A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods

by Daniel Hylton

  Brenyn brought Noris to a halt.

  “What happened here?” He asked the man.

  The man shrugged, though it was a gesture of hopelessness. “It was our turn, I suppose,” he replied.

  Brenyn frowned at him. “Your turn? Your turn for what?”

  The man turned his head and looked up at Brenyn. His eyes were filled with sadness, and moisture ran from their corners.

  “For the war to find us,” he answered. “We are so far from things here; I suppose we thought we were safe. Alas, no.”

  “What war?” Brenyn asked.

  The man frowned. “Are you from another land?”

  “I am,” Brenyn replied. “I come from the land of Vicundium, in the north.”

  The man shook his head. “I have never heard of that land.”

  “What war is it that has brought you such sorrow?” Brenyn repeated.

  “Paladia has invaded us,” the man responded. He shook his head and indicated the blackened ruin. “A raiding party did this – though why, I cannot say. We have no great wealth here, and our granaries are not full.” He shook his head yet again. “This was done for cruelty, and no other purpose.”

  “Where is this land, Paladia?”

  The man lifted his hand and pointed toward the south. “It lies upon the far side of the River Irgon,” he said.

  Brenyn looked about him. “And what is this land through which I journey?”

  “This is the land of Farum.”

  Brenyn fixed his gaze upon the old man, ignoring the man’s desolation in the urgency of his own need. “Have you seen two darkings that traveled along this road? One was a darking lord, wearing crimson – and the other drove an oddly-shaped cart.”

  The man gathered himself and thought for a moment, and then nodded as a spasm of raw, stark fear convulsed the muscles of his face. “Three, maybe four days gone,” he answered. He pointed north. “They went toward the land of Partha.”

  Brenyn leaned forward, intent and anxious. “Did you see them return along this road?”

  “No.”

  At this single word, Brenyn’s heart caught. Had he lost them somehow? Had they turned off another way? – upon some side road that he had missed?

  Desperation hardened his tone. “Are you certain?”

  The man looked up at him as suspicion seeped into his eyes. “Why do you seek the darkings?” He asked, and then his gaze took in Brenyn’s bow, sword, and shield. The man stepped away. “Are you in league with them?”

  Brenyn’s gaze hardened to match his voice. “I am not,” he answered harshly. “I want to catch up to them that I may slay them. Did you not see them return along this road?”

  The man shook his head. “Nay, I did not, but I only arrived back in Kaitun this morning. I was away visiting my daughter.”

  “Kaitun?”

  “That is the name of this town,” the man told him. He gazed at Brenyn with incredulous eyes while his head swiveled back and forth. “No man can slay a darking,” he said. “No man ever has.”

  “Then I will be the first to do so,” Brenyn answered. “Where does this road go?”

  The man pointed southward. “It goes unto Gravelton and then crosses over the River Irgon some fifty miles to the south.”

  “Did the two darkings go that way, do you think?”

  The man spread his hands wide. “How could I know such a thing?” He wondered.

  Brenyn scowled at him. “At least answer me this – would anyone traveling this road be likely to go in any direction other than toward Gravelton and the river?”

  The man shook his head again. “There are many roads that cross this land,” he replied. “I cannot know where anyone would go. If they meant to go into Paladia, they would have gone beyond Gravelton and to the river bridge.”

  Brenyn felt frustration mingled with fear for Emi rise within him. “Is this the main road that crosses Farum?”

  Once more, the man shook his head and indicated the south. “There is a junction of roads at Gravelton, thirty miles on. This road continues south and the other goes east and west.”

  “And which road would the darkings be most likely to take – south, east, or west?” Brenyn demanded.

  “How could I know?” The man insisted. He seemed to sense Brenyn’s rising hostility, making him afraid. “I have never seen a darking in this part of the world before four days ago. When the darking lord passed by, and then the Paladians came and burned the town, I assumed it was the darkings had brought them. That is what they do – bring war and ruin.”

  “Whence do the darkings arise? – from the east, the west, or the south?” Brenyn pressed him, desperation hardening his tone.

  The man stepped back further. “I know not. Please, I can see that you are a soldier. I beg you; do not harm me.”

  Brenyn shook his head, as the desolation of uncertainty rose within him. “I will not harm you, sir – but I must know where the darking lord and the darking driving the cart have gone.”

  “They came from the south,” the man replied. “And if they have returned along this road as you say, then they must have gone back into the south. I know nothing further.”

  “And there is a major crossroads at this town of Gravelton?”

  The man nodded, anxious to please the dangerous looking stranger. “It may be, sir, that someone there, in Gravelton, saw whence the darking lord came.”

  “Yes,” Brenyn answered, seizing at once upon this hopeful suggestion. “Yes, that is possible.”

  Without another word, he urged Noris toward the south.

  Alternately cantering, trotting, and walking, letting Noris quench his thirst whenever they chanced upon a stream, Brenyn hastened southward as the sun climbed the sky. Something over two hours later, the structures of a large town began to show upon the horizon.

  And here, at the outskirts of this larger town, Brenyn was halted by soldiers. A hard-eyed sergeant, surrounded by a cohort of armed men, stepped into the road, preventing him.

  The sergeant looked him over, noting the weaponry. “Who are you, and what do you do here?” He demanded.

  “My name is Brenyn,” Brenyn answered. “I am from the land of Vicundium, in the north. I am following two darkings, a darking lord, and another driving a cart.”

  This declaration genuinely shocked the sergeant. “You are following darkings? Why?”

  “They have taken something that is precious to me,” Brenyn told him. “I mean to catch them and slay them.”

  The sergeant’s gaze narrowed in frank disbelief. “You? Slay a darking? What? – be you a wizard, then?”

  “I am no wizard,” Brenyn answered, “but a man in search of vengeance. And I have no time to dissemble. Did the darkings pass this way?”

  The sergeant, his gaze yet narrowed in doubt, nodded. “The darkings passed through here yesterday about mid-day and went into the city.”

  Brenyn lifted his gaze and looked past him along the street that went into the city between high buildings. “Are they yet inside the city?”

  “How would I know?” Demanded the sergeant. “They went past me yesterday and I was glad to see the backside of them.”

  Brenyn raised his hand in impatience and gestured along the street. “May I go and see?”

  “He might be a spy, sergeant, from Paladia,” one of the men standing nearby stated.

  “Indeed,” the sergeant agreed. His gaze roved over Brenyn’s weaponry and clothing and he frowned with doubt. “He looks like a farmer – with fine weaponry, true, but a farmer, nonetheless. And just how and where did you acquire such fine weapons, friend?” The sergeant extended his hand. “I will take those, if you please.”

  “Yes,” Brenyn agreed. “You will have to take them.”

  Surprised at Brenyn’s hard reply and the harsh insinuation inherent in it, the sergeant dropped his hand and looked around at his companions. “Will you fight all six of us?”

  “If I must,” Brenyn answered.

  “You m
ust have great confidence in your swordsmanship,” the sergeant suggested.

  “I have never wielded a sword,” Brenyn stated plainly. “This was my father’s. Even so, you will have to wrest it from me. I must catch the darkings and recover that which was taken from me.”

  At this blunt, honest reply, the sergeant lowered his hand, stepped back a pace, and studied Brenyn quizzically. “You are truly chasing the darkings that passed by here yesterday?”

  “They took something that is very precious to me,” Brenyn repeated.

  The sergeant’s gaze narrowed again. “You swear that you are not from Paladia?”

  “I have never seen Paladia,” Brenyn replied in irritation. “I am from the land of Vicundium, and I must hasten if I am to catch the darkings.”

  “You are truly going to attempt to slay a darking lord?”

  “I will slay him,” Brenyn corrected him.

  “And you have never wielded a sword?”

  “No,” Brenyn confessed yet again. “Nevertheless, I will slay them and take from them that which is precious to me.”

  “Well, it will be fun to watch you try, anyway.” The sergeant stepped aside and swept his hand toward the city’s interior. “None here have any love for darkings. I wish you the best. And you will need your weaponry. Go, and may fortune aid you.”

  Brenyn nodded shortly and spurred Noris into the city.

  14.

  The city of Gravelton was a large city, larger, certainly, than anything Brenyn had ever seen or even imagined, but he took little notice of the grand structures and bustling population of the place. Instead, he asked the same question of everyone he passed.

  “Have you seen a darking lord and another driving a cart?”

  Most ignored him and hurried away. A few took the time to shake their heads. One or two simply motioned toward the south. These few gave Brenyn the only hope he found, and he kept moving southward through the city.

  Eventually, he came to a junction of two wide streets – that upon which he traveled, which was oriented toward the south, and another that traversed it from east to west.

  Here, he halted while his heart sank in despair.

  If the darkings were yet in this broad city; in which direction would he find them? And if they had simply travelled through; then where would they have gone? – on toward the south, or toward one of the other points of the compass?

  The dark clouds of despondency began to fill his mind, kill his hope, and blacken his thoughts.

  Where had they taken Emi?

  Desperate, he began to circle the intersection of the roads, questioning every one that passed him in any direction. “Did you see two darkings pass through here yesterday?”

  At last fortune aided him. One of the shopkeepers whose place of business fronted one corner of the junction of the streets came out of his shop and began to sweep the walkway in front.

  Brenyn rode over to him. “Did you see two darkings pass this way yesterday?”

  The man stiffened.

  Slowly, then, he nodded. “One was a lord – I’ve never seen a lord before.”

  Brenyn leaned down from the saddle with hope mingling once more with the terrible dread that pervaded him. “Where did they go?”

  The shopkeeper blanched and retreated from before the force of Brenyn’s emotion. He lifted his hand and pointed. “South,” he said. “They went south.”

  “Out of the city?”

  The man shook his head. “I do not know – but why would they stay? Darkings never stay around people,” the man went on, “they come, they bring trouble, war, and death, and they leave.”

  Brenyn seized on this as hope was reborn within him.

  Immediately, he straightened up and urged Noris toward the southern limits of the city, racing as fast as he dared among the people and horses and carts that thronged the streets. There was a guard station at the southern edge of the city as well, with a larger contingent of soldiers, but they were intent on questioning those attempting to enter the city rather than those trying to leave.

  Brenyn was allowed to pass unmolested.

  He hastened toward the south, across countryside that was blanketed with farms, villages, and larger towns. As he progressed further to the south, however, he found that several of the towns and villages had been razed and burned along with the farmsteads that surrounded them. Brenyn had never witnessed war, but he knew instinctively that he was looking upon the results of it.

  Once, about mid-afternoon, he came upon an elderly farmer standing in front of his home, a rather large wooden affair that had somehow managed to avoid the brunt of the martial activities that had ravaged most of the countryside round about.

  Brenyn reined in Noris and greeted the man. “Did you see two darkings pass along this road?” He asked.

  The old man nodded. “Yesterday, at eventide.” He lifted his hand and pointed south. “They went toward the river bridge. And then the army went by this morning,” the man added. He examined Brenyn, noting the weaponry. “If you want to catch the army, you’d better hurry. They will have crossed into Paladia by now.”

  Brenyn shook his head. “I want to catch the darkings. They went south?”

  The old man stared. “The darkings? Why?”

  “I have no time to explain,” Brenyn replied. “The darkings went toward the bridge?”

  “Yes,” the man affirmed. “They would have crossed during the night, I imagine. Both ends of the bridge are well-guarded, but no one tells darkings where they may go.”

  “Does this road go anywhere except across the bridge?”

  “No.”

  Brenyn nodded his thanks and then once more urged Noris onward.

  Late in that day a black column of smoke rose up in front of him, several miles off. At the same time, a large cloud of dust hove into view, off to the right, over to the southwest. He watched both the back smoke to his front and the cloud of dust to the southwest, wondering, while he hurried on. Soon, he realized that, while whatever produced the smoke that rose to his front was stationary, whatever caused the huge cloud of dust was not; for it continually moved away from the road and toward the west.

  At evening, he came to the banks of a broad and deep, slow-moving river, and discovered the reason for the smoke. The bridge that spanned that river, constructed of wooden beams upon pylons of stone, was burning. Most of the wooden sections, including the roadway, had already collapsed into the heavy current of the river. There was a guard hut at the entrance to the span, but it was now abandoned, having lost its purpose. The road, then, ended here.

  Brenyn stared out at the ruin of the bridge while his heart plunged into black depths of despair.

  Had the darkings truly crossed last night, as the old farmer stated? And had they accomplished that crossing before the bridge was set aflame? Was he now separated from Emi by not only miles of unknown earth but also by a mile of deep flowing water?

  In stark desperation, he rode to the very edge of the mighty stream and studied the heavy current. Then he looked toward the far shore, at least a mile away. Could he swim it? – While retaining possession of his weaponry? What about Noris? Could his mount swim such a distance through deep, powerful, and roiling waters?

  Studying the vast and mighty current that swept past him from the east and toward the west, Brenyn realized with deepening anguish that the answers to each and all these questions was – no.

  The river was too wide, and too deep. He must find a way around. He wheeled Noris about and went back to the roadway.

  There was a sort of dirt track, less than a road but more than a path, that ran along the riverbank in both directions. To the east, it showed signs that carts often traveled along it. To the west, it showed the recent and countless imprints of many booted feet.

  Brenyn lifted his gaze and looked west, to where the broad column of thick dust rose up and befouled the sky. The Farumite army, prevented from crossing over the river by the burning of the bridge, had evidently gone
west to seek another way across.

  Should he follow? Brenyn wondered. Or would he become embroiled in war and his quest to find Emi be lost?

  While he pondered this, his anxiety rising with the passing of each minute of uncertainty, a farmer rode up from the east in an oxcart and turned north upon the road. At once, Brenyn hailed the man, causing him to halt and look back. Brenyn rode over to him.

  “When was this bridge set afire?” He asked.

  “This morning,” the man answered. “The Paladians burned it to keep our lads from crossing over.”

  “Is there another way across the river?” Brenyn asked. “I must get to the other side.”

  At once, the man’s gaze narrowed with suspicion and fear. “Why? Are you Paladian?”

  “No, I am from Vicundium. Is there another way across?”

  The man shook his head. “Why go across? – that’s Paladia over there, and we are at war with Paladia.”

  “I am not at war with anyone,” Brenyn replied. “I must get across. Is there another bridge to the east or west that I can use to cross the river?”

  “Not for many leagues in either direction,” the man replied.

  “Then why does the army march west?”

  “They likely go to the seacoast,” the man answered. “There is a bridge there, at Piketon Wall, though I suspect the Paladians will burn it as well. We beat them right enough, at the battle of the dry wells not a fortnight ago,” he said, and he nodded his head with satisfaction. “The Paladians know that if we can move our soldiers across, their people will suffer as they have made ours to suffer.”

  Brenyn cared nothing for this. “What about to the east?” He asked. “Is there a way across the river there? – a ford or bridge?”

  “Not for many leagues,” the man replied. “Not until Hallor.”

  “Hallor?”

  “The Kingdom of Hallor,” the man explained, and then he spat in disgust. “They call it a kingdom, even though it is nothing more than a little mound of hilly earth ruled by a tin horn prince.”

  “Is there a bridge there?” Brenyn pressed him.