Breaking the Gloaming

by J. B. Simmons

  “I hear your son was knighted.” Justus was trying to change the subject. He was tired of talking about Andor’s meeting with the Sunan god-king. “A toast to the honor, to Jacodin?” Justus raised his glass.

  “To Jacodin.” Ryn clinked his glass and they drank. “He always had it in him,” Ryn said. “Even a noble’s son can be born to hold a sword.”

  “I wish I could say the same of Jonas,” Justus replied. He swirled the dark red wine. “He never had a fourth the spirit of our prince.”

  “From what you’ve said, our prince could use a little less spirit. Why didn’t he just kill their king when he had the chance?”

  “It was a meeting for peace,” Justus answered. “Our prince still has honor.”

  “A shame,” Ryn said. “So we’ll have a battle. Don’t you think we could use a man like Tryst right now?”

  “We will win this war under Andor’s command.” Justus let no doubt touch his voice. Ryn’s question struck too close to the truth. If Sebastian carried out his end of the deal, Tryst would join them soon enough.

  “We need to do better than win,” Ryn said. “If the Sunans breach the southern wall, my estate will be the first to burn.”

  Justus began to ask Ryn about his estate’s defenses. It was a topic sure to distract Ryn from Andor, Tryst, and all the other topics Justus wanted to avoid.

  The two men were in the nobles’ court, southwest of the city’s central plaza. The room was almost as grand as the prince’s banquet hall. Fifty seats surrounded a round table with a round hole in the center. The floor was checkered marble. Columns held up a domed ceiling filled with paintings of Valemidan princes and their infamous deeds. The paintings were meant to remind the nobles of their duty to check the prince’s power. They were responsible for selecting the right man, and for removing him if he did not serve the people.

  Since failing in both tasks with Tryst, the morale of the nobles had been low. Many had questioned their role. Jusuts’s news from the morning’s encounter had brought the morale lower still. He had spent the day reporting to the nobles, answering their questions, and debating what counsel they might give the prince. They all knew it mattered little. The Sunans would attack any moment. Most of the nobles had scattered by now, seeing to the defenses of their own estates, readying themselves to fight. The bonds of tradition were strained by the stress of war.

  For Justus and Ryn, two of the longest-tenured nobles, it was almost pleasant to dine in the court with most of the others gone. The only ones remaining were three young men clustered on the opposite side of the table. They had replaced nobles who had been killed during the fight when Andor deposed Tryst. Instead of earning their way into nobility by virtue, these men had bought it. One was an artist whose patron had left him a fortune, just enough to buy a minor noble house; another was a mercenary leader who had offered to protect the nobles with his men in exchange for the title; and the third was a farmer who had extracted the nobles’ support with the promise of granaries full of grain. In hard times, the nobles needed deserving men in their ranks. They needed the children of noble houses. They needed continuity. But instead they whored out these positions to whoever guarded their status and their bellies.

  “Enough of my estate’s walls. What of yours?” Ryn’s words pulled Justus’s thoughts away from the other nobles. “And what about your son Jonas? Will he learn to hold a sword in time to help?”

  It almost relieved Justus to hear his old rival’s bantering. They had been agreeing on too much lately.

  “As I said, Jonas was not born a fighter.” Justus shook his head. “Growing up beside Andor only made him shy away from it more. But this is war. He’ll take up the sword, and I pray he’ll prove himself worthy under your son’s command.”

  “A good prayer,” Ryn said. He stood and motioned for Justus to join him.

  They walked to the southern edge of the room. Ryn pulled back a heavy curtain between two columns. A gust of cold greeted them, as did a view of the Sunan army camped on the beach beyond the wall.

  “Why do you think they did not attack after the meeting today?” Ryn asked.

  “Their boy-god was shaken. Maybe he needed time to collect himself after Andor landed blows to his godhood.” Justus did not mention his hope that Sebastian’s or Ravien’s influence was somehow delaying the Sunans.

  “There must be more to it.” Ryn was studying him. He knew him too well to let him dodge the question. “Surely the Sunans have seasoned leaders. I bet they have their own version of Ulysses somewhere out there. Such a man would not let the element of surprise fade like this. Armies weaken every day they wait for a fight.”

  “This is true, but their leader’s control is absolute.” Justus decided it was time to go. “I don’t know, Ryn. It has been a very long day. I need to return to my estate, visit the soldiers there. Andor will expect me to report on the nobles’ advice. He won’t like our cowardice.” Justus looked toward the three nobles on the far side of the room. “The day has passed when nobility meant strength and tradition.”

  “So it has,” Ryn said. “But the coming battles will change that, or make it irrelevant. I fear the south wall will be overwhelmed tomorrow, and noble houses will be the first to burn. We have our war, and our dove of a prince bared his talons against Sunan. It was too little, too late. We would have been stronger under Tryst.”

  “Tryst will help us.” The words slipped out of Justus’s mouth.

  Ryn’s eyes opened wide, surprise and doubt mixed in his face. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “It is just a hope.” Justus turned to go. “Perhaps our hawk will join our dove again.”

  Ryn grabbed Justus’s arm to stop him. “What have you planned? Tryst will return?” His voice rose and echoed under the dome. The other nobles were staring at them.

  “In wars like this, even ghosts may walk again.” Justus pulled his arm away, and moved quickly to the door. He did not look back, and Ryn did not try to stop him again.

  Justus cursed himself as he left the building. Too much talking today, too much wine. He should not have revealed such a hint to Ryn. He needed to claim ignorance if Tryst showed up again. He shivered and drew his cloak closer as he walked. It was far colder than the prior nights.

  He reached the gate to his estate in little time. It was shut tight, with a dark figure standing there. From the silhouette, he knew it was not one of his guards. The man wore no armor and carried no weapon Justus could see.

  “Who waits there?” Justus asked.

  The man suddenly came toward him. Justus drew his sword.

  “You’ve kept me waiting.” It was Sebastian. He stayed out of Justus’s reach.

  “We planned no meeting this night.” Justus kept his sword between them. “Why have you come?”

  “We planned this meeting long ago, for whenever our partner returned. She is here. Come, we must go to her now.”

  Sebastian turned along the perimeter of Justus’s wall.

  Justus had little choice but to follow. He worried this was a trap, some attempt to lure him away from his duties, or worse. But if Ravien had returned, he had to hear her news immediately. It seemed she had succeeded in convincing the Sunans to bring the war now, in the dead of winter, and to set camp on the north bank of the Tyne. She might hold out hope for Valemidas.

  Sebastian led him past the fine stone buildings of the nobles’ quarter and across the central plaza. The vast space was empty underneath the bare limbs of the white tree. Once past the square, Sebastian took to alleys and paths Justus could not have retraced. The buildings were smaller and packed more tightly, but they looked warm inside. A few windows revealed families gathered over what might be their last meals together.

  Eventually they came to the harbor. Its deep waters were black and motionless, in a way that only seemed possible on a night this cold.

  Sebastian walked south along the crescent-shaped docks. He stopped at the far end, before a four-story tavern carved into the stone
cliff looming above. The palace sat on the other side of this rocky hill, and the Gloaming was hidden somewhere within it. He shuddered at the thought.

  “She did not want to meet with us.” Sebastian’s voice was a whisper. “I told her our agreement required it. We meet upon her return. She said we have no more than an hour.”

  Justus might have said something in response, but his lips felt frozen. He trusted Ravien more than this man, no matter what he said. It seemed she had lived up to her end of the agreement. Sebastian still had his main duty to perform. Justus simply nodded and followed Sebastian inside.

  Pulling his hood tight to cover his face, Justus kept his head down as they walked through the common room. It sounded like any tavern with men talking and drinking. Sebastian led them up the stairs in the back, all the way to the top floor.

  The hallway was longer than seemed possible from outside the building. As Justus followed Sebastian down it, he realized that it was burrowed into the stone. It was like walking into a smooth gray tunnel.

  Sebastian knocked on the last door at the end. It swung open.

  Ravien stood there like a black feral cat squaring off against a dog. She looked as stunning as ever, but as she backed into the room, she never left the balls of her feet. Tension held her shoulders up toward her ears. Her dark hair was wild around her head.

  “Welcome, Sir Davosman,” she said. “We have much to discuss.”

  They each took seats around a small table in the small room. There were no windows. The only light came from a fire in the hearth and a single candle on the table. The candle lit the parchment they had signed half a year ago.

  “I am relieved to see you.” Justus smiled as he pulled back his hood. “How did you escape?”

  A glance passed between her and Sebastian. “I would rather not speak of that now,” she said.

  “We must discuss what is to come,” Sebastian agreed.

  “Fine.” Justus looked down at the agreement. He would learn what happened with Ravien in time. “I have done my part by ensuring that Andor kept the Gloaming in place, with better supplies of food.”

  He nodded to Ravien. She looked away from him to the fire.

  “And I have fulfilled my obligation.” Her voice was distant. “The Sunans have sailed for war and arrived in winter. They have anchored their ships and camped their army on the north shore of the River Tyne. I will have more to report, but that is all that was required of me by this.” She pointed to the agreement as if accusing it.

  “Agreed, you have met your obligation,” Justus said. He turned to Sebastian. “You have kept Andor safe, so all that remains is what started this all, the linchpin of our deal.”

  Sebastian lounged back in his chair with a smile that was too comfortable. “I will break the Gloaming.”

  “The agreement is more specific.” Ravien leaned forward with the intensity that Justus was accustomed to seeing in her. “It states as follows: No later than the second morning after the Sunans arrive on our lands, Sebastian shall use the remaining explosives from Icaria to blow open the stone cliff facing the River Tyne so that the wall of the Gloaming will fall and the men inside can escape. He shall ensure minimal casualties among the Valemidans. He shall ensure maximum casualties among the Sunans. He shall never reveal the source nor the authors of the explosion.”

  She held her finger to the parchment. “The time has come.”

  “The time has come.” Justus’s words echoed.

  “So it has.” Sebastian sat up straight and put his hands on the table. “Tomorrow morning there will be an explosion like none before.”

  He stood to go, looking huge in the small room.

  Justus stood, too, but Ravien was the first to respond. “Why not tonight?” she asked. “And where? We need to know where the explosion will be. Wren is somewhere among the Sunans.”

  Sebastian paused halfway through the door. “Did I ask you questions about your duties under the agreement? I will do what is required of me, and that is all you need to know.”

  He turned to go, but Ravien’s words stopped him again. “I told your father about this.”

  “My father?” The coolness of his voice was gone. He obviously had not expected this. “What did you tell him? What did he say?” Sebastian stepped back into the room. He gripped the back of his chair.

  “Seban said a Sunan defeat here would be a victory in your homeland, especially if it meant another family member took the throne.” Now there was a taunt to Ravien’s voice. Justus could not follow what she meant. He studied Sebastian’s face.

  “What else?” Sebastian asked, excitement flaring in his eyes.

  “I will tell you after you tell me where the explosion will be.”

  For a moment, Sebastian looked torn, uncertain. Then, with his hands shaking, he growled, “No.”

  He picked up the chair and hurled it into the wall. The wood shattered and clattered to the floor.

  “No one will manipulate me,” he threatened, “but you will see your explosion. I sealed this agreement with my blood.”

  He gave the paper a mad glance and stormed out the door.

  “Follow him,” Ravien said urgently to Justus, rising to her feet and stepping closer. “Make sure he does what he promised. Do not trust him.”

  “But—”

  Ravien cut Justus short with a finger on his lips.

  “I will tell you more tomorrow. There is no time now. Go.”

  Justus nodded and left the room. As he rushed out of the building, he caught a glimpse of Sebastian. He ran after him but knew he could not keep up for long. He needed help. Ryn would join him in this, especially if he knew Tryst’s return might depend on it.

  Chapter 24

  BIRTH PAINS

  “My mother groaned, my father wept,

  into the dangerous world I leapt.”

  With the two men gone, the room was Ravien’s private cave again. The only sound was the crackling fire. Its light flickered across the rough rock walls surrounding her.

  Neither Sebastian nor Justus had paid the walls much attention, other than the thrown chair. They had little reason to question Ravien’s choice of this inn. Cid had gotten her into the harbor, and this was the closest, most private place for a meeting. The innkeeper was well-connected, which had made it easy for her to send off messages to the men. Cid had carried her message to Father Yates. She owed the smuggler her life.

  Ravien trusted her performance would have the desired effect. Justus would distract Sebastian, trying to follow him. They would both ignore her for the night. They would not notice whether or not she left this room.

  It was time. She walked to the heavy wooden door and locked it. She stepped to the table, rolled up the agreement, and put it in her cloak. She grabbed the candle and knelt before the hearth.

  The heat felt good on her face while she pulled on her gloves. As she reached her hand to the ground, at the side of the fire, she welcomed the slight burning sensation on her lower arm. This pain was immediate and describable, unlike what was flaming up insider her.

  She felt the switch and pulled.

  Where the wooden wall beside the hearth met the rock, a narrow gap opened. It was just as quiet, just as undetectable, as she remembered it. Her father had showed the passage to Tryst, Lorien, and her many years ago.

  She slipped through the gap and pulled the counter-lever on the other side. Silently, the wedge of stone swung back into place.

  She walked briskly up the tight path. Her sight stayed on the ground before her, and her thoughts stayed on her immediate goal. She needed to find Andor.

  Only a few doors lined the path on the way to her destination. Her father had never let them go through those doors, but she had since learned they led to the palace’s innermost dungeons. While Tryst reigned, she had explored every inch of these passages. Her knowledge proved valuable now, because she knew this was the fastest way to enter the palace without going through the gate.

  The path ended wi
th a wall of stone. On the other side were living quarters, usually for a man on the knight’s council. Her family had once occupied these rooms when her father had served the prince. She hoped the inhabitant would be a man loyal to Andor. Even better, the place could be empty.

  She reached down and pulled the small switch, nearly identical to the one at the passage’s other end. A wedge of stone swung back.

  The sound of intense screaming groans hit her like a gust of wind. It was a woman. She was in terrible pain.

  “Push!” Another woman’s voice shouted over the yells.

  “Push!” That was a voice she had heard before. It was Jon.

  Ravien closed the secret door behind her and moved through the antechamber toward the sounds. She spied into a bedroom and was shocked by what she saw. Divine fortune was shining down on her.

  Lorien and Jon stood on either side of a woman giving birth. It was Mailyn. A nurse-maid crouched, ready to catch the baby. Tryst’s baby. Jon was looking down at Mailyn with the affection of a lover. Lorien looked like she’d eaten a watermelon.

  Lorien was the first to see her. Never had Ravien seen such surprise on her sister’s face.

  “Ravien!” she shouted, her mouth gaping open.

  Before Ravien could respond, Mailyn let out a primal sound, her voice blasting through the room like a thunderclap. Then came a baby’s crying.

  The nurse-maid wiped the infant and held it up. A boy.

  Mailyn gently took the boy and held him to her breast. Jon stood by her side beaming with pride and wonder.

  While the nurse-maid attended to things, Lorien came to Ravien. She was so pregnant that Ravien wondered whether they’d be able to leave these quarters without another baby arriving.

  The sisters embraced. Then Lorien held Ravien’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes. Ravien worried what her sister would see. No one knew her better.

  She looked away, down at Lorien’s large stomach.

  “You’re next,” Ravien said, keeping her eyes down.

  “Any day now, and you will be here to witness it!” Lorien put her finger under Ravien’s chin and lifted her head. Their eyes locked again.