46.
“A darking slayer? That is how you present yourself? – and as nothing else?” Gatison’s frown deepened. “But who – or what – made you thus?”
“I was born thus,” Brenyn told him.
Gatison continued to watch him for a long moment and then he indicated the chairs. “Please, let us sit and commune for a time.”
Farrick returned just then and placed two goblets and a flagon of wine upon a small table that sat between the chairs. He poured a measure of wine into each glass and then he bowed to Gatison and left the room. There was no one else about.
Gatison sipped at his wine with his gaze fixed upon Brenyn.
“I do not understand,” he confessed. “Do you mean that you were born to slay darkings? For if that is so, then someone caused your birth, Brenyn Vagus – the gods, perhaps, looked down upon the earth and saw our distress and sent you to the aid of humanity. Is this your belief?”
“No,” Brenyn admitted. “That is not what I believe. I only know that I can slay darkings and that I mean to do so, until there are none left to trouble the world.”
Gatison’s gaze narrowed and hardened with resolve. “If you can do this, Brenyn Vagus, you will find me the firmest of allies.”
Brenyn sipped at his wine while he studied the man seated across from him. The prince of Durovia met his gaze directly, and in the prince’s steel-colored orbs, Brenyn saw determination, a will of iron, but also a peculiar openness – this man, though ruthless in the waging of war, like Prince Taumus off to the west in Merkland – was also a man of honor. If Brenyn was to forge an island of freedom from the darkings in the midst of a world in ruin, he would be aided in that endeavor by an alliance with such men.
He set down his goblet, stilling holding the prince’s gaze. “Are there darkings in Durovia?” He asked yet again.
Gatison shook his head. “The last darking to enter this hall did so a year gone when that creature insisted that I take up arms against Shammed of Magnus. I thought it strange – for, as I heard the tale, darkings had manipulated events in Magnus that elevated Shammed to the throne. I did not refuse the ‘request’, for a prince, as we know, does not resist the darkings and retain his throne.”
He shrugged. “I delayed for as long as I could, for I had no desire to go to war without cause, but the darking – or Shammed, on his own, perhaps – forced my hand. At the beginning of summer, Shammed’s forces entered Durovia without warning, killing and burning. I knew that both Sira, to the north of Magnus, and Mashad to the south, were ancient enemies of Magnus, and so I sought an alliance with them and went to war.”
He tipped up his wine goblet, drank, set it down again, and continued. “Fortunately, because I had to give the appearance of making ready for war in order to placate the will of the darking that had come to my hall, we were prepared – else the war would have had a different outcome.”
A slight smile found his face. “And then you came, Brenyn Vagus – and everything changed.”
“And the darking has not returned?” Brenyn asked.
“It has not.”
“And you know not where the creature has gone?”
Gatison frowned. “How would I know where they go?” He wondered.
Brenyn studied the prince in silence for a moment, then; “Do you wish to be free of the darkings?” He asked.
Gatison’s response to this was to scowl. “Who would not?” He stated harshly.
“What lands lie to the east of Durovia?” Brenyn asked then.
“The wild lands lie to the east, beyond the Auburn Hills,” the prince replied, and his scowl became a frown. “Why –?”
“The wild lands?” Brenyn interjected.
“It is a region of barren hills and dry stream beds,” Gatison explained. “It is not desert in any true sense, but those land are dry, rocky, and barren, uninhabitable.”
“And beyond the wild lands?” Brenyn persisted.
Gatison shook his head. “Those wilds stretch eastward for many leagues with no roads. I know not what lies beyond them.”
Brenyn found himself intrigued. “Do the darkings come out from the wild lands?” He asked.
“How would I know?” The prince demanded. “There have been two of those creatures that have come to this hall in my time – and both came from the south, from Marsia.”
“Marsia – that is the land that lies to the south of Durovia?” Brenyn asked him.
Gatison frowned. “Yes, Marsia lies to the south. What is the reason for all these questions? What purpose is behind them?”
“There is one question yet, Your Highness,” Brenyn said.
Gatison continued to frown but nodded. “Alright.”
“Do you desire peace with your neighbors?”
“I wish to be left alone,” Gatison replied. “If no one troubles me, then I will trouble no one.” He shrugged. “But, as you know, Brenyn Vagus, the darkings have different ideas.”
In response, Brenyn pressed a finger to the surface of the table. Moving the finger from his right to his left slowly, he said, “Hanfurd, Merkland, Morilund, Fralun, Magnus, and Durovia. Six lands, six princes, six neighbors, all desiring peace, all frustrated by the will of the darkings.”
He met Gatison’s gaze and his gray eyes grew cold and hard. “I mean to frustrate the will of the darkings. I mean to slay all that I find in these lands and in all the lands upon their borders. I mean to make peace possible in this part of the world.”
Brenyn went silent then and Gatison watched him for a time without speaking, but his eyes slowly brightened, as if a lamp had been lit in those steely depths.
“You can do this, Brenyn Vagus?”
“I slay darkings, Your Highness,” Brenyn answered. “I will travel these lands from east to west and back again and will slay all that I find. Whether peace will then prevail depends upon you and those other princes.”
Gatison leaned toward him. “If you can, indeed, remove the darkings, Brenyn Vagus, I, for one, will make peace with all that will make peace with me.” He straightened up again. “But what, and if, a darking comes to my hall while you are in the west, many leagues from this place?”
“Do that which you have already done,” Brenyn told him. “Agree with the will of the darking – whatever it asks of you – but delay; and send a rider into the western lands who will spread the rumor of the darking. I will hear of it, and I will come.”
“But hear me, Your Highness,” he went on, “I mean to draw the eye of the darkings and their lords – and their master – upon me and away from you and the other princes. It is my hope that they will hunt me, even as I hunt them, leaving you unmolested.”
Gatison’s eyes widened. “The darkings have a master?”
“I do not know,” Brenyn admitted. “But someone certainly guides their actions, for their purposes, darkings and their lords alike, ever seek the same ends – war and death and misery.”
“If there be such an entity,” Gatison wondered, “what is that entity gained by unleashing a plague of war and ruin across the face of the earth? How is he profited?”
“I have not the answer to that question,” Brenyn admitted. “But I mean to seek it out.”
A smile came over Prince Gatison’s features then, a genuine expression of friendship. “The manner of our meeting, Brenyn Vagus,” he said, “might have destined us for enmity. But no; we will not be enemies – indeed, wizard, sorcerer, magician, whatever you are; I am glad that you have come into the world. I will be your friend, if you will allow it. And I will help you in any way that is within my power to do.”
Brenyn stood, causing the prince to come to his feet as well.
“I will go, then,” Brenyn said, “south, into Marsia, and then west, and do what I must, but I will travel with all speed and return again eastward as soon as I may – before winter, if it be possible.”
Gatison frowned. “The day wanes – will not you stay and enjoy the hospitality of my hall?”
Brenyn smiled but shook his head. “There are yet a few hours in this day, and I must use every hour wisely, but I will return when I can.”
Gatison held out his hand. He winced as Brenyn shook it, and his eyes widened slightly, though he made no mention of the odd “tingling” – he evidently assumed that any creature like unto Brenyn would necessarily emanate power.
“You will ever find a friend awaiting you in Durovia, Brenyn Vagus,” he said.
47.
The sun was but three hours in the sky when Brenyn and Noris crossed the bridge over the Redstone River once more and turned westward, upon the road that Prince Gatison had told him followed the river as it went. The Redstone flowed westward for several miles as it trended down the valley from Padron and then cut southward through the hills and thence flowed out into the plains of Marsia.
The river had cut a canyon deep into the highlands that rose upon the south of Durovia. Brenyn entered that canyon just as the sun slipped below the horizon. He found a copse of trees growing between the road and the current’s edge where a brook tumbled down from the rocky heights. The evening was warm despite the lateness of the year, so he did not start a fire. Instead, after turning Noris loose to graze upon the grasses that grew by the stream, he sat upon a rock by the river and contemplated the wide current of the Redstone while night deepened around him.
As he sat in the darkness and listened to the muted murmur of the heavy current flowing by just paces away, he pondered the circumstances that had led to him camping alone in the gloom of a canyon beside an unfamiliar river in an unknown part of the world and was surprised to discover that a curious sort of contentment resided within him.
For he had found his purpose.
It had cost him much.
Emi was lost forever, and as a consequence, his heart had grown cold – becoming nothing more than a vital yet lifeless organ whose only purpose was to keep his body strong and his eye sharp that he might find and slay every member of the race that had taken her from him.
Even so, he was pleased that the power within him, when employed avenging the loss of the woman he had loved, would also help free the world from tyranny. His only hope now was that his cold and loveless heart would beat long enough to allow him to rid the entire world of the foul race that oppressed it. And if, indeed, the darkings had a master, he would seek out and destroy that dark and wicked entity as well.
He had found his purpose and was content.
The stars were bright in the moonless black overhead when Brenyn at last lay down his head and slept.
Twilight yet held sway in the canyon the next morning when he and Noris were again upon the road, going south. The canyon walls upon either side of the Redstone grew higher and steeper throughout the morning and the river itself rushed and tumbled southward in a frothing series of rapids. By mid-day, however, the landscape began to change; the walls bent away at gentler angles and the heavy current of the river deepened, broadened out, and slowed down. Forests thickened upon the slopes.
Before another hour passed, the canyon failed; upon either side the hills angled away and the Redstone flowed out into a broad plain, green and fair. There was a village, here, by the road, at the southern base of the hills, surrounded by farmland.
There was no border post, nor had he passed one anywhere in the canyon behind him, yet, as he rode into the village, Brenyn was surprised to see the few people that were abroad in the main street scuttle quickly out of his way to disappear within the houses and places of business that fronted the main street.
The fear that they shared was palpable, like the heavy scent of smoke from an unseen fire pervading the air.
He reined Noris to halt and looked about him, studying the buildings of the village. All were constructed of stone, small and single-storied, though well-built and well-maintained. There were no obvious signs of the ravages of war, yet the people that dwelled here ran away in fear from a single mounted man.
Why?
It was then that he felt the prickling in his blood and bones.
There was a creature of magic nearby.
Sitting very still and quiet upon Noris, he closed his eyes and concentrated.
While he sat silent and still, feeling about him for the source of that which caused the sensation in his bones and musculature, the feeling began to fade. Whatever caused it was moving away.
Brenyn opened his eyes and looked about him once more, carefully, peering past the houses and other buildings and out onto the prairie beyond. Then he studied the road where it went away from him toward the far side of the hamlet.
It was then that he saw the junction.
Just at the south end of the village, the road that had become its main street abruptly ended where a broad, and obviously main road passed by, running east and west.
And whatever aroused the sensation of magic in Brenyn had apparently passed by and was moving away. Spurring Noris to a trot, he quickly gained that road and looked both ways upon it, first toward the east and then back to the west. There, in the distance, riding away from him upon the road that ran to the west across the rolling grasslands, was a dark figure upon a black horse.
A darking.
Immediately, Brenyn urged Noris into a gallop.
He did not waste effort drawing his sword or reaching back for his shield, for he knew now that, while some of the magic might reside in the weapons his mother had fashioned for his father, most was in his blood. He leaned forward and lay low over Noris’ neck as the horse chased down the darking. Before he closed to within a hundred yards of the darking, the creature turned its head and looked back.
Brenyn pulled on Noris’ reins, expecting the creature to turn and attack and he did not want to put the horse at risk of the fiend’s power. But the darking did not turn to face him.
It studied him for one long moment and then turned away and urged its mount into a full gallop. Brenyn, surprised by the darking’s behavior, realized with a shock that the creature had recognized him and feared him.
And now it fled from him.
For a moment, he stared, stunned.
He had never viewed them as being autonomous, but rather as sinister segments of something much larger, with no thoughts of their own, ever guided by that larger something. But this darking, apparently on its own, recognized him, feared him, and fled.
Realizing that the darking would escape him, Brenyn urged Noris once more into a full gallop. Across the plains they raced, he and the darking, but, though Noris was long-legged, strong, and fast, he gained nothing on the darking’s horse.
Noris began to labor.
Brenyn realized that the horse could not continue the mad chase across the prairie much longer. The effort would kill him.
There was but one option left to him. Reining Noris to a halt, he drew an arrow from the quiver tied to the back of the saddle, leapt from the back of the heaving horse, and yanked his bow from his around his neck. The darking was yet barely within bowshot.
But, he wondered, would an arrow, even one launched from his mother’s rune-carved bow, slay a darking? He would have but one chance to discover the answer. Nocking the arrow, he drew in a deep breath, held it, and took aim, gauging the speed with which the creature fled. He released.
The missile, fired from the powerful bow that had been crafted by his mother, sped through the air in a shallow arc, fast as lightning, gleaming in the sun as if charged by magic, and struck the darking high up on its back.
The darking jerked, leaned forward, straightened up again while its horse continued to race away, and then, after weaving slowly from side to side, it toppled onto the pavement. Its horse continued to run onward without its rider.
Brenyn quickly mounted upon Noris once more and urged the horse into a sustainable trot. Up ahead, the darking lay upon the roadway, motionless. It occurred to Brenyn that he would at last be allowed to look upon whatever alien features the creatures hid beneath their masking cloths.
But then, as he ap
proached where the darking lay, tendrils of smoke began to arise from its clothing, its arms and its legs. Within moments, the tendrils of smoke thickened and became a cloud, obscuring the body of the creature. Brenyn urged Noris to quicken his pace but it was to no avail.
The darking’s body burst into a cloud of noxious black vapor and began to disintegrate. Brenyn leapt from Noris’ back and raced to where it lay upon the roadway. He was too late; the darking was being consumed. It had not used its weapon against him; even so, the result was the same as with all the others.
Within moments, the creature was no more than a smoking stain upon the ancient stonework. Even its weapon, unless it was yet attached to the darking’s fleeing horse, had vanished.
Gazing down upon the stain on the road left by the ruin of the darking, he considered the fact that the darking had fled from him. He had hoped that they would seek him out, providing him with more opportunities to reduce their numbers. But this one had run from him – apparently in fear for its existence. And that was yet another startling thought. Did each darking have such self-awareness that it feared for its life, its own existence?
As he pondered these things, Brenyn abruptly felt the tingle, a low thrumming, start once more, along his nerve endings and in his bones. It was faint, but unmistakable.
Startled, he lifted his gaze and looked along the road toward the west. Nothing moved anywhere upon that long straight stretch of pavement. Pivoting, he looked the other way. Again, nothing could be seen. Turning slowly, he examined the countryside.
There was nothing upon the prairie to the south of the road but a barn and a farmstead that stood some distance back from the pavement. Turning further, he looked the other way, to the north. There was nothing to the north, between him and the far hills, but rolling level grassland and a single grove of tall, old oaks.
And there, in that grove, he found the source of the tingling. One oak, a massive tree that stood upon the edge of the grove, was dead, its bare limbs gleaming almost white in the bright sun of mid-day. High up on one of that tree’s tallest limbs, a raven’s black feathers gleamed darkly and its eye glinted bright as it gazed back at Brenyn with its head turned to one side.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 43