Watching that bird, Brenyn felt an odd coldness settle in his soul. The raven was larger than most of its kin, like the one that had shown such interest in him and Emi all those years ago, and that which had studied him upon the battlefield in Gruene.
The thought came that he should slay the creature, for it was undoubtedly connected in some mysterious way to the darkings. Just then, the raven lifted up and flew toward him, gliding low over the prairie. Quickly, Brenyn moved toward Noris, unlimbered his bow from the saddle horn and slung the quiver over his shoulder. Then nocking an arrow, he stepped away from the horse, raised his bow and waited for the bird to come within range.
But the raven seemed to read his intentions. Before it came close enough for a clean arrowshot, it beat its wings and lifted up, swinging away toward the west. It flew along the tangent of the roadway, where the darking’s horse had fled. Within minutes, the bird had disappeared over the western plains.
As it went from view, the tingling in Brenyn’s nerves and bones subsided, but the coldness that had invaded his being did not dissipate with the vanishing of the raven across the grasslands.
Instead, he felt as if, in some inexplicable way, his innermost thoughts had been violated by the gaze of the creature, as if it had looked inside his mind and viewed his most secret thoughts. How that might have occurred, or what it was that made him feel as if it had, he could not say. After scanning the sky once more, he turned back and again studied the gray stain upon the stonework where the darking had perished.
Would every darking now flee from him as this one had, he wondered, making him the hunter and the vile creatures his prey? Would the darkings, and their lords, refrain from launching attacks against him, and even avoid him? If so, then two things were true.
First, if the darkings began to assiduously avoid him, then it would follow that they would avoid the lands through which he traveled, making safe the thrones of those princes to whom he had given his promise, which was a good thing.
The second thing was more problematic.
Brenyn could no longer simply travel the ancient highways of the world, hoping to encounter one of the creatures. He must now become a hunter indeed and learn to seek them out, ambush them when possible, and travel further than he had planned.
For now, there was no reason to tarry. The darking was no more, and its horse had raced away, out of sight across the prairie. Whatever strange visage had lurked beneath the white mask of the creature would remain a mystery.
Curious, he knelt down and studied the dark stain where the darking had died.
Had his arrow done this, he wondered?
Was his magic somehow imparted to any and every weapon he touched? – always rendering the same result? Or did the “one” that ruled the creatures cause their strange immolation whenever one of them was slain, concealing what they were from the world?
And if so – why? Was the visage that was obscured by the masking cloths so hideous, so alien, that it could not be revealed?
There was yet one consideration more – would any arrow, launched from any weapon, slay a darking? Were they vulnerable to human weapons, and this fact had simply never been known?
Or was it because this missile – which had vanished with the immolation of the darking – had been fired from his bow, touched by his hand, and therefore imbued with his magic?
All these questions could not now be answered. All Brenyn could do was continue upon his quest to rid this part of the world of the creatures, exacting his revenge and protecting the peoples of the lands through which he travelled.
One thing was certain – the race of darkings knew who he was, and what it was that he could do. His self-appointed mission had just become more difficult.
48.
For the remainder of that day, as he rode westward, Brenyn searched the prairie to the north and the south of the road with his eyes, seeking the darking’s mount that had raced away when the darking was slain, but it did not re-appear.
The hills off to the north moved further away from the road that went fairly straight into the west. Strangely, the level plains, covered in tall grasses that apparently sprouted from rich soils, did not support an abundance of farms. Those holdings that he passed sat at a distance from the road, accessed via dirt lanes, and were mainly ranches with barns and corrals, though few cattle or horses were anywhere about. The land of Marsia was oddly quiet.
An hour before sunset, he came to a larger town that spread away upon both sides of the road. And here, in this place, there was evidence of war. Many of the buildings, especially those near the center of town, had been burned. Few of the houses, except upon the outskirts of the town, showed signs of habitation, and no one was abroad in the main street.
Brenyn felt as if there were more than a few pairs of eyes, hidden in the shadows behind windows and doors, that looked at him, and wondered at his presence there, but he saw no one.
There was no reason to stay, and ahead of him, across the level landscape, the sun dropped toward the horizon. He spoke to Noris and they moved on. As night fell and closed in, he found an abandoned barn where there was a bit of hay in the loft for Noris. The house had been burned. No one appeared to challenge him.
Dawn found him moving once more to the west. Upon the prairie, farms gradually increased in number as they progressed westward. He passed through two more sizeable towns scarred by the ravages of war, though there were yet people dwelling in both.
Just after mid-day, he came to a junction where, once again, the configuration of the pavement pointed toward the east, and a broad, well-traveled road branched off toward the south. Brenyn hesitated for a few moments, but after consideration, he kept going westward, for he was more anxious to keep his promises to guard the borders of those prince’s that he knew than he was to seek out the rulers of lands that were unknown to him.
When the sun had declined halfway through the afternoon sky, he came to a border post which, based on the cartography of this region of the world described to him by Gatison, he believed to be the frontier between Marsia and the land of Mashad, the ancient enemy of Magnus, whose army, along with the armies of Sira and Prince Gatison, Brenyn had expelled from Magnus.
The post upon the Marsian side, strangely, was unmanned but there was a cadre of soldiers guarding the entrance to Mashad. A hard-eyed sergeant, accompanied by six men, stood behind the barrier and watched him come.
Brenyn rode Noris close to the barrier and halted, meeting the sergeant’s gaze. For a long moment, neither spoke.
“State your business, Marsian,” the sergeant demanded.
“I am not of Marsia,” Brenyn answered evenly.
The sergeant’s hard eyes narrowed even as a sardonic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You come out from Marsia,” he pointed out.
“I have journeyed through this land,” Brenyn agreed, “but I am not of it.” In no mood to tolerate delay, he folded his hands upon the pommel and fixed the sergeant’s cynical gaze with hardened eyes. “And I mean to pass through Mashad,” he stated in cold tones.
“Do you now?” The sergeant challenged him. “And if you come not out from Marsia – come you forth out of Beleden, then?” As he asked this, the sergeant made a quick motion with his hand and the soldiers standing behind him raised their weapons. “Be you one of those Beledenian criminals that have savaged the land of Marsia without pity?”
Brenyn smiled a cryptic smile. “Nay, my friend,” he replied quietly. “I have come even now from the hall of Prince Gatison of Durovia. My name is Brenyn Vagus.”
At once, the hardness in the man’s gaze melted away, and he took an involuntary step back. “Be you the darking slayer?”
“I am he.”
The sergeant swallowed and then moved quickly to the side of the road. “Raise the barrier,” he commanded, “and let this man pass. Quickly.”
The barrier went up, but Brenyn and Noris did not move. Surprised, the sergeant, whose attitude had dissolved into one
of abject accommodation, dared to meet his gaze once more.
“Have darkings passed this way?” Brenyn asked.
The sergeant shook his head. “Nay, sir – we have seen no darkings in more than a year.”
“Have you seen a black horse, devoid of a rider?”
The sergeant frowned. “Nay, we have not.”
“Beware of that horse, should it come this way,” Brenyn told him, “and treat it with care. It is the mount of a darking who is no more.”
The man’s eyes flew wide and he glanced along the road to the east behind Brenyn. “You slew a darking upon the road?”
Brenyn nodded. “But the creature’s mount escaped me. No doubt it has gone out onto the prairie, but it may come this way.”
“We will treat the animal with great care, should it come,” the sergeant agreed.
Brenyn nodded once more and urged Noris forward.
He did not look back as he entered the land of Mashad.
The landscape of Mashad, like Marsia behind him, was flat, covered in grasses, with occasional farms dotting the countryside. To the north, the hills, low and brown, receded further. As he rode west, however, the endless grasses began to give way to numerous farms, and streams, flowing north to south, increased in number as well. Ahead, a range of mountains peered above the plains.
At mid-morning, he came to a sizeable town. As with every other town in this part of the world, there was ample evidence of the ravages of war, though many of the buildings had been repaired or were well along in the process of being restored and there were people abroad in the street of the town. Most, after a perfunctory glance, paid little attention to Brenyn other than avoiding the path of his mount as it passed along the street.
At the center of this town, there was a crossroads. Like all other junctions in the roads laid down by the ancients, it had been constructed with the curious arrow-like shape, pointing eastward.
Brenyn paused for a moment in the center of the junction and looked first northward and then southward along the bisecting highway, but then, after consideration, moved on toward the west. Based upon his limited knowledge of the world, he was passing even now to the south of Magnus, and the mountains ahead marked the border with either Fralun or Worgunia. Beyond them would lie the lands of Illnius, Morilund, and Merkland, where he meant to go in search of darkings.
The landscape of Mashad here in the west of the land, was very like Magnus to the north, comprised of rich farmland dotted with villages and towns. The level plains began to undulate as he drew nearer to the mountains, which were a southern extension of the Metallum range that he had crossed with Murlet and the band only weeks before. Brenyn traveled for four days across Mashad, camping at night alongside streams or in groves of trees, passing through two large towns and numerous villages, and coming at last into the foothills at the feet of the mountains.
Three days more and he had crossed through the Metallums and entered the land of Worgunia, two hours after sunrise upon the third day. At the border, Brenyn discovered, once again, that his fame had reached there ahead of him and that his name gave him unquestioned access, even as it elicited looks of awe and fear.
From the soldiers that manned the Worgunian side of the frontier, he learned that the capitol city of Worgunia, a city named Eglia where he would find the prince of this land, Palator, could be reached by turning southward as he reached the town of Dermark, immediately ahead.
An hour west of the frontier, just before mid-day, he came to the limits of Dermark, a large town with tall buildings clustered about its center. When he entered the town, however, it appeared deserted. Though few of the buildings showed scars from the ruin of war, and many had been obviously repaired, no one was about in the streets. The town was eerily silent.
As he moved on into the settlement though, along the road that had become its main street, it became obvious that the citizens were there, but in hiding. Why, he knew not, but there were faces that he glimpsed through the windows here and there and even an occasional door that was cracked just wide enough to allow those concealing themselves inside to peer out at him.
The fear was palpable.
It seemed to pervade the air itself.
Made abruptly wary, he slowed Noris to a walk and began watching the side streets and the dark alleys that ran back between the houses for signs of whatever had frightened these people.
By the time Brenyn reached the junction at the center of the town, a crossing of two ancient roads surrounded by tall places of business, all of them closed and silent, he had discovered nothing that might explain the terror that gripped the inhabitants of this town.
In the middle of the junction, Brenyn reined Noris to a halt and looked each way along the roads that led out from the crossing.
Nothing was in view anywhere.
The roads were free of traffic for as far as he could see.
Looking closer, he studied the tall buildings that fronted the corners of the junction, wondering at the closed doors and lack of commercial activity, though the morning was bright and fair. What had occurred here, he wondered, to make the citizens of Dermark behave thus? There were people inside each of those buildings – he could see them peering at him through the glass of the windows.
Pivoting, he examined the four roads that led away in each direction once more, seeking the reason for the terror that gripped this town, rumor of an approaching enemy army perhaps.
But nothing presented itself to his ears or his eyes.
In that moment, however, Brenyn became aware of the very slight thrumming that resonated along his nerve ways. It was low, a barely perceptible tingle, but it was there. And, when he became aware of that tingling, it seemed to become stronger. After a few moments, however, he realized that it was not so.
In truth, it was fading, if ever so slowly.
Abruptly, Brenyn felt his desire to know what troubled the people of this town strengthen into a need to know.
Since no one would come out to speak with him, he would have to enter one of these places of business if he were to discover the cause of the town’s distress.
Examining the shuttered places of business surrounding the junction once more, he chose the market that sat upon the north and west of the crossroads, for there were more faces that watched him from that shadowed interior than from any other building.
Dismounting, Brenyn led Noris to that building and tied the horse to the railing in front. Before he could enter, however, the door of the place was cracked open a few inches and the terrified face of a man peered out at him.
“Have they gone?” The man asked in a frightened whisper.
Brenyn frowned at him. “Who?”
“The red darkings,” the man answered. “Have they gone?”
Brenyn glanced about him once more and then looked back, shaking his head. “There are no darkings about.”
The door opened a few inches more and the man cast quick glances to the left and then to the right, like a frightened bird. Then he looked back at Brenyn.
“Truly?” He asked. “They have gone?”
Brenyn felt deep inside himself and found that the tingle had faded further. The cause of that tingle was drawing away from this place. He looked hard at the man. “There were darkings here?”
The man nodded and opened the door a bit wider, though he remained inside. “Three red darkings,” he told Brenyn, and he shoved one arm out through the opening and indicated the junction at the town’s center. “They came from the south and stopped just there – right there.”
Brenyn stared at the man. “Red darkings? There were three darking lords here? – in this town?”
The man moved part of his body out through the opening and bent his head, looking east and west along the street. Then he looked back at Brenyn. “I’ve never seen a red darking,” he stated.
“There were three?” Brenyn demanded.
The man nodded his head vigorously. He swallowed and his wide eyes glanced each way yet
again. “Three – yes,” he insisted. “There were three red darkings here, not a half hour gone.”
Brenyn looked around. “I see them not. Which way did they go? – did you see?”
The man moved a bit further out from the doorway. “You are certain they have gone?”
“I see them not,” Brenyn told him. “You say they came from the south?”
Cautiously, the man moved outside, glancing quickly each way along the street, but especially toward the west.
“Tell me of the darkings,” Brenyn demanded.
The man glanced westward once more and then pointed at the road leading southward from the city center.
“They came from the south,” he told Brenyn, “Perhaps three hours after sunrise – an hour gone.” He pointed at the junction yet again. “They tarried there, in the center of the crossroads, sitting upon their black horses for some time, gazing eastward. We were terrified that they had come to destroy us – or enslave us all. But they simply sat silent, watching the east. Then, after perhaps an hour, they moved that way –” he indicated the street leading away toward the west, “– but I could not see whether they had gone away or no, and I was afraid to come out and look.”
Brenyn stepped away from him and went out into the street, gazing westward, but could see no darkings anywhere along that stretch of empty pavement, either within the limits of the town or upon the prairie off to the west.
He looked over. “I see no darkings,” he told the man.
An expression of profound hope came upon the man’s face. “They have truly gone?”
Brenyn narrowed his eyes at him. “You are certain there were three darking lords?”
“Yes,” the man insisted. “Three red darkings. I had never seen even one before – and there were three together.”
“And they gazed eastward for a time?” Brenyn asked.
The man nodded. “They sat upon their black horses and watched the eastern road for something less than an hour and then moved away to the west down the street.” A spasm of fear crossed his face. “I hoped they had gone, but I was afraid to come out and look,” he confessed yet again.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 44