!”
“Did we come too soon?” the man in green asked.
“No. It is her that must bring it,” the man in yellow said. “First she must open her eyes to see.”
“Her ears to hear,” said the man in white.
Frustrated, she blurted out, “What is the Bringer of Dawn?”
“Clad in white from head to toe, yielding the Sword of Creation, the warrior who will cleave the Bringer of Dusk, and bring this recurrence to an end,” they all said at once.
“It is rest we desire, and rest you will bring,” the man in brown said.
“It is too long, the danger too great,” the man in red said.
“Take your true sword in hand.”
A plan dais appeared before her, and upon it was a long sword: its steel spell-forged, writ in the runes that appeared behind these men. Its hilt long, the grip meant for more than one hand.
“Vindication is yours,” the man in yellow declared. “Take it and bring the Dawn. Return the Animus Stones to what they were. Ascend. Ascend. Ascend!”
“Take it! Vindicate prophecy. Become our Bringer of Dawn.”
The voices resonated louder and louder until she screamed, “I am not your pawn!”
“Doom you have passed,” the old men said as one.
One by one they disappeared, the balconies no more than solid rock. The light was vanquished; only deep, suffocating darkness remained.
Then she saw a light in the distance. A dawn to break the dusk.
“Aerona? Aerona!”
She was in the Overlord’s Seat, and Damian stood above her, offering a hand. Taking it, Aerona stood up, and looked around. The fog was gone, the basins full, and the murals untouched.
What is happening?
“Heh, I have seen the future, whilst you napped. No doubt you did too.”
“Y-yes,” she stammered.
“We have much to do. Good service will not go unrewarded they said. I will not be outdone by shites in white.”
Bringer of Dawn, she thought to herself as Damian walked out. What does it mean?
Is this… is this why I was given life again?
Am I just like them?
Chapter Fifteen
Gabriel’s Gift
Stephen feared for Dalia’s future.
Days had passed since the Voice last spoke with him. He did not forget the harrowing and scornful looks as he left the Chamber of Judgment. The survival of the Faith was all that mattered, and he thought it should be so with her.
When the summons came, he was hopeful and optimistic. The Voice’s returned faith with him was the only reason he could fathom for the audience in her solar.
He heard much speech in her solar when he entered. Counsel Anastasia stood beside the Voice, whispering advice, pointing to him. The Voice did not look up; she was engrossed in the worn parchments in her hands. Across the space, Lord Daniel Baccan and Ashleigh Coburn huddled together, barely speaking above whispers. Stephen was startled to see that they were not locked in the gaols, but instead armed and given fresh garments. The islander lord wore a studded leather jerkin and thick woolen pants, whilst the sentinel wore the armour of the Faith Templar.
I do not like this.
“As you have called, I obey the Voice of Mother God,” Stephen intoned and all the faces turned. “I serve your will and wisdom, now and always.”
“Close the door and we will begin,” the Voice said coldly.
I am the last that was summoned. I do not like this at all.
He did as bid, then reluctantly strode across the room, and took his place to the Voice’s right, amid glares from her oldest mentor. The others sauntered to the opposite side of the desk: Lord Daniel near the left, and Ashleigh to the right, hands folded behind their backs.
“We have angered Overlord Damian Dannars,” the Voice began. “Few live who have done so. I learned the lesson of obedience years past: a lesson that some of us did not heed.” Stephen felt her eyes on him. “He
may have fled for the nonce, but we will be back. He always comes back.”
“Did you consider what I had to say?” Lord Daniel asked brusquely.
Too brusque.
“Too much, you ask too much,” Counsel Anastasia piped in, emphatic and strong. “We are not a country who has oft looked to the sea. Of shipyards we have but few, and they are known. The wood and cloth can be gathered quickly, but a meagre number could be built. What you ask we cannot do.”
“It must be done!” the islander lord exclaimed, slamming down upon the desk; parchments scattered from the force. “We cannot just sit here.”
Audacious. The man must be brought to heel. On the islands, he may have been great, but here he is little more than a guest. Too much for the likes of him.
“What of the men still loyal to you?” the Voice asked, fingers steepled. “If we do what you ask, would they turn their cloaks?”
“Loyal, aye, that is what they are, but not foolish,” Lord Daniel declared. “It took much to send what I did, and that before the overlord’s ire wakened. Those men will not bestir themselves now, even if they could. Damian demands obedience, and slays any man who would not see his will done. They are pirates sworn to a man they do not like, but fear. He suffered a defeat here, but still they fear. They would serve if we sat upon his doorstep, pushing him back. Not before.”
“This is what the Faithsworn are meant for,” Stephen declared sternly, asserting his authority. The Faithsworn were not done, and whatever the Voice thought, they were sworn to him, not her.
“How would you send them across the sea, Counsel?” Lord Daniel asked, brow knit. “You are a bold man, I give you that. That show of yours quelled any doubts. Still, without war galleys, those men and women of yours are no more than cannon fodder to the islands. All you would do is weaken your sworn swords, and spell our doom.”
“The Faithsworn must remain here,” the Voice said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I must protect my own people.”
And I will protect you ‘gainst foolishness.
“Then our hopes turn to Gabriel’s Gift,” Ashleigh offered.
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