Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  Ireen walked into the welcoming arms and hugged her father’s friend, tears in her eyes. Glancing up, her eyes asked the question her mouth would not release.

  “Your father is fine, child, and he’s waiting for you at home.”

  Ireen buried her face into his chest and wept with joy.

  “Good to see you, General,” said Thade, grinning.

  “Good to see you, Thade. The emperor, a father, owes you a debt, a debt that I’m sure he will repay.”

  “I’m sure he will, for I will go to him and ask for his daughter’s hand.”

  General Gordonia stared at the Rhaurn, then smiled.

  Ireen turned to face her lover, her tears giving way to a smile. She walked back to him, staring into his stormy-grey eyes. The expression on her face demanded an answer and he smiled.

  “Aye, I’ll go and ask your father,” he repeated softly.

  Ireen jumped for joy. Thade caught her and hugged her tightly.

  ***

  As Marva made her way slowly to the Temple of the Divine One and throughout the city, she saw many people still had frightened, haunted, expressions. She walked across the marketplace where a few traders put up their stalls, and noticed many of them had increased their prices threefold. Most of the stalls displayed food and spices, a few sold trinkets and clothes. Reaching the temple, Marva sighed deeply as she climbed the steps to the large wooden door. She was surprised to find the temple untouched by the followers of the Path and this, at least, made her happy. With another sigh, she entered the temple.

  Inside, the building was decorated in white and brightly lit, with huge windows letting sunshine stream in. At the front stood a large statue of a beautiful woman wearing a flowing dress—their goddess, the Divine One: the goddess of everything pure, innocent, and good. It had been a long time since Marva had ventured into the temple. She had forgotten how beautifully the temple was decorated and how calm she always felt here.

  A priest silently approached Marva, startling her. He was an old man with a hunched back, but with a pleasant, warm smile. “Can I help you, child?”

  “Yes, yes please, I would like to arrange a funeral.”

  “Come with me and I can take the details.”

  Marva followed the white-robed priest to a small office where she sat down opposite him.

  “Water? I am sorry I do not have anything else,” offered the priest.

  “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

  The priest moved some papers, picked up a quill, dipped it into some black ink, and held it poised over a clean parchment. “I need to take some details of the deceased.”

  Marva paused for a moment and watched a droplet of ink grow on the quill tip. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered softly. The ink droplet fell from the quill and plopped lightly on the parchment.

  “Do not be sorry, child, I also mourn your loss.” The ink droplet slowly fanned out, doubling in size.

  “Forgive me, Father, my tears are for my husband and also for our transgression. You see, Father, my husband became a follower of the Path.”

  The priest put down his quill, crossed his arms over his bulging stomach, and frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, child. Did he repent?”

  “No Father, he did not repent for his sins, but I repent for us both and wish to have my Krondo buried properly. He was a good man and deserves a decent burial.” Marva broke down into tears.

  “Will you repent for your husband?” asked the priest softly.

  “Yes, I will.”

  The priest thought for a moment, then smiled. “Child, I understand your sadness. If you promise to attend our temple seeking forgiveness, I will arrange the funeral.”

  “Bless you, Father.” Marva wiped away her tears. “I will.”

  “I will note that your husband had wronged and now seeks forgiveness, but will not mention that he was a follower of the Path.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Now, let’s take down some details,” he said, lifting his quill and dipping it again into the black inkwell.

  For the next few minutes, the priest carefully took down Krondo’s details. Finally, he asked, “Would you want grievers present? They cost extra.”

  “No, I want a private funeral with no grievers, just family.”

  “I will arrange everything for you, my dear,” said the priest, rising. “My aides will travel to the palace and claim your husband’s body.”

  “Thank you,” said Marva, kissing his hand then leaving the office, feeling a great weight had been eased from her shoulders. The funeral would be in a few days, so her day of mourning would come soon.

  ***

  Dax strolled through to the front door of the City Watch offices and called the captain of the axe-wielders.

  “You had better go through to the parade ground. Our liege is kissing dust as we speak.”

  The captain stared at the warrior inquisitively, then looked at Zorain who just shrugged

  his shoulders and nodded. The captain called a few men forward and they entered the building. In their wake, both Dax and Zorain roared with laughter.

  Shortly, Zane appeared in the doorway again rubbing his chin. He smiled his distinctive smile and looked at Dax. “I will have my revenge, old man,” he hissed theatrically.

  “In your dreams, lad. Only in your dreams.”

  Zorain bade farewell to the young king and the warrior.

  Later that morning, a company of Royal Lancers arrived to assist the City Watch.

  ***

  As Zane and Dax rode through the city, Zane smiled; he had succeeded with his first task as king. Yet people still wandered the streets with fear in their eyes and this upset him.

  “I think the people need something to cheer about,” observed Dax thoughtfully.

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “I think they should see their new king in his full glory.”

  Zane nodded and plans raced through his mind. They arrived at the palace and Zane called for General Brooks to come to his chambers. Inside, he outlined his plan and the general soon left to give his orders. Zane walked through the palace, constantly shaking his head at the damage caused by the followers of the Path. He met his mother and sister in the gardens, enjoying breakfast with Ireen and Megan.

  The palace grounds had been cleared of bodies and now it looked normal. The bodies of axe-wielders and city dwellers who died during the battle were kept to one side, to be claimed by their families. For the axe-wielders, their comrades would arrange burial. The bodies of the Dark Brethren and the high priestess were loaded onto wagons and driven from the city to be burned in huge funeral pyres. Afterward, the ashes would be scattered in the wind without ceremony.

  Thade and Tanas arrived, looking clean and refreshed, which made Zane aware of the dirt on his body. He said good morning to all, then left the gardens to go to his room where he washed, shaved, and changed clothes.

  Zane returned to the garden to re-join the group, who stood in front of a table facing him, and smiling broadly. He heard the sound of men approaching and he turned to look over his shoulder. Behind him marched a company of axe-wielders in full gleaming battle armour, led by General Brooks. Zane turned back to face the group with a puzzled frown. His mother, Queen Larene, stepped forward and bowed. She held up her hand to stop Zane from talking.

  “In our gardens within the now safe palace of Teldor we gather to crown the King of Rhaurien. Before me, stands my son, Zane, a man who has proved himself worthy of his crown.”

  Dax turned to the table and lifted a cushion. Upon it rested the simple ringlet crown. For the occasion, Dax had cleaned himself, and wore a borrowed set of axe-wielder’s armour. He joined the queen and together they stepped forward to the solitary Zane.

  Lifting the crown, the queen continued, “My son will follow in the steps of great kings, not least his father Logan, whom I miss deeply. But today is not the day for mourning. Today the city needs to see its king, the
y need rejoice in our freedom and believe again.” With a broad, proud smile, Larene placed the crown on Zane’s head. She leaned forward and kissed him on both cheeks. Then, with the others, she dropped onto one knee, bowing deeply. Swiftly, Zane reached down and helped his mother to her feet.

  “You will never do that again,” whispered Zane, kissing his mother’s cheeks.

  Dax rose and smiled at the crowned King of Rhaurien. “Let’s go and show you off,” he boomed.

  Behind the king, the axe-wielders rose to their feet and stepped forward, each holding a clenched fist against their chest. Zane turned to face them. They again dropped onto one knee, and together shouted, “We, the axe-wielders will defend you with our lives. Axe-wielders!” The men thumped their breastplates. “WE!” they roared.

  Zane walked forward to his general and helped the older man to his feet. “Thank you,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

  “As Dax has said, the city needs to see its king. Let us go now.”

  The axe-wielders parted to let them pass. Behind waited two open carriages with white horses harnessed, pawing the ground impatiently. Zane, Larene, and Princess Sasha sat in one wagon, with Dax driving. Thade drove the other wagon with Tanas, Megan, and Ireen sitting inside. They passed through the gates of the palace and drove on down the winding road to the city.

  As the carriages carrying the dignitaries travelled slowly through the city, the axe-wielders roared at the top of their voices, “Your king! Your king is here! Come and see, your new king is here.”

  Slowly, people emerged from their houses to see what the commotion was all about. Swiftly, smiles and joy filled most faces.

  Cries of, “Is it over? Are we free? Is it true?” were heard along the streets and quickly throughout the city.

  People followed the carriages in a parade that wound through the city. More and more people joined the procession as news rapidly spread throughout Teldor. Reaching the docks, the carriages passed the City Watch offices where Zorain and Conn stood at the top of the steps and saluted. Farther along the cobblestone street, the carriages stopped and Zane dismounted and beckoned Aurillia to join the carriage. Aurillia looked around at Emyra, who just nodded back; a nod of reassurance. Now complete, the carriage continued on to the market square where more people had gathered.

  At one point, the carriages stopped due to the heaving crowds and the axe-wielders were hard pressed to keep the delighted crowds back. Larene nudged Zane, who looked at his mother. She nodded to him and he knew what he had to do. He stood up in the carriage and a huge cheer filled the air.

  Zane raised his arms to quieten down the crowd. Calls of “hush!” echoed around the square and soon an excited silence descended.

  Zane took a deep breath. “People of Teldor . . . you’re free!” he bellowed.

  A huge cheer went up.

  When the crowd hushed, Zane continued, “That’s the good news. The sad news is that my father, King Logan, is dead.”

  Several shrilling screams rose from the crowd and others cried out.

  “He died in battle helping our neighbours and new friends, the Phadrine. He died as a Rhaurn should die, bravely and with honour. There will be three days of mourning, followed by a state funeral; information will be posted around the city. I hope you all will join me, not only in mourning my father but all the brave men who died liberating our city. Today, I was crowned king and I am proud to lead the Rhaurns, and proud of my city who came to my aid during our time of need. Thank you all for your help and I wish every Rhaurn, every citizen of our nation and our city of Teldor, a peaceful and prosperous future. Thank you again.”

  A boisterous cheer went up from the crowd and Zane turned full circle in his carriage to wave at everyone. Finally, he sat down and the axe-wielders forced a path for them to continue through the city. His city. Teldor.

  The cheers of people could be heard throughout the city for hours and many celebrated well into the night. The populace of Teldor did not need a reason to celebrate, but when they had one, the whole city turned out. During the evening, many inns opened their doors for the first time since the occupation and drinks were sold at half price. Revellers poured into the streets, waving their goblets into the air toasting their king and their freedom.

  From the palace, the sounds of the parties could be heard, and the royal family and friends enjoyed their own celebration. Later in the evening, Zane, Dax, and Aurillia rode quietly through the noisy city towards the only silent tavern in Down Town. They headed for the Flying Vessel, to see how Rayth was recovering.

  CHAPTER 3

  Gan-Goran wandered towards Thade’s home, confused, cold, hungry, and feeling totally empty. Shivering, he arrived at the back door and quietly knocked.

  Cara opened the dark wooden door and glared at the bewildered old man. Looking past the magic-master, she searched the area for her two men: Thade and Dax. When she did not see them, her heart dropped and she dreaded asking the question. “Where are Dax and Thade?”

  “Are they not here?” asked the old man, looking baffled, confusion clouding his thoughts like a dense fog.

  “You left with them months ago!” snapped Cara, frowning.

  “Don’t try and confuse me, woman, tell me where they are!”

  “Like I said, you left with them months ago. Now where are they?” demanded Cara, growing more worried by the second.

  Gan-Goran looked into the woman’s puzzled, fearful eyes, then realisation struck him like a blow. He felt his legs weaken and he suddenly understood everything. Like a storm, his mind churned thoughts and his head swam. Before his eyes, lights flashed and whirled in a kaleidoscope of clashing colours. Then blackness fell over him . . .

  ***

  Cara helped the old man into the house and laid him down on the stone floor in front of the hearth. Bringing blankets, she realised Gan-Goran was suffering from the effects of exposure, and starvation. Later that day, Cara managed to haul the feverish old man into Dax’s room, where he slept fitfully. For the next few days, she forced Gan-Goran to eat and drink as he drifted in and out of delirium with the bedding drenched in sweat. On the fourth day, the fever broke and he got up, his joints creaking and cracking noisily. He shuffled through the house barefoot, seeing Cara standing by the back door staring out over the hills.

  “Thank you,” Gan-Goran said hoarsely, still confused by the situation.

  “What in the name of the Unnamed are you doing out of bed?”

  “I thought—” he started.

  “Well, you thought wrong!” snapped Cara, shooing him back towards the bedroom. “You have had a fever and should not be up. Now, get that crinkly bottom of yours back to bed and I’ll bring you some tisane.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, just get.”

  Gan-Goran did not protest any further as he felt extremely weak from just the short walk to the kitchen. He lay down on the bed, his mind still full of questions. He knew the answers would come and hoped sooner rather than later. Swiftly, he drifted back to sleep.

  ***

  The morning of the funeral for Krondo the baker was cloudy, but the rain relented. Felix put a sign in the window to notify the customers that there would be no goods for sale that day. For the past few days, the bakery’s patrons passed on condolences to both Marva and Felix. Dressed in their best clothes, the pair met Christie and her mother at the temple steps. Inside the huge hall, the four worshippers knelt down when the plain wooden coffin was carried in. As requested by Marva, the service was brief and there were no other grievers present.

  At the end of the service, the four followed the coffin out the back of the temple to a crowded cemetery. There they waited by a hole in the ground, readied for the coffin. They stood silently and the priest said a few more words—just enough. As the casket was lowered, he moved back to give the family some privacy. One by one the four threw a handful of soil on top of the coffin, each saying a short prayer. First a tearful Marva followed by Felix w
ith reddened eyes. Finally, Christie and her mother threw dirt on the coffin.

  Felix took his mother by the shoulders and turned her away from the graveside. Tucking her under his arm, he slowly led her away.

  Standing at the cemetery gates was a warrior, not wearing any weaponry. Even without weapons, the man looked every bit a warrior, a killer. It was something in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry I’m late for the funeral. I only just found out about it this morning.”

  Marva looked up at Felix, who nodded. He stepped back out of earshot and spoke softly with Christie and her mother.

  Taking a step forward, Marva looked into the warrior’s violet eyes.

  Dax looked down at the woman and took a deep breath. “I am not sure why I came, but Felix is a friend, and therefore I respect and mourn his family’s loss.”

  Marva took a step closer to the warrior. “How can a man of death come to the house of the Divine One? Is that not being hypocritical?”

  “I’m not here to debate with you.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Dax stood nervously in front of the woman. He did not know why he had come.

  “I do not know, just to pay my respects,” he answered honestly. Before him stood the widow of the man he had killed during the fighting in the palace. Krondo had been trying to leave the rite of resurrection when Dax burst into the great hall. Unfortunately, the baker was carrying a ceremonial sword and Dax had mistaken the man for an attacker and killed him. Only after the fighting, the warrior was told of his error.

  “Well, I’m not a woman who holds a grudge. My Krondo was wrong in a few things and following the Path was one of them.” She paused. “I do not hold you responsible for Krondo’s death. You may have swung the killing stroke, but the Temple of the Path killed him a long time ago. I forgive you.”

  Dax bowed his head and the woman reached up with a shaking, clenched fist. Slowly, her hand opened and she touched his head. It was a small yet a powerful gesture that washed the hate and guilt away from them both.

  ***

  The funeral of King Logan saw people flock to the streets to pay their respects. A private service held in the Temple of the Divine One was followed by a horse-drawn hearse driven slowly through the city streets, flanked by the new king’s guards, the axe-wielders. Draped over the former king’s coffin was the family’s standard, a golden kestrel within a black diamond on a dark blue background. As the hearse passed by, people threw flowers onto the carriage. By the time the hearse reached the cemetery, it was covered in flowers and in its wake along the streets, flowers littered the route like a patchwork, multi-coloured carpet.