Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)
Page 64
“Ah Ser Johnathan Falenir, Lord Protector of the Faith, a most feared foe of the kingdom. Your presence here surprised me the most, my lord, yet not unwelcome. I believe that we can all help each other.”
“You can start by asking,” Ashleigh said scornfully.
“These are troubled times,” Brayan began as he shrugged his shoulders. “If but a single informer of the king caught wind of what I mean to do, we would all be a head shorter, even mine own, a loyal servant to the crown since I came of age.”
“He desires aid in regicide,” Daniel bluntly stated, not caring for his brother’s twisted tongue. “His own swords dare not do the deed. I daresay that he would not spill the king’s blood if King Tristifer Marcanas stood before him, unarmed, and alone.”
“This is not the time for such acts,” Ser Johnathan offered. “Are you quite mad, Lord Brayan?”
“Madness is so unbecoming,” Brayan plainly stated as he smirked, much as he did three nights before. “If you would but allow me to regale to you the true history of the kingdom, you will see that our plights are but the same, and that the why you are in this city, is the same why that pushes me to remain and take such a risk.”
“Craven and fools are much alike, Lord Brayan.” Ashleigh mocked. “You are a creature of both, and would serve to be a head shorter. Your brother has a blade. Shall I save the crown time?”
“I am afraid that I would not be able to tell you of the God Stone should I be headless,” Brayan mused. “Or should I say God Stones?” Ser Johnathan grunted, and he stared into the fire. “Tristifer is not clever enough to hide that from all ears who can listen, and mine are everywhere in this city.”
“Regale us the true history, then,” Daniel declared. “Be brief.”
“The early history comes from our father,” Brayan began, smiling. “Our family is among the wealthiest in the kingdom, second only to the Marcanas’. Father’s voice, and more recently mine own, weighs heavily upon the crown. Whether it was King Marcus or King Tristifer, they often sought our favour and influence; there was none who could move the other nobles much like we could. I digress.
“It was often said that King Marcus—the father of the current king and his brothers—was obsessed, not with power that he could gain, but power lost. Three hundred years ago, nearly two-thirds of the kingdom emptied into what you call the Eastern Lands. The pious ventured south and founded the Theocracy of Dalia, merchants and nobles formed the Isilian Imperium to the east, and traders went south by east, living in the tariff-free islands, whose descendants would one day flock to the banner of the Southern Nations.
“Trechtian kings lived and died without bringing those lost back into the kingdom. As time went on, and these countries grew stronger, there was a palpable discontent within the court, and, if you believe idle words from nobles, there was anger in the streets. Spies and informers went to these lands, sowed seeds of doubt and treachery, all in wretched futility. Eventually, the royal line all but gave up on the attempts, seeing to their own affairs, until rumours began to swirl concerning the God Stone.
“King Marcus had believed that the God Stone possessed the power to rent all that was made whole and hale, to bring ruin that the realm had ne’er seen before. The further the king looked into history, the more he pressed spies and informers, the clearer it became that a woman who had died near three hundred years ago, wielded such a power, and lay it to rest in the catacombs beneath the holy city.”
“You speak of Gabriel’s Gift,” Ser Johnathan broke in. “Lutessa has it, and will surely wield it.”
“King Marcus thought the same,” Brayan replied. “In his day. That was the reason for the last war. Fear of its destructive power.”
The knight seemed bothered as he answered. “I was there, Lord Brayan. Neither you nor any present were. I was. It was not even a ploy to recover lands. Pride. It was pride that drove the Cleaver Prince, and the malicious king he served.”
Brayan stared inquisitively at the old man. “Dear Ser Johnathan, your own words betray you. King Marcus was malicious, none would disagree. It was not pride, not as far as the king was concerned. He feared, and would have done much to take that fear from your homeland.”
“Continue with your story,” Ser Johnathan barked back.
“All know what came of that war. The kingdom thrown back, defeated. What you do not know was the strain inside the court, and the madness that had taken the king. My father heard more than once Marcus’ mad ravings at Dalian and Isilian insolence, and at unworthy Trechtian knights, imploring the raising of tariffs and taxes, to rebuild the fleets and sail south again. In the face of all they lost, there was not a single lord who did not advise against it, but when King Marcus called it treason to speak against his will, none dared rebuke him. It was to be the end of the kingdom if he was not sated, and, to the belief of many, a fruitless endeavor if he was.
“Months passed. The fleet was rebuilt, the royal knights were replenished, and the peasants had learned the way of sword, spear, and bow. It was not simply the aristocracy who thought war would come again—”
“Until the king’s sons committed patricide,” Daniel blurted out.
“Yes, a matter that has crossed your mind, I know, brother.” Brayan chuckled and continued. “Prince Adreyu, upon the orders of Prince Tristifer, put a sword through the king in front of the whole court. None of the knights—some aged who had served King Marcus since he was a boy—dared stop the act. The blood had not dried upon the Lion Throne when Tristifer was crowned king, and the very act that they saw became an offense to speak of.”
“None of this is unknown,” Ashleigh protested. “I grow tired of the flailings of your country.”
“I am but coming to it,” Brayan insisted. “The fear of the God Stone was behind every action of King Marcus. King Tristifer stood up, decried his father and his mythical and nonsensical ambitions; and declared that the God Stone was no more real than krakens and dragons. There was peace, for a time, and none spoke of the God Stone—until the Calamity.
“King Tristifer, much like monarchs in your land had fewer answers to what had passed in Isilia, but my father’s informers yielded much. They spoke of a man named Lord Kaldred, whispering lies into the ear of Imperator Argath Diomedes. Naught could be done on that here, but the more I searched, the clearer it became that King Tristifer possessed a God Stone all along, and harboured more within the vaults beneath the castle. The son slew his father not for righteousness or the good of the subjects, but a play for power that rested only within the madness of a lustful heart.”
Daniel no longer thought his brother was delusional. “How many?”
“Six there were, three that remain. I no longer believe Lord Kaldred’s actions in Isilia, the Darkness that swept the Southern Nations, and King Tristifer’s ambitions are not related. The king is ensnared by Lord Kaldred, just as the imperator and the overlord were. I do not wish to lose my kingdom.”
“The Dark Brotherhood,” Ashleigh muttered.
“What?”
“The Dark Brotherhood,” she repeated. “Cloaked and cowled, whispering lies into the ears of sovereigns, each loyal to Lord Kaldred, or whoever it is that he has become. Each of them bore a stone, taken from your vaults, if what you say is true.”
“Then you see yourselves the need I profess, the call to arms that even you cannot deny, my dear?”
Ashleigh remained silent.
Daniel sat in reflection, recalling what brought him to Trecht. For there was always an undeniable feeling, an itch, which pushed him towards Trecht: a path that his sensibilities told him were fraught with danger and peril. He knew that same feeling had struck Aerona as well—she saw the need to come here more than he did. Recalling the knights who took her, and the suspicions that they were either after the stones as well, or, at worst, in league with the Dark Brotherhood. If the king had three stones in his possession, pursuing these would lead to Aerona, and if naught else, an answer to so many questions.
“Do not underestimate me,” Brayan remarked slyly. “It is more than I who have suspected the king of his intent. It is more than I who would see this power wrested from the king, buried and set away from these monsters who do naught but cleave and destroy!” Brayan was impassioned, every word near a shout, his face implacable. “I love this country. I will not see it destroyed for one man’s ambitions. We must take to the vaults, procure the God Stones, and then end the Marcanas line.”
Jaremy burst out laughing. “Such a simple thing you ask of us, yes? Let us first steal from the king, and then slay him. You are mad.”
“There is naught more precious to the king than these stones,” Brayan insisted. “His most trusted knights will make for the vaults when the alarm is raised, while those whose loyalty are to me will be left to guard the brothers. None of them will raise a hand to the royal blood, but they will let another draw steel. I will bare my sword against him. Brother, if you would but join me, whilst these others procures the stones…”
“A grand plan,” Ser Johnathan declared, seemingly unamused by its implications. “Yet how am I to retrieve the stones against a parade of knights?”
“You will not be alone,” Brayan declared. “Protections will be granted in the confusion. The stones are just as important as the blood that must be spilled. Only Prince Adreyu himself knows the knights better than I do. They will lay their lives down to stall King Tristifer’s most trusted, whilst you scurry off with the stones, none the wiser.”
“It seems to me,” Ashleigh declared, “that House Baccan stands the most to gain from these actions. No family wealthier than yours and the Marcanas’, you say? Your father would become king, and you a prince. Your brother remains disgraced, even if alive, clearing the way to the Lion Throne. I will not lay my life down for your ploy for power.”
“I know how it looks,” Brayan said solemnly. “I do not fault you for your doubt. You look upon me like some upstart noble who has ne’er wanted his whole life; and I speak of things that you have seen with your own eyes, and what mine has only read. Yet I am not blind nor stupid. I know Isilia is no more than ruins, and Lanan a graveyard. I know that Dalia has not been right for years, and my own king meddles in affairs he should not. The throne or succession does not matter if the rest of the realm becomes as dead as all lands east of us have.”
Daniel did not know what to do or say, and by the looks of his companions, they did not know either. He knew each of them had lost hearth and home to these stones and their cruel masters; to abandon even a reviled foe to the desecration that they barely escaped from seemed untenable. Yet there seemed to be a sincerity to his brother that was hid for the last three days—almost like he was begging or pleading for what had to be done; a matter that—despite all their father’s wealth—could not be done without them. In a way, he knew it must be done. Yet he could not shake the events of his exile, the way in which his country and his father had betrayed him. Though he was younger when he connived with Damian—to lie to the kingdom in their quest for dominion over the Eastern Lands—Daniel was never distraught at what he did to the place of his birth. It was what they deserved.
That feeling did not linger long. Lord Kaldred, whatever the Faceless Shadow called himself, changed everything. Daniel knew his past did not matter, but only the survival of all people; and not nation-states, monarchs, and their petty grievances.
“Brother, is there no other course?” he asked.
“None, my brother. The kingdom prepares for war, and you can be sure the son is too much like the father. If we but delay, it will be too late. If we do not take them away from King Tristifer, there will be naught left of Dalia and Trecht but smoking craters. I intend to outlive father. I have no intention to mete out an early grave.”
“If we refuse to enter your service?”
“Dear brother, then I would only have scorn for King Tristifer ever more. I lost a brother once. I rather not lose him again.”
Daniel dropped his left hand, reaching down the scabbard, and it felt heavier, as if blood puddled within it. Whether it was his or the thousands who still lived, he knew their fates rested on what was decided.
“Tell us your plan.”
None of his companions objected to this, and Brayan cleared the table in front of him, and placed hand drawn maps in front of them. He outlined royal patrols, weakened walls, waterways, and unused walkways within the castle. Daniel thought there was a sensibility to it, of subtlety and secrecy that convinced him it could work, if fortune held.
It was late in the afternoon when it was agreed upon.
When dawn finally came, it felt like dusk. He entered the aqueducts, charging towards his fate, and the last good deed amid a life of sin.
Chapter Fourteen
Upon the Tides
Adreyu was frustrated.
“This is a council of bloody fools!” he exclaimed from the airy chambers behind the Lion Throne. It seemed the council would rather lounge in their finery than see to the threat at hand. Lord Zachan Milo, the royal treasurer, tapped his fingers on the table in nervous fits. Ser Lucius Godbert, the principle knight of the Royal Protectors, said little, but nodded acquiesance when Adreyu called for it. “They are treacherous. Would you have us wait until their fleets are built?”
“Brother,” Prince Adonis remarked quietly, “their shipyards are barren, and do not forget, they came to us for aid. We should not fear them.”
“I do not fear Adonis! Whilst you sat in those shining walls pampered by stewards and priestesses, I sailed east with these Faithsworn.” The word made his stomach roil, and filled his mouth with bile. “They are not robed preachers with swords. They are knights. Ser Elin Durand may be dead and rotting in the ruins of Isil, though that does not take from their strength.”
“You were not the only one to witness their fortitude. Lutessa shared overmuch with me whilst you sailed to the land of their foe. She fears them more than any do. Dalia is a land divided without a means to war.”
“Is that why our brother has sent those foreign knights into our city to root out traitors? Oh, dare I forget, that none will rise against us if we but act? I spit on Reuven and his ilk. Yet he sees war as inevitable as I do!”
“Do you think,” King Tristifer said coldly, “that I oppose your war mongering on account of ignorance, Adreyu?”
“No other reason is plain to me.”
“Then open your ears, and I will say it but once: we still do not know what truly befell Lanan. The God Stone you returned with did not wrought those ruins, nor what Adonis took from the Dalian vaults. Should the cause of the Calamity reveal itself, I would not be without our knights whilst the true foe awaits at the end of another bloody conflict.”
Brother, you are mad, and taken by fancies.
Adreyu read all the missives from the informers. Lord Kaldred was no more than a myth. It was senseless bloodshed in Lanan by civil strife; no doubt the allusions to the cloaked man were no more than a deflection.
He has become like our father in all but name, hoarding secrets, deceiving all who have served him faithfully.
“Wisely said, Your Grace.” Lord Zachan quavered as he spoke. “The drought of the last year has hit us hard, I fear to say. War is not an expense that the crown can afford. Winter will be harsh this year.”
“Coward and craven!” Adreyu shouted. “There will be no winter when our foes strike unawares; our home will be rendered a wasteland as Isilia was years ago. Count your coins and stay silent, blabbering idiot.”
“Enough, Adreyu,” the king declared sternly.
Adreyu sat back, and stared down at the rat in silk.
“I will not have our knights want,” the king continued. “Lord Zachan, what mus
t be done?”
“I am sorry to say that we must raise taxes on the grain, and set aside more than we thought for the castle’s stores. The smallfolk must understand that it is strong arms that keep them safe.”
“We may need to send more guardsmen out west, Your Grace,” Prince Adonis offered. “Need makes animals of men in trying times.”
“Lord Devan remains in our western lands,” King Tristifer affirmed. “Send him what he needs, with men we can trust. I loathe to overstay his time there, but we have no alternative. The son is not the father; Trank wants without the patriarch of her nobility.”
“With Your Grace’s consent,” Ser Lucius declared, “I would send a retinue of Royal Protectors to summon the son. Lord Brayan Baccan still has much to answer for.”
“Elder Reuven was satisfied with his own inquiries,” the king said dismissively. “Much like his brother, Lord-Heir Brayan is no more than a useless sot. Lord Devan will see to his wayward seed when he returns. We will not.”
If he is aught like his dead brother, useless sots can do more harm than good. Do you not recall the reason for the father’s westward journey, Tristifer? It was not of royal decree.
“Is it your will, brother,” Adreyu gratingly said, “that our fleets remained harboured, patrols pulled back?”
“It is,” King Tristifer answered. “Do not lower our defenses, but our reserves must return to their homes. They will not be needed. That will aid the treasury, will it not, Lord Zachan?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the rat bobbed his head. “Yes, there is other work we can put them to; and far more profitable than sailing calm seas, looking for a foe that is not there. The reserves would be wonderful.”
“It will be done,” though the king glared at Adreyu. “Do you have aught more to say, Adreyu?”
“Not which I have already declared to deaf ears, Your Grace.”
“Then our affairs are at an end.”
The slim coin counter scurried out; and his draping grey robes bunched into a slithering tail behind him. Adreyu was aware that the man possessed some talent when it came to gold and silver, but matters of state were above him: a fact that his kingly brother seemed to ignore.