Breaking the Gloaming

by J. B. Simmons

  “Must they remain on my estate, without more payment?” Ryn asked. He seemed to have more affection for gold than for our city’s survival. “Even in war, we set a bad precedent by letting the government take from the nobles and the people.”

  “A fair price must be paid.” Justus was nodding.

  “A fair price is that we defend the walls, that we keep your estates from burning to the ground.” Lorien glared at them. “Besides, you are the government. Must we cover this same ground again? Like the prince, the nobles serve Valemidas, not the other way—”

  “A ship!” Jon shouted, pointing down at the river.

  A dark vessel was emerging from the fog where the river met the sea. The vessel did not have the look of a Valemidan boat, and it moved upriver at an impressive pace. I could see only one man on the deck. He was rushing to draw the dark sails as the boat ran ashore, just where the city’s southern wall turned north. The man jumped from the boat and began running in the direction of the northwest gate.

  “I’ve never seen a boat like that,” Ryn said.

  “Jon,” I said, “go to that man now, bring him to me.” The stranger was moving fast. Jon had the best chance of reaching the gate before the other man did.

  He bowed and took off in a sprint. No questions. I needed more men like Jon.

  “We will continue this conversation later.” I conveyed displeasure as I looked to Ryn and Justus. Lorien was right, as usual. Everyone, nobles included, had to sacrifice for us to have a chance against the Sunans.

  “Sebastian, go inspect this vessel. Learn what you can and report to me soon. Ulysses, back to our men. They need your training, your leadership. We will meet again soon.”

  I took Lorien’s arm. She smiled at me as we walked back towards the palace. Sometimes I wondered if she should be leading. After the Gloaming, after revenge, after abandoning Tryst, I had little stomach left for battle. Something about this man’s arrival told me I needed to summon whatever I had left within me to fight.

  ***

  “I know you’re there. Step out of the shadows.”

  Sebastian remained motionless behind a curtain.

  This old priest was full of surprises. No one else would have heard him slip through the open window. No one could have seen him, dressed darker than the night, making his way to the Cathedral’s roof.

  “Come on in, Sebastian.” Father Yates was staring right at him as he stepped past the curtain. “Knock on the door next time. It is rather late for a visit. Would you like some tea?”

  “I am not here to chat.” Sebastian approached the old man. “I told you to stay away from Andor.”

  The old man’s face was wrinkled and serene. “Threats have limited use against someone who holds his life in an open palm.” He held out his hands towards Sebastian. “Besides, you did not tell me to stay away from Andor. You threatened torture and death if I continued to instruct Andor, to guide him in these trying times. Of course,” the priest’s light blue eyes blinked, “even if you had told me to stay away from him, you would have no authority for such a command.”

  Sebastian answered by grabbing the priest’s throat and flinging him onto the stone floor.

  The man’s pale body did not attempt to get up. Sebastian kneeled over him, holding his knife in front the priest’s face.

  “Let me be more clear.” Sebastian pressed the point of the blade between the priest’s eyes. “My network sees every move you make. We saw how you were using your nun, and she disappeared for a while, did she not? Now, from this point forward, you will not set foot into a room with Andor in it. You will not send a message, you will not imply a message, you will not so much as pray in Andor’s general direction. If you do, I will kill you and your nun, and I will burn down your cathedral.”

  Fear flashed on the priest’s face, but then he held his eyes closed a moment and opened them with the same serene look.

  “I do not believe god would allow this cathedral to burn,” the priest said, “but I may heed your warning. Let me offer you some advice in return.” The man spoke as if they were sitting across a table, sipping the tea he had offered. Sebastian kept him pinned on the floor.

  “Playing both sides rarely ends well, Sebastian. Those who believe you loyal will grow to distrust you. The moment when you must choose a side comes too fast, unexpectedly. Then you will be caught in the middle, like a grape in a winepress. Only you will not produce any fine vintage. You will sour and suffer in hell unless you repent. As long as you live, you can still repent.”

  Sebastian pulled his knife away and stood. “You know nothing, priest. Your time will come. You have been warned.”

  “A time to be born and a time to die,” the priest said. “A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace.”

  Sebastian stepped away as Yates continued talking. He resisted the temptation to cut out the priest’s tongue. He had little choice but to leave him whole. It was not the time to cause more suspicions. As Sebastian left through the window, the old man’s words took hold of his thoughts. It was a time for plans to be fulfilled, a time for a nation’s leader to die, and a time for him to rise to a seat of power.

  The Sunans should kill Andor, and if they did, His Excellency would place Sebastian on the throne as his steward. If that failed, then the Valemidans would kill His Excellency, and Andor had promised him the Sunan throne.

  The priest was wrong. Playing both sides would end well.

  Chapter 22

  FAITH AND WAR

  “Waste no more time talking

  about great souls

  and how they should be.

  Become one yourself!”

  Ilias praised god they had reached Valemidas. The prior night the Sunan fleet had sailed into the mouth of the River Tyne. Their men had been growing restless, only they were so cold that their restlessness froze if they ventured on deck. Ilias remembered what winter felt like here, but air this frigid had never touched the skin of most Sunans.

  Now the men were unloading on the north bank of the river. Further downriver, beneath the great cliff that the Valemidas palace sat upon, the beach was as narrow as the width of their ships. Here, where His Excellency and the bulk of the army would camp, the beach was immense—two long arrow-shots from the wall.

  Thousands of Sunans were stretched along the sand. Their heavy cloaks offered protection against the wind, and their hard work would warm them. Ilias imagined that if he were to look down at them from the sky, the Sunans would look like a crescent of industrious ants forming a dark noose under the city’s chin.

  Today’s meeting was the culmination of months and years of work. Ilias had plotted with Yates to make it happen. This opportunity could stop war before it started.

  Alcibiades had returned the prior night. His message had been short: The Prince of Valemidas will meet His Excellency of Sunan. He will bring two others with him. They will arrive, unarmed, in the wide field outside the Valemidas walls an hour after dawn.

  His Excellency had agreed to the meeting, and Ilias and Malam would join him. Ilias felt sure Yates would join the prince, and together they would guide the two leaders toward peace.

  Ilias was finalizing his words of guidance when the door to His Excellency’s quarters opened. His Excellency stepped out behind two guards. A rush of warm air followed him. He had refused to sleep outside the vessel, as it enabled him to do what he wanted with Jezebel and Ravien. Ilias trusted Ravien had continued to hold back what His Excellency wanted most. She had exceeded Ilias’s expectations in earning the young man’s trust. He seemed to listen to her as much as to any of them.

  None of that meant His Excellency loved the women. Ilias shuddered at the thought that this could well be their last day alive. His Excellency had ordered that Cid, Jezebel, and Ravien be guarded. If anything went contrary to Cid’s message, the guards would force Cid to watch his daughter and Ravien be tortured and killed, and Cid would be next.

  It disgusted Ilias, but
it had been a necessary sacrifice to get Malam to go along with this meeting in the first place. He also had no reason to suspect things would go wrong today. He prayed he truly had the upperhand over Malam. The other priest seemed too happy this morning.

  “Your Divine Excellency,” Malam said, bowing as Ilias did. “This day we will make the Valemidan Prince surrender.” The priest motioned out toward the Sunan men working along the shore. “He has seen our forces stretching twice the length of his city. Upon seeing your glory in the flesh, this prince will bow down before you.”

  His Excellency nodded without the slightest uncertainty.

  “Come,” he commanded, beginning their journey from the ship to the meeting place.

  “We must have reasonable expectations,” Ilias said to His Excellency as they walked between lines of bowing soldiers. “You are rightfully worshiped here, but the Prince of Valemidas also commands respect among his men. Their army has a strong position behind walls. Expect a meeting of equals.”

  “I expect the deference owed to me,” His Excellency replied. He waved to the men on either side.

  His Excellency did not have his typical, cheerful bounce in his step. The young man shivered underneath his heavy purple cloak. Steam rose from his bare head. Such human things, like effects of the cold, had always made Ilias curious about how so many Sunans could believe this young man to be a god rather than simply a vessel for god among them.

  “Their prince will pay you due respects,” Ilias said. “He will negotiate carefully. As we have discussed, you should be prepared to give a little to gain much.”

  “You discussed this with His Excellency, without me?” Malam sounded angry, as he usually did. “He must meet with us both, and heed both of our counsel. This has long been agreed.”

  “Enough, Malam,” His Excellency said. “You have done the same. What do you propose that I be willing to give up?”

  “Our captives,” Ilias said, “Ravien and the merchant, for starters. The prince will want them, and there is little benefit to keeping them. You should also be willing to give up the desire to conquer Valemidas, if they will pay their debt.”

  Malam laughed, and His Excellency joined in.

  “We did not sail all this way to turn around empty-handed.” Malam’s voice rose. “These men will not leave with a tail between their legs. We will conquer this land. N’ah musefe quede ya cahar!”

  The soldiers around them banged their spears on their shields and chanted back the words.

  His Excellency raised his arms in acknowledgement. The men chanted again, and louder.

  Malam’s boldness gave Ilias pause. In conversations with Ilias, His Excellency had shown willingness to sail away with gold. That willingness should only be greater in this winter weather. But maybe His Excellency was not as willing as Ilias thought. Ilias waited to speak again until after they had passed the camp and the chanting had stopped. Once they were in the open field, he resumed the argument. Time was running short.

  “We could conquer the Valemidans, but at what cost?” Ilias asked. “Would we send thousands of our brave men to their deaths so that we can rule this cold land? I believe our god,” Ilias put his hand on His Excellency’s shoulder as they walked. “Our god would not pay such a price, not when we could take the gold and return to our bright land whole. This started because of their debt to us. It ends when that debt is paid.”

  “It ends when their debt is paid in blood,” Malam said.

  “No more words from either of you,” His Excellency said. He was watching the three approaching figures from the city’s gate. “Ilias, your beliefs about our god have no sway over me, for I am your god.”

  None of them spoke further. Ilias’s heart sank. Malam’s praise had seeped into the young man’s very bones. Ilias had made his case from every angle. His Excellency was born of a mortal man, he had mortal flesh and a human mind. But Malam’s doctrines and the Sunan people’s faith had long played on the young man’s pride. Whatever His Excellency believed, Ilias prayed they could still walk away from this meeting with peace.

  As the three figures came into better view, Ilias was relieved to see Yates beside the prince. It was no surprise to see the other man, Justus Davosman, on his other side. When Ilias had delivered Andor as a boy, Yates had suggested that this noble might be the right man to raise him, and so he had. They looked like a father and a son now, despite sharing no blood.

  Yet the prince did not appear as Ilias remembered. He had the same stunning gold eyes, but his hair was lighter, almost white, and his face was thinner. His steps were less assured. He wore an ornate set of armor with gold at the joints and a gold mantle. He carried no weapon.

  Ilias moved his gaze to Yates and met his old friend’s smile. Twenty years gone by, hundreds of messages passed between them, and it was just the same as before—only with more white hair and wrinkles. He had learned more from this man than from anyone. He hoped their relationship would bear fruit.

  His Excellency suddenly stopped, and so did the prince. Twenty feet separated them.

  “I welcome you in peace.” The prince held his arms out in greeting. “You can find friends here in Valemidas. You can find what you traveled for.”

  “What do you think I traveled for?” His Excellency asked with a defiant voice.

  “You have come to retrieve what we owe you—a great deal of gold. We intend to pay it, every last ounce.”

  “I came for more than gold.” That was not part of the script Ilias had suggested.

  “We have more than gold to offer.” The prince spoke graciously, calmly. Tension rose and fell in waves between them.

  “Good,” His Excellency said. “If you would like us to return to Sunan, here is what you must give. First, all the gold you owe. Second, the head of this man,” he pointed to Father Yates, “in exchange for Ramzi’s, the Sunan priest you murdered.”

  The prince’s face darkened. Yates touched the prince’s arm as if to assure him to listen on.

  “Third,” His Excellency continued, “you must bow before me and swear your faith in me as your god.” Yates’ shoulders slumped. “Last, you and your soon-to-be-born child will come to Sunan as our hostages. Commit to all four now, and you will have your peace.”

  Ilias was shocked. His Excellency had never even hinted at the last request before. Ilias had not known the prince’s wife expected a child, which meant not even Ravien knew. Ilias glanced at Malam, who glared back at Ilias like a boxer who had just landed a knockout punch.

  The prince closed his eyes for a long while. The field was quiet except for the occasional song of a bird in the distance. A gentle breeze stirred the air. Ilias’s heart pounded in his chest. Fear gripped him tighter than the cold.

  Father Yates whispered something into the prince’s ear. The prince opened his eyes. They were like two suns.

  “You will never have my faith.” The prince’s voice was solid, his face calm.

  “Then you will die!” Malam shouted. “You are dust, unfit to lead. Look upon His Excellency and worship him!”

  “I will swear faith to no man.” The prince stepped forward. “I have been saved from death to serve the light.”

  “You are walking death.” Malam sneered at the prince. “I know of your past. I know where you have been. I know what you had to do to survive. You are cursed, and you took the head of a man who could have saved you.”

  “Ramzi?” the prince looked confused.

  Malam laughed. “You think you are pious?” he challenged. “Ramzi was pious. You are just a cursed peon of your priest.”

  “Silence,” the prince demanded. He moved closer to Malam, almost within his reach. “This is between your king and me. I will hear no more words from you.”

  “You will hear whatever I want!” Malam said. “This is between Sunan and Valemidas. Accept His Excellency’s offer, or watch your city burn.”

  The prince’s calm began to crumble. “You have no authority here, priest.” He leaned closer
to Malam as if daring him to speak again.

  “And neither do you!” Malam shoved the prince.

  His Excellency moved suddenly. He pulled a short blade from his robe and held it at the prince’s neck.

  “Stay back,” His Excellency said.

  The prince glared down the length of the blade. “You said no weapons,” the prince growled. His body had the look of a lion about to pounce.

  “You will bow to me,” His Excellency demanded.

  “Will I?” The prince exploded into motion. Two swift punches knocked the king to the ground. The prince pinned him down with a hand clutching his neck. “Will I bow, or will I kill you now?”

  The noble, Justus Davosman, rushed to the prince and tried to pulled him away. The prince grabbed His Excellency’s fallen blade as he rose. He twisted free of the nobleman’s grip and pointed the blade down at the king.

  “Stop.” Father Yates touched the prince’s arm. “Do not spill blood this day,” he said.

  The prince breathed heavily and began to back away.

  Ilias helped His Excellency stand and spoke before Malam had another chance. “The battle will come,” he said, “men will die, but we may meet again. This does not have to end in death.”

  “One of us will die.” The prince looked at His Excellency. “We may still find peace, but not before one of us dies.”

  “You will find no peace in your death,” Malam threatened.

  “None of us will.” The prince turned and stormed off toward the city.

  Yates gave Ilias a glance of sadness before turning to join the prince and the noble. The empty fountain of hope, Ilias thought, would soon fill with blood.

  Chapter 23

  THE THREE MEET AGAIN

  “All truths are easy to understand

  once they are discovered;

  the point is to discover them.”