Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “You may not.”

  “I must say, my lord, what business took you to the lower city? No escort of knights? Dressed like some traveler?”

  “Do you not know who you address?” Daniel asked obstinately.

  “Lord Brayan Baccan.”

  “Is it custom in the city to be questioned by those of lesser birth?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Open the gate, and pray I overlook this slight.”

  The guard hurriedly pushed the papers back into Daniel’s hands, and called for the gate to be raised. Passing through, he glared contemptuously at the guard.

  The old city was much like he remembered: wide cobbled roads, tall and ornate lampposts every ten feet, large gated manses built against the walls, lush and verdant gardens sprouting up in front of them. Fear of recognition pushed him to the inner roads, passing tailors, blacksmiths, tanners, jewelers, and taverns visited only by the get of the nobility.

  The sky was a gloomy grey, and the slightest bit of rain dripped down on his cloak. There were few on the streets as he headed west. A nobleman running home through the rain, a horse drawn carriage with closed curtains, a patrol of royal knights, but no familiar swordsman in a cape.

  Pulling down his hood, he heard no footsteps, no sound of steel rattling against stone; no more than familiar company sharing meat and mead. He shrugged and cursed, trudging on.

  He stood near the old city’s great square. The green spread with cobbled steps running around, and only narrow paths through it. Aged willow trees grew all around, shading the grounds. He knew it as a retreat for wealthy lovers to couple beneath their kingdom’s beauty, or privacy for merchants and patrons who did not want to discuss affairs in the view of their own establishments.

  He remembered the north-west corner of the square: the willows hunched over, forming a makeshift tunnel that ran away to the south. Inside, the young sons and daughters of noble families hollowed the trees out. Lover’s Path. Emily, you were so long ago, when times were simpler.

  The girl was thin as a reed with long brown hair; the kindest soul that he had ever known. No more than a serving girl, her simpleness inflamed his passions in a way no other woman had ever since. When his father had found out, the girl was turned out onto the street, and barred from every great house.

  Weeks afterward, Lord Devan had told Daniel that she took up in a brothel—some backwater establishment the lower city. Still subservient to his father, he was too scared to ask how his father learned of it, and why it mattered. The late nights when his father did not come home told him enough.

  He shook the memory away and saw Marcanas Castle to the north. A deep, dry moat surrounded it, and layered, short walls lay beyond. The castle thrust up to the sky, squared and tall, with four towers all connected by spanning walkways. He thought it an ugly sight, but its shear surface made it near impenetrable. Once, it filled him with pride, but it had become a reminder of his youth that he wanted no part of. He pushed such thoughts away and ventured south.

  The southern reaches of the inner city were taverns, brothels, merchant stalls, and farmer’s markets. Some smaller manses aligned along the walls, more for upstart merchants who had yet to impress the nobility. It was also where the knights did not tread in the dark hours, where the few of the toughs and thieves would stalk. Daniel pressed fingers near his left hip, groping for the pommel of his long sword, and kept his left hand upon it.

  Women leaned out of windows, the cloth holding their bosoms nearly falling forward, calling out to him and his coin purse. He ignored them, and pushed on.

  “He has come back.”

  Daniel threw himself against the wooden wall of a five storey building, and took a peak around the corner. One of the speakers wore chainmail over boiled leather, and cloaked himself in a verdant cape.

  Found you.

  “Our lord would be pleased by it, if you had him in tow,” another man said.

  “His lordship will be pleased enough,” the swordsman in the verdant cape replied. “He is in the city. It will not take long to find him.”

  “You think he will care that he is in the city? He could have told you that. It is your head, if you tell him as it is.”

  “I am not searching the outskirts again.”

  “Then tell him, Alvin. Do not say I did not warn you.”

  The men ascended wooden steps and pushed through the door.

  Father does not forget.

  Daniel did not doubt that Alvin was a creature of his father, and that after fifteen years, he would be waiting atop the steps.

  Ashleigh, Jaremy and Johnathan, family comes first. I will join the overlord, as is my lot.

  The doorman at the top of the stairs asked what his business was. Daniel rounded on the man, knocking him senseless.

  He entered a wide lit chamber. The windows were curtained by silk, couches and cushions spread over, smoke filled the air, and moans and groans were heard in the room—above and below.

  A brothel. Father, you—

  He drew steel at the sight of more than one strange swordsman in a verdant cape—he saw ten of them, some shoving girls off their laps, others throwing drinks away. All of them had drawn steel. The girls realized what was happening, and they ran away, clutching discarded clothes to their naked bodies, ascending the stairs in such a scared flight.

  “Look at what you have gone and done,” a strange but familiar voice called out from behind a pair of swordsmen. “Do let me lace up my breeches. I will not face a man with bared steel naked as the day I was born.”

  “It is no more than you deserve, Father.” Daniel near shouted.

  “I am not our father. Clear the way, now.”

  The swordsmen stood aside, blades still bared, revealing a tall man with ashen hair, dressed only in white linens with a scabbarded sword in hand. It was like looking into his own eyes. “Brayan?”

  “Fifteen years has been good to you, Daniel.”

  “Where is he?!”

  “Did you expect our father?” Brayan replied dismissively, as if it was a matter of no import. “Out west in the estates. Court has been trying for him. I would not expect him back for some time. The king gave him such a fright, if you can believe it. Opportunity, I deem it.”

  Daniel bristled with suspicion, eying the men, doubting that he would escape if it came to conflict. “This is not how you treat a brother.”

  “How right you are, dear brother. It is quite the traitor’s welcome.”

  Daniel surged towards his brother; though the sellswords parried the thrust, pushing him back. Charging back, he arced a swing from below, but was parried by a second man, and a third rushed in, pushing him back once more. Again and again he charged, but he was parried, knocked down, and pushed back.

  “Fight me, cowards!”

  Brayan chuckled. “Oh, I would be terribly cross with them if they did. Seems you have lost some of your skill, brother. Not at all what I have been told. Have you lost your nerve?”

  If a time comes that you match steel with the daemon lord, dear brother, see if you are not the same. The battle in Lanan was never far from his thoughts, infecting every dream; more nightmares than aught else. Grasping his sword, the terror and pain returned to him, suspecting every man and woman of being that daemon.

  “Throw down your sword,” Brayan commanded.

  Daniel did, and kicked it towards his brother. Resistance seemed pointless. Brayan held it in his hand, feeling the balance, admiring the workmanship, sliding a thumb along the edge, sucking his blood. “Leave us. All of you.” The swordsmen did as bid, returning outside.

  “Come sit and have some fruit,” Brayan offered as he sat down on a couch and took a bite out of a big red apple. “Fifteen years is a long time.”

  Daniel sat across from his brother, though would not eat from his brother’s table. “Why go to all this trouble?”

  Brayan placed his right leg lazily over his left, and spoke like some overly important counselor between bites.
“It is not so different from why you are here in the city, risking much. We have not been idle while the realm has churned. It was the court that first learned of Isilia’s invasion, the return of Ser Elin Durand, and the Calamity that struck the imperium. I had placed several informers in Isil myself. Read their reports. I know all about this Lord Kaldred, this man of your nightmares.”

  What do you know, brother? “You learned this from informers in the imperium? They know little and less of me. Whatever they tried to pander to you, you bought false goods.”

  “Not quite, dear brother,” Brayan said, pointing his index finger at Daniel. “I know that you have been a sworn man to the southern overlord. I know that Lanan was all but destroyed, though not by Prince Adreyu’s hand. There was no man in all the imperium who struck such terror as Lord Kaldred. So, when the fleets returned and spoke of the horrors, I knew who it was that brought ruin, and that you would either hide or come here. You never were much for hiding.”

  “I lived through it,” Daniel said, bristling. “You cannot begin to imagine what I saw. This madness must end, Brayan. Whatever it may cost.”

  “You are not wrong. Yet, I wonder what you were going to do. Father may not have been impressed with your service under that uncouth pirate, but I was. Heh, you came here to fight your way out, before you even shed your daemons. Something—or someone—has put such a fright in you. So, I must wonder: are your new-found friends the sword you wield?"

  “What friends?”

  “Do not be so coy, Daniel. We found them. The knight is fierce but pig-headed. The young lad has spirit, though unwieldly. The old man, heh, even I know Lord Protector Ser Johnathan Falenir when I laid eyes upon him.” Brayan spit out apple seeds. “They are rotting in my dungeons, but for how long, that is up to you. It was either your curiosity that would have lead you here, or anger at their capture. Heh, my headstrong mercenaries doubted me, but I am not often wrong, as you can see.”

  “What do you want of me?”

  “I want the Corsair. I want that feared smuggler and pirate—that warlord who made the Marcanas brothers tremble.”

  “You do not want that blood on your hands, Brayan. We are better men than that.”

  “Oh, but I do dear brother. There is naught I want more. I want King Tristifer to feel my pain,” Brayan said leaning forward, with a twinkle in his eye. “I lost my brother to Marcanas ambitions. I want him to lose his. Then, I want him to die.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Answers to Riddles

  Aerona welcomed her captor.

  “I have an audience with the king,” Reuven told her inside her tower chambers. “You will stand as one of my Deathsworn. Listen and learn, Aerona. Do not speak. Yeuil will see to your armour.”

  The woman snapped on the red-hued plate. Aerona thought it far too light to be plate, though it seemed harder and stronger. Yeuil handed Aerona a bladed quarter-staff next. “Two hands, evenly spaced. There, like that. There is a depression near the centre. Both of your thumbs must push down to release the blades.”

  Aerona depressed the centre and the steel fluttered out. The blades were very thin, glittering in the morning sun. She realized the deadly reach the weapon had. Releasing the blades, she sheathed it along her back.

  Reuven strode at the head, along with Yeuil. There were five other Deathsworn, forming in pairs behind. They had not said much in the weeks, and certainly not this morning. These men and women may not have been human for all Aerona knew.

  She followed down a short stone hallway, passing a pair of royal knights in their gilded plate, then walked down the stone stair. It was mid-morning, and the maids and serving wenches walked out of turret rooms, their arms full of clothing and linens. Most did not notice their parade downwards, but those that did gasped and bowed their heads, not willing to even look at them.

  How many years have I walked in the face of fear and mockery? I endured it in Lanan, I will do so here.

  The main hall of the castle was richly carpeted on the wide stone floor—deep reds and purples, designs of conquest and war etched within the fabric. The doors to the side chambers were firmly closed, but suits of armour and encased weapons lined the walls. Even the chandeliers above were shaped like burning brands. Aerona noticed no furnishings, artwork, or treasures.

  For all the quizzical looks and frowns of discontent she received, none in the castle breathed a word to her. She did not think it was reverence nor fear: rather a silent, unspeakable disturbance that must be embraced. It made her uncomfortable. She felt like she was walking in quicksand, and that it was only a matter of time before she was sucked beneath it.

  In the main hall, there was a slender man in long flowing green robes with a yellow trim. Bowing low before Reuven, he said, “The king awaits you. Please, sers, come with me.”

  The stone hall widened, and great green and yellow banners hung along the wall; the immense lion of Trecht, etched upon the fabric, reared up with bloody claws. Upon the floor was an enormous painted map of the east and west of Trank. The cities, townships, forestry of the Eastern Lands were wrought in intricate, accurate detail, save for the ruins that the great cities had become. West of Trank were endless towns, rich farmlands, dense forests, wind-swept plains, and thin rivers emptying into the great southern seas. Aerona thought Trecht’s kingdom was larger than the dominions of the Southern Nations, Isilia, and Dalia altogether. It was no small marvel that Elin Durand threw them back.

  The royal knights stood with hands on blades at the end of the hall, not afraid or nervous, but whose gaze gave her an impression of hardened warriors who did not fear death. Doubled doors dark as sable were ahead, and two serving men pushed them inwards, and the slender man announced their arrival before the court of the king.

  The audience chamber for the Trechtian king was wide and tall. She thought the smoothed, marble floor could accommodate hundreds, if not thousands. Gilded pillars rose on either side with wide balconies stretching all the way to the rear of the room. Three seats adorned the northern end atop three steep steps: the backs carved in the likeness of a leaping lion: its hair wrought of gold, its deathly eyes rubies, its claws dripping with blood. Aerona recognized the two men to either side in the lesser seats. Prince Adreyu Marcanas lounged in his buoyed red robes; there seemed to be links of chainmail beneath, making him seem a bigger man than he was. He was fingering the tip of a dagger, paying her no more heed than he would a bit of dust. On the right sat the lanky Prince Adonis Marcanas: his robes ran green with a golden trim. Unlike his brother, he was weighing and measuring them, and Aerona felt naked when his eyes passed over her.

  The man in the middle sat in the seat larger than the others—a man she had never seen before, and, if tales were true, few did. King Tristifer was not as tall as his brothers; he was barrel chested with short brown hair that framed a kind, if judgmental face. The regal robes he wore were dyed a deep purple, trimmed with red, and would certainly drag along the floor when he walked. When his eyes took in Reuven, it was first with anger, and then disappointment. It seemed with every swaying emotion, the king’s appearance changed, as if an illusion fluttered.

  Aerona recalled what informers had once told her about this king: “He considers every word before he speaks: weighing each outcome, allowing others to speak before he wastes his breath. The people praise him for his kindness, yet only fools think that. King Tristifer does not care one whit for the struggles of the commons: half his city are slums and hovels. No, he is a man who cares only for his ambition.”

  Adreyu is the terror. Adonis is the clever one. Tristifer is the fear.

  “King Tristifer,” Reuven announced whilst taking a knee, to which she grudgingly followed, along with the other Deathsworn. “We are at your service.”

  “Elder Reuven. Rise,” the king replied in short, gravelly tones. “If your emperor keeps to his word, so shall I keep to mine. New foes have risen. I would set aside these concerns in my city. Who rises against me?”

  “None,
Your Grace.”

  Prince Adreyu burst out laughing, and pointed the blade of his dagger towards Reuven. “You think us fools, Reuven? Heh. Deathsworn, is it? Swear to our deaths, I would say. What makes you think I would not gut you here?” The prince smirked as he looked towards his kingly brother. “We will have no aid from such men. My own knights will turn up the traitors, if you would but let me sort through the rabble in the lower city. Naught but scum there. None would miss them.”

  “You are not king,” Reuven replied sternly.

  “Prince Adreyu,” Prince Adonis replied, “perhaps we should—”

  “I have had enough of listening, Adonis!” Prince Adreyu shouted, bursting to his feet. “The Faith rises against us on account of your listening. Them and this elder think overmuch of themselves. Bloodied men think much less of their station. That sniveling weasel from Dalia was proof enough of that. The Faithsworn are no more than mere puppies.”

  “We have made an enemy of the Voice,” Prince Adonis replied, his face strained. “If you had let me handle affairs, the Faith would be a staunch ally. Do you think they have been idle? Reports have a fleet made ready. Lanan is no longer a threat, so where would they sail to? Let us not make more enemies.”

  Prince Adreyu cackled. “You are a fool, brother. Reuven, Lutessa, it does not matter. Insolence will be crushed beneath our boots!”

  “You will hold your tongue, Adreyu, lest you have become king in my place,” King Tristifer scolded. A sullen look crossed the prince’s face. “I would not have such an answer in my presence, nor would I have our own affairs with the south discussed, though I am sure our friend is not deaf to such matters.”

  The princes did not feign a reply, and King Tristifer took on a much more solemn tone, and said, “Excuse my brothers, Elder Reuven. What did your men find?”

  “Your people are restless, Your Grace. They are not blind or fools. Not even the Marcanas family can keep them from the truth of the east. No one wishes to unseat you. They want you to protect them, or empower those who would.”