Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  Michel nodded his head, running out of the tent, and she followed out into the sunlight.

  White tents with silver pennants stretched endlessly to the south and east. Two Faithsworn fell in behind her, soundless and solemn. She had grown used to their presence, following wherever she went.

  Not one of Stephen’s better notions.

  Lutessa meandered through the narrow and crooked paths that the tent city allowed, and she heard the Faithsworn talking hurriedly amongst themselves. They spoke of the ships to north, the onset of war, and the treachery of the overlord; though several sat like mutes with heads bowed.

  No one hailed her for blessing or questions. She thought it unsettling, but dared not show it. In days that seemed so long ago, the thought of walking amongst the masses in Dale was fraught with joy and delay. Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, children and the elderly, they all wanted to touch her hand, to be blessed with her wisdom and insight. Not so in the tent city, not even amongst the camp followers who, if Mother God was good, were stalwart believers in Her message. Yet they stayed at bay, and moved out of the way without a word or look.

  Have I lost them to savagery in gilded plate?

  The camps thinned, and she saw a gathering of Faithsworn in the distance, and the sea beyond was filled with great dromonds, war galleys, long boats and fat cogs. Lutessa knew little of war, but the fleet seemed far greater than what they needed, and that filled her with dread.

  What did you promise them, Stephen?

  A large dromond moored near the shore, and its great gangplank lowered. It had four decks and five masts, rows of cannons, and hundreds of crew to man her. The golden lion of Trecht was spread outwards upon the massive sails, fierce and resolved. Beneath it on the foremost mast was the Mother in prayer, sword in hand. Lutessa espied Counsel Stephen Francis, though he was not alone.

  The counsel followed an escort of knights in gilded mail, gold with a green trim. Long swords were sheathed on their hips, wickedly long, nearly brushing the wood; the scabbards were adorned with gold crusts and sparkling emeralds. Great helmets with visors were upon their heads; their eyes bright and intent through the slits.

  All save a lanky man who sauntered down at their head. Instead of gilded plate, he wore a robe of draping cloth, red with a green trim; it seemed to buoy out from him, as if a thick weave of chain links were hid underneath. Upon his left hip was a thin long sword: the pommel a great lion’s head with enormous chunks of rubies for eyes; the scabbard was equally ornate, trimmed with green silk and bloodstones adorned it. His face was long, nose sharp, eyes probing and appraising. At first Lutessa did not know who he was, but then she remembered the colours of House Marcanas were red and green. King Tristifer had sent his brother to her. Prince Adreyu Marcanas, the Cleaver Prince.

  “High Priestess Lutessa, it is as your counsel has said,” the prince remarked, smiling peevishly. “We saw your Faithsworn from afar, impressive I must say.”

  She shouldered her way past the Faithsworn, and stood next to Ser Jarl and replied, “Prince Adreyu, we did not think to expect you. Much would have been prepared had we known.” Our swords would run red with your blood, is what she wanted to say.

  “It is much better this way, I do believe. I am seldom welcome here, and I do not mean to remain long,” Prince Adreyu declared, hopping off the gangplank. “There is a man who troubles us as much as he does you, and he must be put down like the dog he is. Those winds brought me here, you see; your counsel was most persuasive on the matter. I decided on the first day that we must come, but my royal brother does not bestir himself easily.” The prince smiled wickedly before turning to his men. “Leave the good counsel be. He is home. Treat him as such.”

  I know the game you play. I will not go by so meekly. Your mortal foe is gone, but his sacrifice I have ne’er forgotten.

  Counsel Stephen walked free of the knights, bowed his head and said, “The fury of Mother God stands ready, High Priestess, as I promised.”

  “What did you promise?!” she rounded on him, furious. “To bring this man here.”

  “Oh my ears. My precious ears,” Prince Adreyu proclaimed whilst a sinister, mocking smile spread across his lips. “We are all friends here today. We have a common foe; and we will only take a little trinket to keep each other in safety. Life is much better than death, yes?”

  “Whatever he promised you, you shall not have,” Lutessa near shouted.

  “My dear, oh my dear, you must see your predicament. Lest you accuse your counsel of deception to the crown, you have no ships, not near enough to sail east and carry these strong men and women to war. If you persist in this abhorrent conduct, we will pull anchor, sail east, leave Damian’s filth in ruins, and take the God Stone from his cold, dead hands.”

  “You would not—”

  “We would. And we would not forget our disappointment with you.”

  The prince bore such a wicked, knowing smile, full of intent. Lutessa felt cornered and powerless. She knew it was the threat of a united Eastern Lands that held Trecht at bay in all the years after the war.

  That was shattered by the Faceless Shadow, and our poor choices. She had no choice but to acquiesce. Yet I shall not be meek, not to the face of a butcher. “The Faith will not be faithless; we will honour what the counsel has decreed in my name.” Lutessa returned to her counsel and asked sternly, “What plans have you made?”

  “Ser Jarl,” Counsel Stephen called out, seemingly ignoring the question. “How many men do we have here?”

  “Five thousand Faithsworn stand at the ready.”

  “We will see two thousand in the vanguard, the rest will remain here, good counsel,” Prince Adreyu pronounced. “If there is no treachery, more will come when the sea is parted,”

  “That will not be enough if—” Lutessa trailed off as Ser Jarl stepped forward.

  “The prince means send men through the coves. Though I do not know how he came to this knowledge.”

  This man would have made a fine lord protector; he knows when to speak and when to listen. P’rhaps if we still stand at war’s end, I shall make him one. Ser Johnathan has outlived his usefulness.

  “You will be a good commandant someday, if the current divvies up his duties after the war,” the prince said proudly. “Yet as a spy you do yourself no justice. It is true that we have steered away from these lands yet we are not without whisperers. My captains will guide you to the western coves. It will be hard sledding, but also more defensible, with less cost to our ships.”

  Lives o’er ships. He would be a butcher again.

  “As agreed. Ser Jarl, see to the men,” Counsel Stephen said sternly.

  “May we be blessed by the Light of Mother God,” Ser Jarl intoned.

  The Faithsworn trailed off one by one. Lutessa felt vulnerable, standing with kin to the king in the west, and a man she trusted only by need. The two creeping shadows that approached from behind did little for her comfort. It was inexplicable, and she did not know why she said it, but felt it was important. “A country was lost to this God Stone, and Damian’s madness.”

  “The good counsel,” Prince Adreyu began with a look that knew too much, and shared too little. “He has told us of all this. The man is wise. A sage we would call him in the wilderness. Yes, a man befitting of honour. It is good that you sent him. I do not want to think what would become of Trank if that traitor was not challenged. A mistake you made, not long ago.”

  Lutessa was not amused. “I am a servant of Mother God, not Her butcher. It is not for me to pass the sentence of death.”

  “Not the first time you have erred.”

  “Do not speak of—”

  “I would. I will. That man you let go free in your youth was more heinous than Damian ever was.” Prince Adreyu stuck a finger out at her. “Yes, we know much and more; our pride does not stuff our ears with ignorance. In this accursed country, you let a monster roam free, and more monsters came from that mistake. You are fortunate my brother de
mands only the God Stone. I would have your head, if I but sat the throne.”

  Be glad you do not. I would have made you most uncomfortable. “I must return to the Cathedral of Faith,” Lutessa intoned. “I leave the war to you. The people need their Voice. It is them that need strength—the brave men here do not lack for it, but they do.”

  The prince offered one last mocking smile for her. “It was a pleasure, once more.”

  Lutessa’s face went to scowls as she left the prince and her counsel. The mute titans followed without a word.

  Mother God be praised for that. I had half a mind to order his execution, no matter the cost.

  At the far southern end of the city of tents a carriage waited. It was large and simply adorned, wrought of oak, lacquered in the colours of the Faith, pulled by six work horses with silver with white manes. Any man or woman would know who approached from miles away. So close to Dale, she wanted that—in times of doubt and dread, she would be seen, not hidden. The two large mutes left her with a score of Faithsworn on horseback. It would be some hours before they reached the cathedral, so Lutessa pulled the grey curtains over, mulling the encounter with Adreyu Marcanas.

  Did my counsel just trade one daemon for another? I will not think for a moment that the ‘Cleaver Prince’ will meekly leave, God Stone in hand, once Damian is put down. If I can take solace in one thing it is that Stephen will not think that either; yet there is much at risk, and even the Faithsworn may not be enough.

  Lutessa closed her eyes for a time, feeling every rock and pebble the carriage rolled over. A part of her that did not want to give rise to the thoughts of the man in white, but everything had gone the way he said it would. It was too much to ignore any longer.

  That is who I can trust. The only one left to me. The one person I know little about. The one person I must obey utterly. I must cast my fears and doubts aside, and start with a leap of faith. Is this how Justine felt when she resolved to war? I only hope that I am not too late.

  The carriage stopped bouncing about as it reached the cobbled paths of Dale. She opened the curtains to her right, and saw that dusk approached; the city was quiet, its main roads deserted. Occasionally she saw labourers returning home from a long day, boys shouting down some side street, but it seemed so far away and muffled.

  The side door of the carriage opened. She stood at the western end of the cathedral, near the stables and side entrances afforded to her and the Faithsworn sworn to her life.

  “I need to be alone,” Lutessa commanded. “Retire for the night, all of you.”

  They left without question or complaint.

  She passed through the narrow gate ahead, and guards that she had known for all her life smiled warmly, moving aside. The walls towered high and thick to her left, the cathedral, her cathedral, rising towards the clouds above to the right. A short way down there was a rusted green-grey gate to her left that lead down into a wide low field, with rows of tombstones that lined the expanse.

  She had often come here, alone, to grieve for Rachel Du’vron: truest of friends, most trusted of counsel, who lost her life to a monster in the shining bastion of hope for all of Dalia.

  She was not the first, nor the last. Men and women, boys and girls, no one was safe from the madness. It was on that day that El, my pillar, fell too. “I lost everything that day,” Lutessa muttered.

  The matter was seldom broached. Most seemed content to believe it did not happen. The people were never told, and any priest who thought to spread tales were spoken to sternly and severely; their tongues seldom wagged so freely again.

  We could never grieve for the fallen, not in the way that they deserve.

  Rachel was laid to rest near the northern end of the lichyard. It is what she wanted, Lutessa knew; like her, the woman was an orphan, cared for by the commons, and would have like to be among them, even in death.

  “Three more join her,” Lutessa intoned.

  To the left of Rachel’s grave rested Ser Mattias Haft, Lady Tiffany Hart, and Ser Harbert Lyonel. It was Lutessa’s third visit since Counsel Stephen had taken their lives, and none of the guilt sloughed off.

  “My regrets,” she said upon her knees. “How many times did I plead, did I beg? You were my swords and shields. You defended me when no one else would. You threw yourselves at mine enemies without second thought. Yet when I needed your trust you did not give it. I am playing the most dangerous game. You were unwitting players, but it was a game that must be played. It is not about faith or love, but survival. You did not understand it, you did not. I had no choice. You left me none.

  “I no longer recognize the place of my birth and the wider realm it is a part of. This is a realm that is strange and ever changing; there is no place for kindness, mercy, and understanding—I will forge a realm for Mother God, not with prayer and benevolence, but with blood and sweat and tears. That is what you died for, forgive me.

  “I will honour your memory with what I do now. I will carve out a better realm. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

  She wept.

  Time seemed to stand still, until a voice broke the serenity, hauling her back to attentiveness. “There is naught to forgive, child. They understand that—so should you.”

  The voice was familiar and soothing; Lutessa’s grief and sorrow dissipated, as if they were never there. Gabriel’s Gift, kept beneath the linens of her white robes shone brightly, and gave her warmth. It felt like the embrace of a love from so long ago, the protections of Mother God, and the serenity that only faith to the divine could provide. When it shone and glowed, she was never alone.

  My armour in the dark.

  The man in white stood beside her now, his radiance overwhelming. Slowly, the Light seemed to fade, and the deep brown robes of the Mother’s Pilgrim gave way. The softened face smiled back: a spirit who knew so much, who bestowed wisdom with every breath.

  The angel who guides me, who blesses my office with strength and resolve. The realm’s savior; the man who Gabriel trusted with the word of Mother God.

  “House Marcanas has come for the God Stone,” Lutessa said timidly. “Just as you said they would. I doubted your words, I am ashamed to say, and nearly pushed us to our ruin. When they came to our shores, and my doubt was gone, fear and dread stood in its place. We are not strong enough to stop them. The gift we lost will be theirs, and there is naught I can do. I have failed you in that.”

  “You have not failed, child,” the Mother’s Pilgrim said soothingly as he placed a warm hand upon Lutessa’s shoulder. “It is what Mother God has ordained. Doubt has taught you humility, and from humility comes the courage to serve. You had to learn that yourself; I could not bestow that to you.”

  For all the warmth she felt, there was also hurt, a sadness, but not without hope.

  “Alas, say not the ‘God Stone’; that is not what it is,” the Mother’s Pilgrim continued. “There is only Mother God, and She bestowed to Her children the gifts, the greatest of which you hold in your hand. Counsel Stephen Francis, he wishes naught more than to unleash the wrath of Mother God upon the enemies of Dalia. That is what I wish of you. She wants that, too.”

  It is why I was orphaned at the cathedral’s steps all those years ago. I will finally right the wrongs of years past. Yes, I will cleanse the Faith of the sin of Ser Elin. Trecht, Southern Nations, and the men in cowls—they will be cleansed in Her purity.

  “In your doubt, did you do what I have asked of you?” the Mother’s Pilgrim asked.

  “There are no guards among the secret floors, not anymore,” Lutessa replied. “The shrine is there, where Gabriel spoke to Mother God. No foot has been set there for three hundred years, though some have tried, and lost their souls in the attempt. Will Mother God let us pass, hear our cries, as She did his three hundred years ago?”

  “Mother God has told me such. She awaits us.”

  I must believe. I must. “Then let us go. Let us bring the storm to the sea of the profane. Show me the path to the ruin of sinners,
and the salvation of the faithful.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blood and Shadow

  Daniel was losing his patience.

  “You mean to defy the high servitor?” Ashleigh exclaimed in a squat cabin on board the Sea Calmer. “If you do not trust him, then trust me.”

  “Your voice, but his words,” Daniel declared. “I do not trust them, whoever speaks it. Nor will you countermand my orders.”

  “I will. I must.” Ashleigh meant to take to the deck but Daniel barred the way. She scowled and clenched her fists.

  “The day they listen to you is the day they are all dead,” Daniel said. “These men are not pleased to have you aboard again, and I am of mind to let them vent their anger. We make for Lanan. I will speak to the captains that spot us. They will let us through. Do you understand?”

  “The threat is in—”

  “Dale? No. Lanan. That is where this started, and it is where it shall end.”

  The sentinel did not reply.

  “If the Voice was truly a villain in this story,” he began to explain, frustrated that she could not see what was as plain as the nose on her face. “Where do you think she would act towards? North? Trecht will face her wrath soon enough. Yet that woman is too prideful to forget what Damian did in those hallowed halls. We will find her in Lanan. If the high servitor spoke truth, you will excise his will there.”

  Hours came and went since that conversation, and not once did Ashleigh broach the subject. Leaning on the port side rail, Daniel had more important considerations. Who my friends are.

  He spied three middling war galleys in the distance with tall black sails and a silver sword etched upon the cloth. Two of the ships came to port and starboard, and he ordered the captain to pull up their oars, furl the sails, and let it come to pass. The crew fidgeted and cursed beneath their breath.

  A retinue of crimson cloaked swordsmen boarded the vessel. Their sheathed long swords were hidden beneath draping cloths, but scowls marred their faces, and their fingers flexed near the pommels. Two men emerged in long draping cloaks, who looked as cold and cruel as the sea that carried them. They were near indistinguishable from the men who stood behind them, though the taller of the two leaned against the centre mast and spoke in arrogance and confidence. “Did not think the traitor would dare come back. Coulda just drowned hisself; he knows the traitor’s price.”