Breaking the Gloaming

by J. B. Simmons

  “Stop! Enough!” His Excellency commanded. He hardly ever raised his voice like that. Seban stepped back, his glare fixed on the smuggler.

  “Sit, all.” His Excellency pointed at the cushions arranged in a circle on the wood floor. The men obeyed, as they always did. Jezebel looked unusually pale and uncertain at His Excellency’s side. The smuggler, flanked by two silent warriors, sat opposite the boy king.

  “Who are you?” His Excellency asked. Every eye turned to the smuggler.

  The man was stunning. Grey peppered his dark, wind-swept hair and beard. His face was chiseled and bronzed, sophisticated and charming. The only flaw was his bloody nose from Seban’s punch. Ravien had never seen a specimen quite like him.

  “Thank you for the royal welcome, Your Excellency.” The man’s rich voice matched his looks. He bowed his head gracefully. “I am Alcibiades, of old Sunan blood, at your service. You may know me as Cid.” He smiled with confidence, as if he had called the meeting.

  “We should have killed this traitor years ago,” Seban said.

  “Why?” The young king looked at the smuggler with innocent curiosity.

  “Cid’s brother held the throne before your father,” Seban said, “before we ridded Sunan of the filth of Valemidan blood. Cid betrayed his brother to save his own life and his daughter’s.” Seban pointed at Jezebel. “She is his daughter. We executed the rest of their family, though rumors say one other child escaped. I say we kill this man now.”

  Jezebel put her face in her hands and wept. She sounded confused and overwhelmed more than sad.

  His Excellency studied the newcomer. “It sounds as if this man worked for our side. I see no reason to harm him. Ilias, Malam, I would have your counsel.”

  “We have no evidence that he has done anything wrong.” Ilias’s voice was like a gentle breeze.

  “No evidence!” Seban shouted. “He betrayed his own family, and then he betrayed me. Several years ago he delivered a note to me that Sebanith had died, and then Cid disappeared. Now we know it was a lie. My son lives, and Cid has surely been working with the enemy.”

  “Malam, what would you advise?” the king asked, his eyes still on the smuggler.

  “Whatever we end up doing with him,” Malam said, “he will have information we can use. Those who caught him reported that he sailed from Valemidas. I suspect Seban is right that Cid should die, but maybe we can give him a chance to redeem himself and earn your trust by telling us everything he knows.” Malam turned from the king to the man with a casual, cruel smile. “What game have you been playing, smuggler?”

  “Ilias speaks true,” the man said, “I have valuable information, including from Seban’s son.” Cid seemed unaffected by the threats against his life. Only a man with no regrets or fears could speak like that here. “But first I must ask, why is His Excellency’s royal council speaking in the Valemidan tongue?”

  It was a good question, a question touching on a sore issue and adding more tension to the room. Ravien lost hope of staying unnoticed at this meeting.

  “For my Valemidan princess.” His Excellency smiled at her. “She came to us bearing intelligence about our enemies. She stripped herself of her pride and more. She renounced Valemidas, declared her loyalty to me, and has accompanied me ever since.” He gestured for her to say something.

  “I am learning the Sunan tongue,” she said with all the demureness she could muster. “But His Excellency agreed that practicing the foreign language would be good for his council, for it will give us an advantage in battle.” Such half-truths rolled out of her mouth with ease.

  “Enough about this woman,” Seban demanded. “What information do you have from my son?”

  “Sebanith is well.” Cid met Seban’s stare. “I was mistaken before when I reported that he had died, and for that I am sorry. He goes by Sebastian among the Valemidans. We met on the bank of the River Tyne outside Valemidas not long ago. He gave me a message to deliver to you.” He looked from Seban to His Excellency.

  “Why should we believe a word from your lips?” Seban stood and stepped toward him, seemingly unaware of his movements.

  “Sit, Seban,” His Excellency commanded. Seban glanced back, angry, and then sat again. “Cid,” His Excellency continued, “I would hear this message that Sebanith gave you.”

  “He sends his deepest respect and praise to His Excellency, for he knew that you would have reached the age of divinity and of power.” Cid bowed his head with the deference suitable to a god. “He also wants to assure you that he has gained the highest position and trust of Andor, the Prince of Valemidas. Sebanith desired that you would hear my words and heed my counsel.”

  “And,” Cid held up his hand as Seban opened his mouth to speak. “And, Sebanith gave me this to prove that you can trust me.” Cid reached into his cloak and pulled out a thin diadem made of silvery metal. He held it high, and the huge blue jewel in the center cast out a dazzling reflection of the light streaming through the windows of the room.

  “What is it?” His Excellency asked with a touch of awe.

  “This is the prince’s crown.” Ilias stood and took the diadem in his hand. “I saw it on the brow of the prince when I visited Valemidas long ago. For Cid to have this, Andor must have given it to Sebanith, and Sebanith must have given it to Cid.” That logic did not follow for Ravien, but the priest sounded sure. “We can trust this man.”

  Seban had come to his feet again, and he reached out for the diadem. “A ring of shiny metal indicates nothing about my son, or about this man.” His voice was uncertain.

  “It indicates everything,” Ilias said. “We now possess one of our enemy’s most prized artifacts. ” He held the diadem away from Seban.

  “I agree.” His Excellency settled the matter. “Ilias, you will be the keeper of this crown. You will set it on my head after we defeat Valemidas.” He glanced around the group of men.

  Dassa muttered something in the Sunan tongue. It sounded like approval, and the silent warriors nodded in agreement. Seban grunted but held his tongue. The merchants could not keep their eyes off the jewel.

  “I would now hear your counsel, Cid. I trust it will be as inspiring as this crown.”

  “May I stand while I speak?” the man asked.

  “Of course, you have our attention.” The boy king reclined on his pillow. Jezebel clutched his arm. Her face was still pale, but a glimmer of hope showed in her eyes.

  Cid stepped into the middle of the circle of men. “I must first explain myself, so that you understand the weight of my words. After losing my family,” his face beamed toward Jezebel, “I spent much of my life adrift. I have been an outlaw, but I can still help you. Remember, if I once did you harm as an enemy, I could likewise do you good service as a friend.”

  Cid turned smoothly as he spoke, his eyes fixing on each man in the circle. When Cid’s eyes set upon Ravien, she felt within his grip. His gaze was compelling. Even the silent warriors seemed taken by his performance.

  “I have long dealt with the Valemidans,” he continued. “I savored their wine and their women. I know much about our opponent. I urge you to use me for your advantage. Some have been alarmed at my smuggler’s life of wealth and license. Set aside the habits of my private life, and hear the wisdom of my counsel on the conduct of war.” Cid faced the king, as if channeling all his charisma. “In his divine wisdom, His Excellency understands that, while we cannot determine the exact point at which the Sunan empire shall stop, we must try to extend it. If we cease to rule others, we risk being ruled ourselves. Here is how to show the Valemidans how little Sunan cares for the peace that our nations have long enjoyed.”

  He lifted one of his hands in a fist. “This is the city we will conquer first, Valemidas, the gateway to the continent’s rich lands.” He cupped his other hand under the first. “This is the River Tyne to the south of the city. The river is deep enough for our ships by the north bank, but it is too shallow in its southern half. We must sail into the river al
ong the north bank, anchor our ships there, and set camp upon the beach beneath the walls of Valemidas.”

  “No,” Dassa interrupted, standing. “This is the same counsel of the foreign woman.” He pointed to Ravien. “You and she would lay a trap for us. We are vulnerable on the beach. We would lose the strength of our fleet. We must sail into the harbor to the east of the city, where the wall is low. We can penetrate and gut the city from there. All the warriors here are agreed.”

  Dassa motioned to the silent warriors, and to Seban. The priests and merchants had stayed out of this debate.

  “Dassa,” Cid replied, “I see you have changed little, aside from a few more scars. Listen to me, all of you. They expect you to sail into the harbor. They have built up their defenses to the east, but they believe their walls are impenetrable to the south. On the beach, we spread our forces and surround much of the city. We look bigger. We force them to surrender without losing as many men. The beach also preserves our options, for we can board our ships and sail away if things do not go well. We must sail into the river. We must preserve our forces to conquer the whole continent. Anything less would be a failure for our divine leader.”

  Cid fixed his gaze on the king and spoke no more. Ravien hid her joy at this ally of her cause. Dassa’s and Seban’s position had pushed her mission into stalemate. No matter how much His Excellency trusted her and wanted her, the boy was reluctant to decide against Dassa’s plan. Cid’s argument might tip the balance in her favor.

  “I will decide now,” the king said. “All of you stay in the circle. Kneel and pray to me in silence.” He motioned for Ilias and Malam to join him as he stood and stepped to an altar facing a window looking out over the sea.

  Ravien had grown used to this, but she still found it odd. Whenever an important decision was needed, the boy would kneel on this altar, his high priests at his sides. The priests were like an angel whispering into one ear and a devil into the other.

  She wondered what went through the young man’s mind. He never seemed to doubt that he was divine. Ravien figured that, with everyone around him always believing it to be true, it made some sense that a boy would come to believe it, too. If only she believed that she were god, she would smite down all these men except Ilias, and maybe Cid. She might also keep His Excellency around as a servant.

  A few minutes passed before His Excellency returned to the circle. Ilias looked pleased. Malam looked furious, but with a devious glare suggesting he had extracted some compromise.

  “My Sunan fleet,” the young man said, “will sail into the River Tyne and set camp on its north bank.”

  He held up his hand to stop the men from interrupting. “Cid will sail before us with his swift ship. He will inform the prince of Valemidas that I request a meeting on the open field north of the beach, west of the city, outside archers’ range. The prince may bring two witnesses, and he must not be armed. I will do the same.”

  The decision surprised Ravien. Never before had the Sunans hinted at diplomacy. Cid’s smile was gone. He looked like he had lost an all-in bet.

  “If the prince does not show up on the field, or if he comes armed,” His Excellency glanced toward Ravien and Jezebel, “Cid and the prince will watch these women die slow and painful deaths.” The young king’s voice lacked emotion, as if he were a callous god issuing divine judgment.

  Chapter 21

  A TRAITOR TO ALL

  “Truth resides in every human heart,

  and one has to search for it there,

  and to be guided by

  truth as one sees it.

  But no one has a right

  to coerce others to act

  according to his own

  view of the truth.”

  I stood on top of the Gloaming, with grass, dirt, and stone separating me from the horrors down below. The empty hilltop overlooked the sea and the fog drifting above it. As I walked, my memories were colder and harsher than the winter wind.

  A year ago I awoke in my bed with Tryst holding my sword, Zarathus, to my throat. It had been a full year since he and Ramzi had exiled me below to die. Now Tryst had been there longer than I had. While my focus had been on preparing for war, I had come to tolerate the slow progress by the minister of prisons. We were mere days away from getting Tryst and the others out, but guilt still gnawed at me.

  My advisors were arriving at the opposite side of the hilltop, beside the palace walls. I squeezed Lorien’s hand and turned toward them. She walked at my side, steady and quiet. I had found myself relying on her strength more and more, and her presence and growing belly had become my only consistent sources of joy.

  We greeted the group—Ulysses, Jon, Justus, Ryn, and Sebastian. Two knights, two nobles, and a spy. I led them up to the top of the palace wall. As we walked its southern rim, the River Tyne was a dizzying drop below. The palace spires were beautiful to our right, and the city spread out beyond to the north and west. I could even see the Hibernia Glade far upriver.

  “You all know how I want this to end,” I said. “I want peace. I would avoid a fight if I could. I would surrender myself if it meant the Sunans would sail back to their shores. They have come to make us pay our debt. There is justice in that. Father Yates says if we can pay and send them back, there is no reason for war. Valemidas has all it needs here. We have no need for conquest. I agree.”

  “My prince, the priest is wrong,” Sebastian answered, with unusual passion in his voice. “The Sunans will not be content to take our gold, much less a promise of repayment. Their king is seen as divine. He has decided on war, and he will bring it until we have defeated Sunan.”

  “I agree,” Justus said. “The only way we can secure peace is through battle, through victory.”

  “Aye,” Ryn’s voice was brooding and bitter. It seemed he still had not gotten over Tryst’s defeat, nor my return. “This war can be good for Valemidas. Our city and our people are soft. The Lycurgus was a step in the right direction. You should not have given up the boys being trained. In a generation, our power might have been restored. We might have been the ones bringing this war, rather than having it brought to us.”

  I was growing tired of this debate. It was the same as always against these hawks.

  We had reached the southernmost part of the wall, its highest point with the best view in all directions. I stopped and faced my two knights. “What about you, Jon and Ulysses? You have been commanding our men, focused on defense, but I want to know if there is a way without a fight.”

  Jon looked deep in thought.

  Ulysses spoke first. “I think some fight will be necessary. Our men are growing stronger, but we need more numbers. The newest recruits will be little help. The only ones with any real experience are those who fought in Icaria. It has been generations since Valemidas has needed to defend itself.” He paused. His old eyes looked weary. “If the Sunans sailed this far,” he said, “they are not backing down without a fight. Our reports,” he glanced at Sebastian, “say their force is larger and more disciplined. They have little reason to negotiate.”

  “Ulysses is right. You’re all right, but—” Jon looked toward the sea. “But let’s not forget that Ravien and my brother are likely working for our cause among the Sunans. I wish I knew more of their plan, but we may be missing something. If we could somehow put our best warriors against Sunan’s best, I like our chances.”

  “This is a war,” Ryn said. “Ranks and ranks of soldiers crashing over walls, pouring into our city. This is no game of melee for young knights.”

  Jon’s face flushed.

  “Ryn speaks true,” Sebastian said. “His Excellency will move with full force against us.”

  The other advisors stared at the spy, a few mouths hung open. Even I was taken aback by his phrasing.

  “His Excellency?” I asked.

  “The leader of the Sunans,” Sebastian replied. “I was invoking their name for him. Perhaps it came out in the way I learned it as a child. You know where my loyalty
lies.” He looked around the group, as if daring someone to challenge him.

  “Yes, they lie with me.” My words met skeptical faces, and an awkward silence followed.

  Lorien and Ulysses had continued insisting I could not trust him. Ulysses had even claimed Sebastian had kidnapped the nun who served Father Yates, though the nun herself had been silent on the matter. The woman Page, from the archives, had confessed to it. These were strange things, but the spy had done nothing to make me doubt him. He had served me faithfully, and I had given him good reason to continue. He would have my delegated command over the Sunans if we defeated them. We alone among this group had Sunan blood.

  “You may all be right,” I said, “so assume for now we cannot stop the war. Are we sure the Sunans will sail into the River Tyne and camp on the north bank?” I looked over the long stretch of sand far below, between the cliff and the water.

  “My network still reports they will sail into the river,” Sebastian said.

  “They will sail into the river,” Justus agreed. He and Sebastian had been strangely aligned on this point.

  “That would make sense,” Ulysses nodded, “and so would camping on the north bank.” He peered over the wall. “The river is only deep enough on this side, and the flat ground makes for a good camp. They will stay outside arrow range and can retreat quickly. We should concentrate our defenses at our southern wall.”

  “You may both be right, but our defenses must be agile.” Lorien put my thoughts into words. She had earned the respect of these men. “We should also keep a force by the harbor,” she said. “The Sunans cannot approach from the north, with its jagged shores, and though the harbor is too small to fit them all, perhaps they will attack from both directions.”

  “The princess speaks with the wisdom of a general,” Ulysses said. “Our small fleet can resist whatever ships they manage to squeeze into our harbor. The bulk of our army must remain stationed in the southwest.”