Daniel could not help but think back to his wretched father. The patriarch of the Baccan clan thought much the same as the Marcanas’. Whatever Brayan meant to accomplish, Daniel thought his brother did so without their father’s consent.
“Where is our father, Brayan?” he asked. “Where is he truly?”
Brayan put a hand against the rock wall, turned and stared ominously at Daniel. “I have done no harm to him, brother.”
“This is not what he would have wanted.”
“What would you know of our father’s will, brother? All these years you have been sleeping with whores, slaving, reaving, and feting to the health of a madman! The kingdom and family has meant naught to you.”
Daniel boiled inside. “I was exiled, brother, so that our dear father would not be so humiliated. I had seen only sixteen winters when I was all but disowned. What would you have had me do? Fall on my sword? Is that what you have craved?”
“Enough!” Ashleigh stood between them, sword drawn. “This is not the time. Open the grate and keep quiet Lord Brayan.”
Brayan gave Daniel one last glare before jingling the keys, slamming the grate open, and storming through. Jaremy and Ashleigh followed. The old knight followed closely behind Daniel, speaking softly when Brayan was beyond earshot.
“Your brother is not our enemy, Daniel. This is not the time for the past. I have seen the pain of young men, be it their sins or that of others, and the madness it wrought.”
“I would not hear of Ser Elin Durand.”
“That is one of whom I speak, but not all. I have lived and served for many years. I have seen what it has done.”
“Who else have you mentored?”
“Rafael Azail.”
“I did not know.”
“They were no more than foolish boys when they came at the heads of armies. Brilliant, but brash and unpredictable. It was not a simple task. The Voice thought it best that I be the voice of reason in that storm. Seems she was right in that.”
Daniel did not want to hear any more about them. “My brother is not without cause, nor can I fault him for what he means to do. Yet will you do to your sovereign what he is prepared to do for his?”
He did not look towards Ser Johnathan. The only sound was their boots splashing in the shallow water. When words of reply came out, the knight sounded pained, as if every syllable hurt. “I did little enough for that girl. Should have been stronger, harder. She stood alone, gazing at a chasm she could not hope to cross, but must. When help arrived—no, I will not speak on that—I will right my wrongs, whatever I may feel.”
“We all do what we must.”
Brayan called a halt, extinguishing his brand in the cool water, and pointed to an iron ladder no more than a foot from the near wall. One by one they followed, though Daniel took the rear. During the climb, he could hear his brother talking frantically to men above him, though it was naught but a dull murmur still.
He emerged into a dank, darkened chamber. A flowing reservoir took much of the northern half of the chamber. There was an upper level that the water flowed from, and a narrow iron-banded door to the west where Brayan lost all the colour in his face. There were three knights, visors up, and swords drawn with lines of worry creasing their faces.
“What has happened, Brayan?” Daniel asked. “We cannot stand here.”
“It has all come undone,” Brayan muttered. “Ser Bradvich, tell him. Tell my brother what has befallen. Tell him what you told me.”
“Lord Daniel,” the tallest of the knights turned and spoke. “A prince is dead. Which, we do not know, but the knights have been recalled to the king. There are heaps of bodies and bloodied blades at the doors to the Lion Throne. Madness. Rank madness. No one will see His Grace this day, and not without a retinue of loyal swords when this all subsides.”
“The king will never be defenseless again,” Brayan added in, frustrated.
“King Tristifer can wait,” Ser Johnathan declared gruffly. “You said yourself, my lord, the God Stones were the obsession of the father and the son. When we have them, he will come after us. He must.”
Brayan seemed like an empty husk. Daniel was stung by a revelation that his brother did not understand the God Stones. Not that he knew more than any other. Yet it seemed to Brayan that the king who wielded the weapon was the villain, not the means to that power itself.
That is what wrought the end of the Isilia and Lanan. Argath and Damian were not the intended object of our scorn. The stones were.
“Lord Brayan, we cannot go with you, not lest suspicions be raised, and all our brothers be sent to the gallows,” Ser Bradvich remarked. “There are three sets of doors in the vaults, though my key will only open the first. There will be a knight before the second and third door. Say to them, ‘Secrets begets lies begot the king,’ and they will let you through. Take the God Stones from the traitor.”
Brayan fondled the key given to him, nodded his head, and the knights fled.
“Brother, we cannot wait.” Daniel said sternly.
Brayan headed out the door. Daniel drew his sword, and followed.
He saw that they were at the lower levels of the castle, and halls that were not visited often. There was a side stair just ahead, which Brayan led down. The hall was plain and empty, with wooden doors leading to wider halls.
After ten minutes, there were towering oaken doors that fronted a wide hall that smelt of earth and mold. It was dark with a single torch on each side, giving out only the faintest glower. Brayan thrust the key in the right door, turned, and pushed it slowly inwards. “The torches,” Daniel called out as Jaremy and Ser Johnathan took them from their sconces.
Brayan scoffed. “There will just be the knights who…”
Daniel lifted his boot and knew why his brother had stopped speaking. “The floor, now!” He saw a man lying lifeless, broken sword in hand, skull crushed, and blood oozing out in a stream towards the towering doors. The cloak and tabard was soaked with blood, though he saw the green and yellow of House Marcanas. “They are here.”
“They were good men and women. Loyal. Not to crown, but to country. Risked so much—”
“Brayan, we must face this foe together,” Daniel plead. “Calm yourself.”
“Whoever did this is mine!” Brayan shouted, charging off into the darkness.
“Brayan! Bloody fool,” Daniel cursed. “Run after him.”
The smell of blood and pus filled his nostrils. He did not need to look down to see that every knight charged to protect the vaults lay dead. Nor did he want to look at his feet. It would have been just like Lanan: men splayed, frayed, and ripped apart.
Darkness soon gave way to light before a round chamber; the doors and walls were smashed through, and the dead knights littered ‘round the sides. Brayan stood with a white knuckled grip on his sword, staring at three cloaked men.
“You brought friends, Lord Brayan,” the cloaked figure in the centre spoke. He pulled down his hood, revealing a youthful face that glared back full of knowing and contempt.
Dark Brotherhood.
“Why did you slay those men, why?!” Brayan demanded.
“They stood in our way, Lord Brayan. Just as you do now,” the cloaked youth said.
“I will cut you down for that.”
“Then you are as dimwitted as you are foolish,” the youth paused, and Daniel felt the piercing glare of the man. “Hmm, but the dead fight for you, it seems.”
Brayan looked towards Daniel incomprehensibly.
“Ne’er take your eyes off these creatures, brother,” he quickly said.
Brayan obeyed. “Who are you?”
“Lord Aleksander.”
“Lord Luc.” the bigger man to the left declared, as a squared and lined face revealed piercing eyes.
“Lord Gareth.” the third recited, slender and gaunt with harrowing eyes.
“You,” Daniel declared to the man on the left. “Luc Endrast. My brother in arms once. It is not too late—”
<
br /> “I was never yours!” Lord Luc shouted. “You were but a tool of madness that had its use. Long outlived.”
“Lord Luc,” Lord Aleksander said quietly whilst waving a dismissive hand. “There is such a time for anger. I will not deny it of you for much longer.”
“You are a traitor, Lord Gareth—you and the high servitor” Ser Johnathan exclaimed. “You brought that priest to us. Sent us into that mountain. You knew what awaited. Who else will fall to your treachery before this is over?!”
“The high servitor always served the dark god,” Lord Gareth replied calmly. “Were the three of you too blind to see it?”
“You lie,” Daniel said flatly. Amid all his doubt the reservation, he knew High Servitor Jophiel could not be so twisted.
“Even he does not know it,” Lord Gareth replied flatly. “Elder Amos has made sure of that.”
“Lutessa—” the knight trailed the name off, barely audible.
“The Mother’s Pilgrim, she calls him,” Lord Aleksander explained. “The voice in her head, the spirit for her eyes, and the hand that guides her every recourse. There was too much distrust between the Order and Dalia, so Elder Amos took it into his own hands. The other monarchs were much more tractable.”
“Speak sense!” Ashleigh proclaimed, fingers flexing on the hilt of Retribution.
“My kinswoman,” Lord Aleksander declared mockingly. “Imperator Argath Diomedes had to be reminded of the pact he was bound to by the will of the servitors. Lord Kaldred and I ensured that he saw to his end. A pity that Lord Commander Rafael Azail rejected the Dream.”
“Do not speak that name! You have no right to say it.”
“Rafael Azail,” Lord Aleksander pronounced in defiance. “His mind fought so fiercely, not for himself or his country, but to protect you. That was why I sent you south, knowing that Sebastien Tiron would find you. As long as you were apart, I could direct your wrath, and keep your vaunted lord commander as a thrall.”
“He was too strong to be your puppet. He was lost to you.”
“He was, my dear, but not for reasons that you think. Lord Kaldred demanded that we release him. Do you know why?”
Daniel wanted to shout out, tell her to stop, but the words ne’er left his lips; it was like he had no tongue.
“He wanted to end the madness,” Ashleigh declared proudly.
“So he did,” Lord Aleksander grinned sardonically. “It was he, not I, nor Lord Kaldred who wrought the Calamity.”
Daniel feared for what the sentinel may do. There was little that she shared with him, but whenever Rafael’s name was mentioned, her face contorted from more than passing familiarity. The man had meant more than a commander or comrade. Rafael Azail was everything.
“No—he did not—would not,” she cried out. “What do you know of him, Aleksander?! You were no more than an upstart who curried the imperator’s favour with lies and deceit! You strayed from Rafael out of fear. Even when you, when you fell, he was not there. He would not, did not.”
“Truth that you do not wish to hear is not a lie,” Lord Aleksander said. “I was there, as was Aerona Harkan—though the poor lass does not remember. Rafael Azail pierced an Animus Stone, and unleashed its uncontrollable rage upon the continent. Not I, nor Lord Kaldred. Your beloved ended all that life. The Harpy’s Brood, Sentinels of Umbrage, the Order of Light, and all the innocent who called the imperium home.”
“Your blood shall soak the stone!”
Ashleigh’s charged at Lord Aleksander, who did naught but stare and grin, as if the knight was armed with no more than a child’s wooden sword. Ashleigh—no more than a few feet from her foe—was thrust backwards into the wall by a stream of shadows and darkness. Stone and debris cascaded down as she flailed upon the floor.
“He has removed your wards, dear child,” Lord Aleksander mocked. “Do you not understand aught that has transgressed? Six souls were preserved from Rafael Azail’s Calamity: my brothers and mine, Stephen Francis, Aerona Harkan, and Elin Durand. We were ne’er meant to survive, you see, but Sariel’s reach is endless, and with the vestige nearly eradicated, we were needed to see which monarchs could be brought to heel, and those who would not. Stephen Francis performed his role well until he betrayed that tryst. Aerona Harkan, the Bringer of Dawn, must bring the Light of Creation at the end of days. You were all naught but puppets, dancing on strings, until he could return. He hath come, and we have collected the relics. The seal to Sariel’s gaol are faltering. Our phoenix has spread his wings, and none will survive the fire and flames.”
“Nonsense, all nonsense,” Brayan loudly accused. “You have no right to do what you did. Those knights you slew are not animals to be butchered! The prince was not yours to take. It was a Trechtian problem; and we shall resolve it, not you.”
“King Tristifer is ours, boy.” Lord Luc declared.
Argath, Damian, Lutessa, and now Tristifer. They turned all the realm against each other, and will now watch it burn.
“He is, he—” Brayan stammered.
“Your suspicions were ne’er wrong, just misguided,” Lord Aleksander said, smiling. “King Marcus scorned us, sought to use the stones himself, and then foolishly lashed out against Sariel’s will. His son needed little convincing. He collected the stones, not as weapons of war, but to the salvation that we strive towards. Like Lutessa, your king will see the Rebirth whilst the others will burn.”
Daniel balled his fists thinking of all those who lived in the realm: friends, soldiers, merchants, servants, scholars, labourers. To the Dark Brotherhood, they were no more than a piece to be discarded when their usefulness was consumed. It was not so long ago that he stood before these men and defeated them. He resolved to do so again. “For the fallen, for those whom you would use. None of you will leave here alive.”
“Such willful ignorance, Lord Daniel Baccan,” Lord Aleksander mused. “Surely you know yourself that none can stand against the Darkness Rising?”
“We will.”
“Lord Luc,” Lord Aleksander beckoned. “I have grown tired of the dead. See that they do not pass.”
Daniel yelled at the retreating backs of Lords Aleksander and Gareth as they went deeper into the vault. Daniel wanted to chase after them, but he had known Lord Luc before the stones corrupted him—the sole survivor of a decimated village. Aerona had found Luc protecting rotting corpses. The man was a weapon that Damian had forged from hatred and despair. The only man Daniel had ever feared.
“Long have I awaited this, Corsair,” Lord Luc pronounced, shadows suffusing the chamber, and a broiling Darkness seemed to consume the tortured soul who was once a man. A twisted long sword appeared in his right hand that appeared to pulsate shadow and death. Daniel thought it was much like the weapon that Lord Eldred wielded.
“Redemption is never lost,” Daniel plead. “Damian is dead. The overlord cannot harm you any longer.”
“It was never him. You will all perish.”
Daniel looked to his companions. None of them were calm and unafraid. They all looked to him for hope. He had none to give. He only had his fervor.
“If this is the last day,” he began, “then I die with sword in hand.”
He charged, and his companions with him. Lord Luc crouched, held the twisted blade aloft, and parried Daniel’s two-handed overhead slash with but one hand, summoning streams of Darkness with the other, toppling the others like children’s dolls amid a fierce storm. Daniel stood his ground as long as he could, but his foe grasped the hilt of the darkened blade with two hands, arcing viciously, and sent him skidding across the floor, stopping just short of the wall.
Lord Luc did not hesitate or gloat; he sped towards Ashleigh like a blur, locking blades. Daniel saw that her legs were quavering beneath the near limitless strength of the daemon. He pushed himself to his feet, and flew at Lord Luc, only to be met by a stream of Darkness that set him flying across the chamber. Thudding against the ground filled him with relief; for the stream of sable felt like it to
re him apart from the inside. Memories of Lord Eldred’s assault in Lanan flickered in his mind. Memories that he did not want to repeat.
Daniel struggled to stand, and saw that his companions met a like fate. Lord Luc seemed perceptive of their movements, summoning the streams of Darkness, twisting them towards the ceiling, to pillars, or just thrusting them into the ground. Ashleigh still held against the onslaught, though Daniel did not think it would last for much longer. He was staggering, barely holding onto his sword with both hands, and thought only of his companion, desiring naught more than to free them from an overpowering foe.
Yet before he could do aught, Ashleigh’s strength gave way as she rolled to her right, and Lord Luc’s blade crashing down upon the stone floor, leaving a small crater in the mortar. Amid the cloaked foe’s efforts to pull the twisted blade from the stone, Daniel sliced up daemon’s leg. The fallen man turned, vengeful, as black blood dripped on the floor.
“You are no better than him,” Lord Luc declared, swinging the darkened blade ‘round viciously, high strokes and then low. Daniel managed to dodge some of them, but his arms were wearing down as he had to parry with speed that he never thought he possessed. His eyes only saw the twisted blade: more a blur than aught else, until he was pinned to the wall, and the dark steel so close to his skin that he felt the shadows coalesce against him.
“A puppet, that is all you ever were, Corsair.”
“I would have a man such as him pull my strings than butcher people as you have!” Daniel screamed defiantly.
“Bold words from a flesh trader.”
Daniel felt his body begin to crumble. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone run towards inner vault; terror took him as their whole body was enraptured with the seething shadows. Lord Luc frothed, shoving him aside.
“Lord Brayan Baccan,” the daemon growled. “You are a craven.”
Ser Johnathan called out, and Ashleigh and Jaremy joined in as they threw themselves at Lord Luc. The monster threw them back effortlessly; their contorted bodies writhing in pain.
Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1) Page 67