Kristo grimaced and nodded. “You’re leaving tomorrow, then?”
“At first light,” Brenyn affirmed.
Kristo slid his gaze toward Johan and then looked back. “Can I come and see you off?”
“I would be honored,” Brenyn answered.
The next morning, as the sky lightened in the east, Brenyn led Noris out of the stables to find Johan and Kristo waiting for him in the twilight.
“Do you have everything you need?” Johan asked.
Brenyn nodded and indicated his pack and the large leather canteen that were tied behind the saddle. “Victuals for two or three weeks at least.”
Kristo held out his hand. “Thank you, Brenyn, for all you have done for Johan – and for all of us.”
Brenyn shook the hand. “You have been my family when I had none,” he replied. “I will return as often as I may.”
“Where do you go now?” Johan asked.
“East,” Brenyn answered, “into Durovia, to see if there be darkings there. Then, I will go south and thence back to the west, below Merkland and Hanfurd and on into Thalia and Gruene ere I turn north and come back once more toward the east.”
“Will you be gone long?”
“I think not,” Brenyn replied. “I mean to move quickly, for I want that no darking should escape me should they travel any road in any of those lands.”
“Be careful, lad,” Kristo said. “The darkings know of you and may hunt you even as you hunt them.”
Brenyn nodded as a cold smile flickered across his face. “I am counting on it,” he answered.
45.
After bidding farewell to Johan and Kristo, Brenyn mounted up and crossed the square to the main east-west thoroughfare where he turned eastward, into the brightening morning. He was past the gates and out onto the prairie before the sun found the sky. Summer was waning and the morning was cool and calm.
Setting Noris to an easy pace, he thought about the future that lay before him and the path that he had chosen to lead him into that future. Before him lay a solitary existence of hunting darkings, slaying all he found, and dwelling alone along the highways and bi-ways of the world as he guarded the borders of princes that would seek peace with their neighbors and freedom for their peoples.
Once, he’d have thought himself blessed beyond measure to dwell in a small corner of the world with Emi, but that dream was gone, destroyed by those that had taken her. Then, for a time, he thought that he would be content to ride with the mercenary band, exacting vengeance upon any darking that crossed his path, and dwelling in Murlet’s peaceful valley until the end of his life.
The discovery of the great power that dwelled inside him had changed everything.
He was now an avenger.
In every way possible, with every opportunity to eliminate a member of the vile race of darkings, he would, for the remainder of his life, attempt to alter the state of the world. And if, someday, the hunt for darkings brought him into direct conflict with the “one” that had produced them and guided them as they oppressed humanity, then he would gladly accept that challenge as well and hope that the strange magic that infused his blood was sufficient to the task. In the end, however, what Brenyn meant to do was not for humanity, but for Emi.
As he thought of her, Brenyn’s heart caught in his chest, and, despite every attempt to drive the thoughts from him, they pressed into his mind, nonetheless.
What had happened to her?
Did she yet live somewhere in the world?
Was she the trophy of the darking lord that had taken her? – displayed like a work of art? – or had she been given as a prize to some subservient human prince?
These were dark thoughts, untenable thoughts, and Brenyn shook himself physically to drive them from him and deliberately turned his mind to contemplations of vengeance, of how he would seek out every darking in the world and slay them without mercy – for vengeance, now, was the sum of his existence.
The sun rose higher as he rode eastward. Before mid-day, he passed the battlefield where he and the others had buried those that had fallen there. Upon either side of the road, farmers labored at harvesting those few crops that remained and had survived the ravages of the conflict. Many worked at rebuilding their barns and homes that had been burned.
Brenyn urged Noris to pick up the pace. He knew not how far it was to the Durovian border, but he was anxious to reach that unknown land and commence his search for darkings to the east of Johan’s principality.
He did not reach the border that day, nor the next, camping both nights next to streams that cut lazily across the broad plains of eastern Magnus.
Upon the morning of the third day, two hours after sunrise, he spied to his front two tall towers, constructed of stone, with an iron gate blocking the road that ran between them. Stone walls, as high as a man, went away from the towers in both directions for some distance. The frontier of Durovia – and the entrance to that land – was marked by the most impressive border post that Brenyn had ever seen.
The Magnus side of the border consisted of a small stone hut with a barrier dropped across the road. The soldiers manning that post knew Brenyn, for he had been with their prince when they were dispatched to their station. After a perfunctory greeting, they raised the barrier to allow him passage and then simply stood aside as he went through.
The men posted upon the Durovian side of the border saw him come and deployed into a semi-circle behind the iron gate that stretched between the towers. An officer, an older man, wearing a jacket with epaulettes, appeared, and moved to the center of the formation of soldiers and watched Brenyn approach.
Brenyn rode Noris up to the gate, reined the horse to a halt and met the gaze of the officer, but did not speak.
There was silence for a moment. The officer glanced along the road behind Brenyn and then looked back.
“For what purpose do you seek entrance to Durovia?” He asked in even tones.
“My name is Brenyn Vagus,” Brenyn answered. “I seek –”
Instantly, the man’s gaze widened, and he stiffened.
“You are Brenyn Vagus?” The man wondered. “Truly?”
Brenyn fixed him with hard eyes. “I am Brenyn Vagus.”
Immediately, the officer spun and motioned for the soldiers to quit the road and then he looked to his right. “Open the gate,” he commanded, “and let this man through.”
Moving to the side of the pavement as the gate began to retract into the tower upon the right side of the road, the officer bowed his head to Brenyn. “We have been told to expect you, sir, and to welcome you to Durovia.” He hesitated and then tendered a question. “Do you require an escort, sir?”
Brenyn nudged Noris past the gateway and then reined him in again. “No,” he answered. “I do not require an escort – but pray tell me where I may find Prince Gatison. Does this road lead to his capitol?”
“It does not, sir,” the officer replied. Looking toward the east, he lifted one hand, pointing along the road. “Before nightfall,” he told Brenyn, “as you journey along this road, you will come to the city of Salonon, where there is a junction with another highway that runs to the south. There are two inns in Salonon, one at the center of the city and one upon the southern limits of the city where you may find lodgings.”
He looked up. “Speak your name as well as that of the prince at either establishment and you will be provided lodgings without charge. The south road goes onward to the city of Padron, where you will find the great hall of Prince Gatison. Padron lies at the base of the hills upon the south side of the vale of the Redstone River.”
The officer asked again. “You do not desire an escort?”
Brenyn shook his head. “I do not, sir, but I thank you for the information.” Then, sensing that the man wished to speak further, Brenyn waited, watching him.
The officer gazed down at the stonework of the road for a moment and then he looked up again, hesitantly meeting Brenyn’s gaze. “Is it true that you
can slay darkings?”
“I can, and I have,” Brenyn replied.
“Even a red darking?” The man persisted.
Brenyn nodded shortly. “I have slain a darking lord.”
The man met Brenyn’s gaze for as long as he dared and then he lowered his head and stepped back. “Welcome to the land of Durovia, sir,” he said. “Prince Gatison has decreed that you not be prevented. Go where you will.”
“Thank you,” Brenyn answered simply and he urged Noris into a trot, going eastward into Durovia. Beyond the frontier, the landscape of Durovia was similar to that of Magnus, with farms spreading away from the road to all horizons and occasional small villages and towns clustered next to the ancient pavement. There was also plentiful evidence of the ruin of the recent war here as well, though the repairing of that destruction had progressed much farther than that of eastern Magnus behind him.
The countryside changed little throughout that day and, as the officer at the border had predicted, he arrived at the town of Salonon near the ending of the day. The gates of the city were open and unguarded, so he went through the streets as the day failed and found the junction, where he turned south.
Ignoring the promise of free lodgings, preferring to avoid human contact, Brenyn rode on out of the city and found a stream lined with trees as the sun set and twilight fell. Avoiding a nearby farmhouse, he left the road and made his way into a stand of trees in a bend in the stream where he made camp for the night.
Before dawn, he was again upon the road, going south, and soon the landscape began to change. He shortly entered a region of low hills, rounded, and mostly covered with prairie grasses. There were farm holdings here as well, but most consisted of herds of cattle and horses, though there was evidence of crops of wheat and corn that had been harvested in the low places along the many streams that wound through these highlands.
Cresting this region of hills just as the sun crossed through the apex of the sky, Brenyn saw a wide valley of rich farmland to his front. A river, its waters glistening in the sun, wound through the valley. Directly south of Brenyn’s vantage, the river looped over next to the hills that defined the valley’s southern extent. A large city sat at the base of the hills on the far side of that curve in the river where a bridge spanned the current – undoubtedly, the city of Padron, where he would find the great hall of Prince Gatison.
He urged Noris onward. Down through the hills they went and reached the valley floor ere another hour had passed. The road went nearly straight across the valley toward the bridge. Halfway across the valley, another road branched off and went toward the west, following the tangent of the mighty stream. Before the sun had slid another hour down the afternoon sky, Brenyn arrived at the near side of the river, where tall gates flanked by high towers guarded either side of the entrance to the span.
The gates were open. Even so, Brenyn was challenged by a cohort of soldiers, several more than had met him at the frontier with Magnus. An elderly officer dressed in finery held up his hand and asked him his reason for seeking entrance.
“My name is Brenyn Vagus,” Brenyn told him, “and I seek an audience with Prince Gatison.”
The officer lowered his hand but said nothing for a moment while he studied Brenyn with narrowed gaze.
“You are he that claims to be a darking slayer?” he asked at last.
“Claims?” Brenyn answered, impatience giving his voice and his gaze a hard edge. “No – I am he who slays darkings.” He raised his hand and indicated the city beyond the bridge. “And if there be darkings in Padron, you may witness their destruction with your own eyes.” His gaze hardened further. “Do I go and see your prince – who has invited me here – or do I go on to the lands to the south and leave you to the will of that foul race?”
The officer raised his hands once more, palms outward. “I beg you, sir, to have patience,” he said. “You seek to enter the presence of my prince, yet I know you not. It is true that Prince Gatison has spoken the name of Brenyn Vagus to me and informed me that he wishes to see the darking slayer should he come to the gates of Padron. But how do I know that you are he?”
“I am Brenyn Vagus,” Brenyn answered.
“But how can I know this?” The officer countered.
Inside Brenyn, impatience devolved into anger. He leaned over the horn of his saddle and fixed the old officer with cold eyes. “Show me where to find a darking,” he said quietly, “and you will know the truth of it. Barring that, draw your swords – you and your men – and challenge me yourselves, and then my horse will trod your lifeless bodies underfoot as I go to speak with your prince – by whose invitation I present myself here today.”
The officer stood in Brenyn’s way for one moment longer, doing his best to meet the cold gray eyes of the younger man, and then he lowered his gaze and moved aside.
“You may pass, sir,” he said. “But you may not enter the city unescorted.” He turned to one of the soldiers. “Go with this man, Captain Evsen; see that he is taken to the great hall.”
Following the captain, Brenyn urged Noris forward, across the span. Below the bridge, the Redstone River, its waters colored by a reddish-brown tint, rolled heavily toward the west, its deep current gurgling softly. Beyond the bridge, the road climbed up at a slight angle and then leveled out again as it entered the city.
The buildings that comprised the capitol of Padron were mostly constructed of stone, all of it tan with a hint of red. Most were square and low, few rose more than two stories, most were single-storied. Ahead, next to the base of the hills at the far side of the city, the palace of Prince Gatison rose up, square and massive.
Brenyn’s guide, Evsen, who had said nothing to him as they made their way through the city, halted near the entrance to the palace and turned and looked at him, extending his hand.
“If you will, sir,” he said, “allow me to take your horse to the stables while you wait here. He will be fed and brushed and cared for until you call for him.”
Nodding, Brenyn dismounted and handed him the reins.
Evsen then turned back again and addressed the guards at the entrance to the hall. “This man is named Brenyn Vagus. Please announce his presence to the prince at once.” While one of the men hurried toward the doors of the great hall, Evsen looked at Brenyn again and bowed his head slightly before leading Noris away. “I beg you, sir, to remain here until summoned.”
Brenyn nodded once more. “I will do so.”
Within moments, the guard reappeared, accompanied by another man clad in robes of purple and gold. The guard returned to his station while the man in purple and gold came up to Brenyn, halted, and studied him closely.
“You are Brenyn Vagus?”
“I am.”
“You will have to surrender your sword and dagger,” the man told Brenyn. “I cannot allow you to enter the presence of the prince so armed.”
Brenyn met his gaze for a moment and then turned toward Captain Evsen who was leading Noris away. “Wait, captain,” he called. “I will be needing my mount. I am not staying.”
Evsen halted and looked back, frowning.
The robed man’s eyes flew wide. “But, sir, Prince Gatison is expecting you at once!”
Brenyn gave him a cold glance, answering nothing, and then moved toward Captain Evsen and Noris.
“Sir!” The robed man called to him. “Hear me! - the prince expects you to come at once.”
Brenyn halted and turned to face him. “As I told your prince upon the road where I met him – I can slay him easily at a moment of my choosing. He is not safe should I seek to take his life though an army stand between him and me. Nor is he at risk should I seek it not, though I stand within sword’s reach of him. I surrender my weapons to no man.”
He turned away.
“Sir.”
Once more, Brenyn halted and looked back.
The man extended his hand, beseechingly. “I beg of you, sir, wait – and I will consult with the prince.”
Bre
nyn looked at Evsen. “Hold my horse just there, captain, until this is decided.” Then he looked back at the robed man. “I will wait.”
The man was gone for but a few minutes and then he came hurrying back out to the gates.
“The prince will see you, sir,” he informed Brenyn, “and you need not surrender your weapons.”
Brenyn nodded shortly and looked at Evsen. “I will call for him anon, captain.”
Turning the other way, he followed the robed man across the courtyard and into the great hall of Prince Gatison. Passing through a narrow anteroom, he entered a surprisingly small hall and found Prince Gatison standing in that empty space in front of a large chair carved from red stone. Though his eyes were cold and expressionless, a smile nonetheless tugged at the corners of the prince’s mouth.
His gaze flicked sideways for a moment at the robed man. “You will have to forgive Counselor Farrick, Brenyn – he was not present at our first meeting and therefore can have no concept of what it is that you can do.” He turned and lifted a hand, indicating two chairs that sat in a small alcove indented into one wall of the hall. “Come; let us commune for a time. Farrick – see that wine is brought.”
“Yes, my lord,” Farrick answered, and he hurried away.
As the counselor hastened away, Gatison laughed quietly. “I have felt the prick of your steel once already,” he said. He looked at Brenyn sidelong. “I am wary of your will, Brenyn Vagus, but I do not fear your weaponry.”
Brenyn nodded but gave no response to this. Instead, he asked, “Are there darkings abroad in Durovia, Your Highness?”
Gatison looked at him with obvious surprise. “You waste no time getting to the meat of things,” he stated. “Are you so anxious to find and slay those creatures?”
“To slay darkings is the reason I exist,” Brenyn replied.
Gatison halted and pivoted to face him. The prince’s eyes were narrowed, and a frown creased his forehead. “The reason –? I asked you this once – I beg permission to ask it again. What are you, Brenyn Vagus?”
“I am a darking slayer.”
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 42