“Allan, if it pleases you, may we use the blades that we have always used? I fear my hand is not fit for a north man’s blade,” Dominic said as he donned the single breast plate.
“By all means, and let’s up the game. A single shot from a pistol, powder only, of course,” Allan said as he drew his flintlock from his side and fired it into the nearby wall, blowing a small chuck of stone into the field.
Dominic had the same sword that his father gave him in his sixteenth year. It was a mid-length light rapier with a basket hilt. It was meant for single armed combat, light and agile.
It was crafted by the Denoi blacksmiths, and to this day even after the battles, sparring matches, sharpening and polishing--it still bore the words it bore the day it was created.
For those who watch through the eyes of shadows.
After firing off his pistol and reloading it with just wadding and powder, Dominic found his footing as he stepped into the stone circle. “Don't forget now...” it was all Allan said to him before his attack. He had always tried to distract, but as always, he was unsuccessful. Dominic blocked. Allan's strike was hard and fierce.
Dominic then went on his own attack with stiff overhead and sidearm strikes, each one blocked perfectly.
Allan's sword was a long and narrow rapier. It was not the same he had used as a young man but appeared to be crafted for him and his likes. His blocking with the lightweight blade was making it difficult to land a solid a blow against him.
He was so much faster than he had been years ago, the last time they sparred. Another quick lunge and a block by Dominic--he was getting tired and had yet to land anything less than a blocked blow.
Allan was now advancing on him and he was forced to defend. He’d no other choice but to wait for the opening he needed. They continued, and then he took the shot.
The steel rang throughout the yard. The two men were only inches apart when they both froze. “My friend to this day you still cannot defeat me,” Dominic said as a smile broke across his face.
“And you, my friend, to this day must learn that when I die, my foe goes with me,” Allan remarked.
Dominic had pulled his pistol during the last exchange, and he knew Allan was unaware but the pistol was lightly pressed against the gap in his armor at his waist. “You’re dead; maybe not now, but infection will have you within the week,” Dominic told him.
“No, you are,” Allan said as he glanced down. In almost the same position as Dominic's, Allan had pulled his own pistol. It was the same debilitating blow that had been taught to both of them by Sir Jacob, a blow that Dominic had held in memory to this day and so had Allan.
They were still evenly matched. In the many sparring contests they had engaged in, a clear winner was very rarely declared. “I see tactics that I never taught,” he heard a voice say from behind him.
It was a voice he had not heard in seven years, the voice of his trainer, Sir Jacob Southerlin. He turned and saw the aging man. He was older now but still just as firm and strong as he had been then.
“Welcome home, Son,” he told him as the two embraced. “I see that the years in the Crimson Guard have shown you some new combat techniques. If you please, sometime later I would most definitely wish to see and learn them,” Sir Jacob said, as the two began to walk the yard.
“It would please me, Sir,” Dominic said as he unleashed the breast plate and removed it.
“It has been too long.” Sir Jacob had always been the second father to Dominic. Throughout his early years when he was always with Allan, Sir Jacob had always been there. It was like looking back into the eyes of his father, but his true father was beneath walls of the castle.
“Sir, I do not mean to be ill-mannered, but there is a place I need to be going,” Dominic said.
“No need to explain, your time here is short, I know. Go tend to your business. When you finish, His Grace requests that you join him in the Great Hall at sunset,” Jacob said.
“I will, and Sir, if it pleases you may I--” He didn't finish. He felt a knot rise in throat. I should have kept quiet, he thought as he fell silent.
“My daughter has missed you since you left. She knows you are here, and she will see you tonight.”
And with that he was dismissed.
The crypt was cold. It had been almost twenty years since he had been here. His father's tomb was next to his grandfather's. As Aiden had said, the craftsmen and stone masons were still decorating and carving the great slab of marble that covered the tomb.
On the top a likeness of his father was in the process of being carved. He could see the rough features of his father coming to life. The sides of the tomb were complete, the words upon the side finished.
His Grace the Duke of Denoi, William the Fourth of the House of Carlye
His service to his people complete, His service to his land complete
For no shadows will tempt him anymore
.
His pain was deep. The loss that he felt was great, like an empty hole that not even dirt would fill, only time.
He spent several hours there - thinking. He was not lonely; too many nights had he walked the walls of Derancross looking out over the plains into the darkness. “Sir, sunset will be upon us within the hour,” he heard one of the soldiers who had accompanied him say.
“Yes, I know.”
VII
“Another, please,” Ash said as he lifted his clay mug above his head, signaling to the serving girl he was ready. After completing the job in Cerabeth City he had spent several more days watching over the merchants, making sure Faxon's henchmen didn't retaliate. Since Faxon's death and the very public display of his corpse, all of them had gone into hiding. It had been a job completed and a job done correctly. Yes, it was public but that was its purpose. Now that was done, and he found himself in the port city of Caramon. The day was nice and warm, the sun overhead at its peak.
Caramon was located on the northern shores of the Cerabeth River and looked over the Sea of Sparrows. It was the largest city in Cerabethia next to the Capital, Cerabeth City. Most the boats from this port traveled west into the heart of Agantia and east across the sea.
This is more pleasant than the last days, he thought as he took another swig of the sweet peach juice. But he was here not for pleasure but for another job, a more personal mission.
This job had been three years going now. Every moment he was not working for a client he was working for himself. Being a member of the Order of Righteous Blood came with a lifetime of commitment and self-journey.
The Order was three thousand years old. They were founded by the Watchers after the Shadow Beings came to this world. Before the end of the Shadow War, the Order’s history showed that its members were trained by the Watchers themselves, but after the war the Watcher’s disappeared from the world and the Order trained from within.
By age ten each boy or girl selected for the order began training. It was many years of hard and demanding training - learning the cultures and languages of other countries, learning to be lords, soldiers, business men, commoners and even royalty. They had to be able to blend whenever, wherever.
After each boy and girl completed training they became enigmas in the eyes of the world. Even after their training was done they spent a lifetime learning new ways, skills, even cultures. But the most important task for every Order member after training was to commune with their founders, The Watchers, by finding the Watchers’ pendant.
The black he had donned the night Faxon fell was now put away in his saddle bags and his cloth of choice was now his black trousers and a purple tunic, his appearance was that of a Baron or business man of Cerabethia or Agantia.
Waiting was a game that he was used to. He was just up the hill from the main docks and had been watching sailors come and go most of the morning in the open air tavern. These men were transporting goods and not exactly who he was looking for. His target this time was someone else, but he had yet to figure out who that person was.
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It was like a game that had no ending in sight. All of his game pieces were on the board but the chance of finding the winning piece was slim. So many people, so many prospects, he thought to himself, taking another drink of the peach juice.
Some time passed. His serving girl brought him more juice, some fresh fruit and a generous amount of Rockford weed for his pipe.
And then he saw him: A strange looking man fancily dressed with the most elaborate hat that anyone could look at. It was bright red, very large with a huge feather tucked into the white band. He was coming at him from the outside of the tavern, his eyes affixed on the Anzothi sword Ash wore from his belt.
The Anzothi lived across the sea, they were a warrior people and to see one of their crafted blades outside of their home was rare.
Ash watched as he moved closer, his eyes seldom moving from his sword to his walking path. “Dear sir, if I may?” the man asked as he gestured toward the empty chair in front of Ash.
“It would be my pleasure,” Ash replied, watching the man take his seat. He was middle aged with intelligent eyes and a tired but refreshed look about his face. His beard was below his chin and showed the signs of age, as light colored gray began to show through the once brown beard.
“I couldn't help but see that fine work of art hanging upon your sash,” he said. “My name is Jaeger, and I am a collector of the finer, unique and uncommon things.” Jaeger was smiling from ear to ear as he continued to eye the sword. He was almost in a trans-like state.
“Jaeger is it? Tell me, what is a man of your sophistication doing here, on the docks?” Ash asked as he picked up his glass and signaled for yet another drink.
“Like I said, I buy and sell the finer things. I didn't catch your name, sir?” Jaeger asked.
“Allastair, Sir Allastair of Garatin.” Ash responded.
“A swamp dweller and a knight, but are you a real knight?” Jaeger asked suspiciously.
“Yes, I was once knighted, but not like the ones who have the honorary titles bestowed upon them by lords. I am only loyal to the highest paying banners,” Ash said.
He was interesting and should be easy to manipulate; his sword trick had worked. Wearing such a sword so far west of the Anzothi lands would cause interest to any collector of trinkets and rare items, people that might have a Watchers’ pendant in their collection.
“So, free knight, how much to buy that sword? The only people who carry Anzothi blades are Anzothi themselves or men who know how to get things,” Jaeger said, taking a small pouch from his belt and placing it on the table.
Ash could tell the bag itself was heavy and filled with coin. He had no idea how much but he was sure the price was hefty, considering the thud the pouch had made.
“Not for sale,” Ash said.
“Name your price,” Jaeger said
“Not for sale, but maybe you can help me?” Ash asked. I have him off guard now, Ash thought as he watched the man's eyes grow.
“Help with what?” Jaeger asked cautiously.
Only one more minute and Ash would have him where he wanted him. “A pendant, small and gold, that will fit in a man's palm,” he said, using his left hand to approximate the size in his right hand. “In the center is an embossed lidless eye and around it glyphs of an ancient past.”
Jaeger's eyes grew narrow. He peered at Ash cautiously. “Why, may I ask, do you seek such a thing?”
“I also like the finer things in life,” he said placing his right hand on the hilt of his sword. “My client has asked for one. You see, even though I am a knight, death and killing is not my specialty, but the acquisition of rare things is.”
Jaeger smiled. “I think I like you, so tell me, what is the translation of the glyphs?” he asked.
He insults me. “From beyond this realm, The Watchers see.
VIII
He received the word and was making his way to the King's bedchamber. It had been only hours since the King's final orders were drafted. The sun had not been under the horizon for an hour and the news was traveling fast throughout the castle.
He tried not to run too fast to stir more alarms, but he was sure that most everyone close to the king, even those not, had heard by now. It would be only a matter of time before the Curates of the Temple would know and the bells would ring throughout Derancross.
He made his way to the top floor of the King's Spire using the central lift that ran through the middle of the spire. The lift was large enough for ten people and had a large crank attached to a gear system with a heavy rope connected to pulleys at the top and the base of the lift. There was always a Crimson Guard stationed in the lift and outside each floor where the lift stopped. The guard would always control the crank when people came aboard.
Outside of the bedchamber three heavily armed members of the Crimson Guard stood by the door along, with bookmen of healing and the King’s personal chamber servants. They looked at him as he made his way around the curve in the dimly lit hall. “His mind is clear and almost free.” one of the bookmen told him. “The Prince is in counsel with him now.”
It would be a waiting game now. The counsel with Jayden could take several minutes or hours. I need to be in there, he thought as he paced in front of the doors. And then he heard it, the latch of the door slightly cracking.
Jayden stepped from the room. His eyes were puffy. The emotion had taken him but like any prince about to take the throne, he made himself appear strong. “He wishes for you,” Jayden said, looking toward Idris.
He made his way toward the open door, slowly and then he felt Jayden’s grip on his arm, “He wishes to confide in you this night. My father is dying; do not poison him with your words,” he commanded, and then he walked off.
Liam was not in pain, but Idris could tell that his friend was giving up.
“Idris, please come to me,” he said holding his hand out. “I have seen my end dear friend.” He shuffled in the bed. “I know that when I sleep tonight that I will not come back on the morrow. Before I go, please tell Eila that I held on to my last breath.”
He is fading fast, Idris thought, Eila was dead but Liam's mind was telling him she was still there.
“Idris, please do not let the kingdom fall again, we fought together at Sroman's Bend and we turned them back, WE TURNED THEM BACK!” he yelled.
“Yes we did; we did turn them back.” Sroman's Bend was far from a battle. It was small misunderstanding with local thieves on the banks of the Middle River.
“Idris...” He paused. “Eila?” he looked at Idris the way a man looks at his wife. “Tell Idris to please guide Jayden! You, my dear wife and he are the only two I trust to take care of him. Please guide him with your lives.”
Idris began to speak and stopped. Liam had fallen asleep. His breathing was light and his eye lids twitched, and then… King Liam took his last breath. It was deep and filled his lungs for a moment. The king was dead, and in twelve hours Prince Jayden would take his place.
IX
There were people there that Dominic had not seen in years. Jacob and Allan, of course, his child minder, Gayle; Hester, his father's steward and others he didn't remember as well. Aiden was peaceful, his mood much improved from the day before.
Dominic had spoken with many of the people, most of whom thanked him for his service to the crown. Some asked repeatedly about life in the capital; some even asked about the food and women.
He had spent some time talking with Jacob, sharing swordsmen tactics and telling of his missing brother. He had been shocked that his brother was missing and asked more questions than Dominic could answer truthfully it was a hard conversation to have, but necessary.
The feast itself was informal - no long table of food just casual eating, drinking and conversation. The castle servants kept a large serving table at the head of the room full. Fine wines from the land’s best vineyards, ales from south, rum from across the Sea of Sparrows, corn liquor from the heart of Denoi, foods, both native and exotic - foul, pork, be
ef, fish, corn, potatoes, beats, radishes, beans, cheeses - everything was here.
Dominic compared it to some of the more lavish meals he had eaten in the Derancross Great Hall. Even King Liam did not always prepare like this. He’d missed this place. Now, more than ever before, he longed to be back here at home. In two years his service would be complete and he could to come back.
Maybe he could. He would not ask to live in the castle but maybe just a small house outside of the city in the woodlands. No it would never happen, he had sworn his life to the King and he must end that oath only by death.
Tonight was about his father, though. Even though Dominic was the oldest son of William, he chose not to wear what his room servant had left him for clothes. Instead he wore his more formal garb, black trousers, his crimson tabard with the silver crown sigil, and around his neck he wore the pendant of House Carlye, the Fur Tree. Even though his surname was still Carlye, he was no longer Dominic the First of the House Carlye. It was just Dominic Carlye now, Knight of the Crimson Guard.
“FRIENDS!” He heard his brother’s commanding voice from the High Seat. “For those who have not heard, Dominic has returned. Even though the rumors and whispers may speak of things, I am glad that my brother has returned. His Majesty couldn't keep him locked up forever.” He laughed as the room began to snicker. “Please friends, he is of our blood and will always be of the House of Carlye. Honor him tonight for on the morrow he must leave.”
“Now friends, tonight we say our final farewell to our lost father. William the Fourth, named for the three William's before him. The First was The Builder of Denoi. He fought the ancient dragon and built this city you see now. The Second was The Wisest. He helped forge the Treaty of the Eight and bring to end the Unity War. The Third, the Hero of the Shadow War. Along with the Watchers and the Guiden, he stopped the forces of evil at the doors of Anoch and turned them away, liberating the north and eventually leading to victory against the Shadow Beings. And lastly, The Fourth, my father. In time history will tell his accomplishments. This night I announce that my first born son will be named in honor of him. His name will be William the Fifth of the House Carlye.”
The Coming Of Shadows (The Shadow Tide Book 1) Page 4