Breaking the Gloaming

by J. B. Simmons

  The smuggler found it hard to believe that message was worth a bag of silver, but he was happy to take it.

  “You want to give me that bag, too?” He asked.

  “Nothing more from him?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Here.” Sebastian held out the bag but did not release it when the smuggler grabbed it. “You realize what will happen to you if you leave something out or lie?”

  “I’m guessing I won’t be leaving with this bag?”

  “You won’t be leaving at all,” Sebastian answered.

  “You know me, Sebastian.” The smuggler pulled his cloak closer. “I care little for these games. I want the money. What could I hope to gain by misrepresenting anything to you? My family’s defeat is as final as the grave, as it has been for twenty years.”

  Sebastian held the smuggler’s gaze for a long moment but eventually let go of the bag. The smuggler tucked it into his cloak and continued with the second message.

  “His Excellency sends his fondest respects to you. He says the place is prepared for you, if you perform your duties. He said you must not reveal your true loyalties until the last possible moment. Stay true to your path until he calls upon you. You will be rewarded for your service to him.”

  Sebastian looked away and was quiet. The smuggler began to sweat despite the cool morning air. He had never seen the spy so reticent.

  “That is everything, Sebastian. I should be on my way, one more delivery before I return to Sunan.” The smuggler realized he had said too much as soon as the words left his mouth. No more rum for breakfast, he thought.

  “You are only a threat to me now.” Sebastian turned to face him. “Someone else can deliver my messages back to Sunan.”

  The dark man pulled out a dagger and stepped toward the smuggler.

  The smuggler had no chance in a knife fight, but he had one advantage. No one knew this boat better than himself. As he backed away he pulled a lever on the deck, which gently pushed the boat off the bank. Sebastian ignored the movement.

  “His Excellency’s father was right to exile you, Cid.” Sebastian showed his teeth the first time, as if the possibility of death brought out his true self. He snarled more than smiled. “You know His Excellency is my cousin. If my father had only stayed sober, he would have taken the throne when we killed your family. The throne would have been mine next. I would have been god’s presence to the Sunans. Such a thing cannot be denied when it is destiny. I will return to my rightful place.”

  The smuggler was stunned by the words. What he thought he knew about Sebastian was all wrong. This was not going to end well. He had to survive to tell Ilias.

  “Your secrets are safe with me,” the smuggler said. “I can help you.”

  “No secrets are safe,” Sebastian replied, “and I am not taking any risks with you.”

  Sebastian pressed closer, cornering the smuggler into the stern of the boat. The smuggler pulled hard on a thick rope to his right. It slipped off of a hook and the tension brought the boom of the sail swinging around. The boom slammed into Sebastian before he could move away.

  The smuggler used the distraction and the momentum to charge and shove the spy over the boat’s rail. Sebastian splashed into the river below.

  The smuggler quickly drew the sail to catch the wind. He raced away on the current of the river. His body shivered in a cold sweat.

  It was true that he had left the politics of Sunan behind him, but maybe he would make an exception for Sebastian. Betraying the Valemidan prince might be forgiven. Betraying both the prince and His Excellency? That crossed a line even for a smuggler who abandoned morals long ago. He would do everything he could to keep Sebastian out of power.

  He took another swig of rum and wiped his mouth. The next meeting would go better, he was sure of it. The merchants, Wren and Jon Sterling, wanted black-market goods from Sunan. They would give him wine and smile as they handed over gold. Sebastian could learn from that kind of dealing.

  A small grin touched the smuggler’s face as he thought of the spy trudging back to Valemidas, drenched and furious.

  Chapter 4

  A CLOSE SHAVE

  “How pleasant it is for a father

  to sit at his child’s board.

  It is like an aged man reclining

  under the shadow of an oak

  which he has planted.”

  Justus Davosman could not relax despite his soft chair. He leaned back and stared at his reflection in the mirror as his two servants worked. The face he saw was tired but eager.

  The older of the two servants held a long, sharp blade. She carefully dragged it across his skin, shaving off the one-day stubble. The younger girl hauled in proposed attire for the day. He pointed to a plain white tunic, with only a little lace. He wanted something more drab than what the nobles usually wore.

  This morning he would meet with Prince Andor for the first time since the coup. His own adopted son was the prince again. Justus would never forget the first time he laid eyes on the boy.

  Some twenty years ago, Father Yates had asked him to visit the orphanage in the Cathedral. The number of parentless children there had shocked him. In a long cellar hall of the Cathedral, dozens of boys and girls were lined up for a dinner of porridge. They scrambled to be first in line for the food, as if there would not be enough for them all. As soon as one of them clasped a bowl and a spoon, he or she would retreat to devour the meal. Three old women tried to maintain order, but there were too many children to control.

  Soon after Sir Davosman had arrived, one little boy, far from the oldest, climbed onto the table where the food was being served. His boyish voice commanded the others to stay in line and wait for their turn. Many of the other children stopped pushing and obeyed as if there were no option, but an older boy pushed forward to challenge the young leader. The surrounding children froze to watch as the older boy jumped onto the table and tried to shove the younger one off. The challenger stood a head taller and looked intent on knocking the small boy down. As the older one rushed, the younger boy ducked and dodged with the instincts of a fighter. He used the larger boy’s momentum to sling him to the floor. He then grabbed a large bowl of the porridge and dumped it on the larger boy’s head, which made the other children erupt in laughter.

  Justus would never forget the child’s next words. I would rather not waste any more porridge tonight, the boy had said. It would be better for us all if you obeyed me.

  The contrast of his weighty words and his squeaky voice had brought a rare smile to Justus’ face. No other challenger arose as the little boy stood firm on the table until the last of the children had gotten their dinner and eaten in peace.

  That night Justus asked Father Yates about how the boy had come to the orphanage. The priest explained that every year a vessel arrived from the Sunan people with a note of peace. The tradition was part of the legend of the huge white tree at the center of Valemidas. Because the tradition’s significance had long ago been forgotten, the ritual of receiving the note of peace and responding had fallen to the priest who led the Cathedral.

  Some days before Justus’s visit to the orphanage, the annual note of peace had arrived, carried by a young boy and including a cryptic warning in the Sunan language. Father Yates had it translated by a young priest from that foreign land. The note’s message was: There is a new ruler in Sunan, a ruler without the taint of Valemidan blood. Our people grow restless, weary of your debt and of peace. Protect the blood that I return to you, for I fear little else will be able to save you when the war comes.

  After that story, Yates had asked Justus to raise the boy as his own son, in his noble house. Although the old priest was never too specific about it, Justus pieced together enough of the story to believe that Andor was the descendent of Aden, the great Valemidas prince who had invaded Sunan and then brokered peace with them. What Justus had seen in Andor as he grew never made him question that belief. The boy was like an oak sapling among ferns.

/>   Sometimes Justus wondered whether he had let Andor rise too fast, positioning him to be prince before he had thickened in the ways of a man, a grown oak. But the throne opened rarely, and Justus supported his boy when the opportunity came. Andor was a young candidate then, but already loved by the people. With Justus’s maneuvering, the nobles nominated him and the path from there was straight to the throne.

  Full of vigor and pride, Andor set out bold goals for his reign—loosening power over city-states, building roads to better connect them, reducing taxes, regulations, and the spending of nobles. It was unprecedented change, as if nothing could stop him. But Andor failed to detect the threat emerging at his side. Tryst had fallen just short in his push for the throne, and he had not given up when his peer was elected. Betrayal and upheaval followed in Tryst’s wake. Justus harbored guilt for not demanding that Andor avoid keeping such a man so close.

  Now, as he stood from his chair and rubbed the smooth skin of his cheek, Justus was more thankful than ever that the rightful prince sat on the throne. This was not a day to dwell on past failures.

  He finished dressing and put on a pair of leather boots. As he prepared to leave, he thought of stopping by his other son’s room to invite him to join. He decided against it. Jonas would be sleeping for hours more after yet another late night at a tavern. Though Jonas was his son by blood, Andor was the son Justus had always wanted.

  Justus left his estate with personal guards surrounding him. The hot summer had turned into autumn, and the morning air was cool. He walked briskly to the plaza below the palace. This early in the day, only a few merchants had begun setting up their stands. The white tree stood, as always, as the sentinel of the open space. Justus climbed the stairs and began to sweat. As he entered the palace doors, the knights on either side nodded at him knowingly. He signaled for his guards to stay behind.

  Andor had beckoned him to come to his private chambers, not the throne room. Justus took that as a good sign. He had been to the chambers only once before, the week after Andor had risen to the throne the first time. That had been one of their few conversations during his first reign, and it had ended poorly. There had been tension between them then. Justus realized now that he might have pushed too hard against the young prince, trying to shape his reign. Andor had spurned Justus’s advice, insisting that the prince could not bow to a noble’s wishes, even if that noble had raised him. Justus had overreacted by pulling away. Each man’s pride and power had wedged between them.

  Much had changed since then. Soon after Andor had escaped the Gloaming, he had written to Justus for help. Justus had done everything in his power to rally the nobles’ support, to prepare the way for Andor’s return to the throne. Although they had worked separately and from afar, their efforts had united and succeeded in deposing Tryst.

  And now here Andor was, Justus thought, as servants knocked on the doors of prince’s quarters. The thick wood thudded with each knock until it swung open with a mix of invitation and threat. Justus did not fear the prince, but he feared the threat he faced, and how it might divide the Valemidans, even a father and his son.

  Justus’s concerns faded when he saw Andor. His son hurried forward to welcome him. They embraced.

  “Father, if I did not know you better, I would think you are smiling.”

  “Even an old man can learn new tricks,” Justus said. “How could I hide my joy in your return to your proper place? Your descent into the Gloaming left many doubtful that you would rise out again. Now here you are, mostly mended.” Justus reached out and touched the fresh scar on the prince’s cheek. His skin was still too light, and his hair almost white. Justus had never seen a man’s coloring change like that.

  “The wounds are nothing.” Andor looked away as if to avoid the subject. He gestured towards two chairs on a balcony. “Come, let’s talk as we once did, a father to his son. I want to hear what has caused the unflappable Sir Justus Davosman to request an urgent audience with the prince.”

  “I am afraid it is not good tidings.” Justus walked to one of the chairs on the balcony but stayed on his feet. He looked over the ocean to the east. “I have learned that another threat looms.”

  “Threats will always loom for Valemidas and its prince.” Andor leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head.

  “You said something like that once before,” Justus said, “when I warned you about keeping Tryst so close.”

  A shadow crossed Andor’s face. He leaned forward and held Justus in a steady gaze. “Tell me more about this threat on the horizon. Is it about the Gloaming?”

  “No,” Justus replied, “not the Gloaming. You must deal with the place eventually, but there are more pressing concerns.” Justus needed to keep Andor’s attention away from the Gloaming to fulfill his end of the agreement. He could see the memories weighing on Andor. His son had not been the same since his return.

  “I cannot wait long,” Andor said. “I have already ordered the minister of prisons to figure out how to get the men out, and then what to do with a few hundred starving criminals and a deposed prince, especially when our dungeons lack room for them. In the meantime, the minister will be sending more food down there. More food, but no more men.” Andor sighed. “None of that’s enough, though. I need to learn more about the Gloaming. Most do not even know of its existence. It seems the dungeon keepers grew bold over the years without a prince’s oversight. But tell me about this new threat.”

  “You know the story of the white tree?” The old noble began carefully. It was not the time to reveal too much about how personally this could touch Andor.

  “Of course.” Andor said. “The tutors in your noble house made me memorize it. The story begins, ‘Many years ago, under the legendary reign of Prince Aden, the great knights and soldiers of Valemidas sailed across the sea to conquer the fertile land of the Sunans.’ Although the tutors never said as much, it was clear we did not win that war. Prince Aden paid for his failure with a costly peace—many men dead, and his son was traded for the seed of a tree. If you plan to tell me that the tree is now dying, that much is plain to any eye.”

  “Do you believe the things of this world are connected?” Justus asked.

  “Yes,” Andor said. “You mean to tell me that the tree’s decay is tied to something else?”

  “The facts will come, Andor, but I fear it may then be too late. Remember the example of Tryst. I warned you of my feelings about the corroding connection of you and Tryst before he betrayed you. I had no evidence of his plotting. He seemed loyal and devoted to you, with more zeal than any others, but I sensed something was amiss. So did Father Yates. We were right.”

  Justus sat in the chair beside Andor, leaning close as he continued. “You know I am a man of reason. Yet reason has limits. Sometimes your gut, your soul, leads you to a deeper truth about the connections in this world.”

  “You sound like Father Yates,” Andor said. “Not long ago, I would have dismissed such talk, but the Gloaming changed me. You have my ear. What danger do you sense?”

  “What does the white tree stand for?” Justus asked.

  “For peace, I suppose. You fear that its decay is a sign of danger to our peace?”

  “More specifically,” Justus answered, “a sign—”

  Three hard knocks on the door cut him short. It swung open without waiting on an answer, and Sebastian walked in.

  “My prince, Sir Davosman,” the man bowed low, “apologies for the intrusion. I come with urgent news.” The chief of spies wore his usual black, but the cloth seemed damp, as if just washed. His eyes were red and he had not shaved, which was unusual for him.

  Andor rose from his chair and stood before Sebastian, with Justus at his side. “What is it, Sebastian?”

  “I have just learned that the Sunans are planning to invade. Their forces set sail soon. We should expect them to arrive before winter.” The man spoke with the passion of a servant reporting on the prince’s breakfast menu.

  Justus
prayed, as he had many times in recent days, that he truly had the upper hand in his pact with Sebastian and Ravien. There were too many unknowns about their plots. Sebastian was not a man to take lightly, nor to trust completely.

  “Coming for the gold Valemidas owes them?” The prince responded. “It was only a matter of time, with the debt, the dying tree, and other signs. For this news, Sebastian, I must ask something I usually would not. What is your source?”

  A tense look passed between the men. Good, Justus thought, some distrust persists, as it should. Maybe Sebastian had remained loyal to Andor during all of Tryst’s reign, but it was doubtful. A turncloak could turn again.

  “My duties do not permit me to reveal all my sources,” Sebastian said, choosing his words with apparent caution. “For you, my prince, I will say this. I had more time with Ramzi just before his death. He knew many things, and his connections to the Sunans ran deep.”

  “What did Ramzi say to you? The exact words,” Andor demanded.

  “Much of what he said was worthless. When I pressed about his Sunan ties, he confessed to regular, secret communications with someone in that land. He told me, in bitter words: the disciplined zeal of the Sunans will be the end of this sinful city and its lands. With Tryst, we could have forged an alliance. With Andor, they will smell weakness and Valemidas will be conquered before he reigns another year.”

  “You said they would come before winter, Sebastian. That’s a few months.” The prince’s voice grew firmer. “How do you know?”

  “I received a report from merchants who had passed through Sunan,” Sebastian answered flatly. It sounded like a lie.

  “You received a report from merchants. That is all you have for me?” The prince turned away from the spy, to look out over the sea again. Sebastian stood in silence.

  Justus sensed that Andor was struggling to contain his distrust and his frustration. The prince owed much to Sebastian, and he needed his information. That made the prince vulnerable to a man who had been born among the same people who now threatened war. Justus was trying to find words to break the quiet when the door of Andor’s bedchambers opened.