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

by Daniel Hylton

  “You will return to us?” The woman that stood behind the merchant asked in pensive tones.

  “I will,” Brenyn assured her, “after the turning of the year.”

  Turning away, he mounted up. Looking south, he asked the merchant, “Whither does this road go beyond Grainent?”

  “Into the land of Wesser,” the man replied. “The border lies perhaps twenty leagues further on.”

  Brenyn nodded his thanks. “I will return in the spring of the new year,” he promised.

  Without speaking further, he and Noris went south.

  “Heaven go with you,” the man called after him.

  For the remainder of that year, Brenyn made a great circuit around the lands closest to his heart, the lands from Merkland to Magnus, where dwelled his friends. Going south from Deane, he entered Wesser, where he ambushed and slew yet another darking. Then he turned westward, below Marsia and journeyed through the lands of Leeclif, Mitsua, and Honan, where rumor of his name and his deeds had now come.

  Everywhere, he found the ravages and scars of war.

  Late in that summer, he came to the shores of the vast inland sea, an expanse of fresh water named Lake Migan. After gazing in amazement for some time upon this great wide body of water, he turned to the north, rounded the lake. and entered into Forinia and then into Katalon. Failing to discover darkings in either of those lands, as summer faded to autumn, he turned northward, through the Argonite Hills, into Ranlonwald. Thence, he turned westward, passing through Gruene and the mountains and once more came down into Braddia, whose war with Thayn yet raged.

  He found that two things had occurred during the past two years – firstly, his fame had grown throughout all the lands in the west; secondly, the darkings had mostly fled those lands under his protection. Everywhere Brenyn went, the answer was the same as that given by a merchant in the town of Phaynaman in Ranlonwald; “I haven’t seen a darking in more than a year now,” the man said.

  Autumn devolved into winter as he rode westward, across the south of Braddia and into southern Thayn, and thence to the shores of the great ocean. He spent nearly a month riding slowly northward along the shores of the sea, gazing out in amazement at the sight of deep blue waters that defined the whole of the world’s horizon to the west, and marveling at the sun at the end of every day, going dark, sinking by degrees into the sea, as if those waters sufficed to extinguish its fires.

  At last, reaching the verge of the highlands upon the north of Thayn as they tumbled into the sea, he turned toward the east. By the time he had crossed Thayn and Braddia and entered Juritzia, winter was waning toward spring.

  He crossed the land of Juritzia in but three days, and came to the small hamlet of Tinzen where, years before, he had made the decision to go and seek out Murlet’s mercenary band.

  There was a small inn still in operation in Tinzen. With the oncoming night promising to be cold, and the cloud cover overhead suggesting the likelihood of snow, Brenyn decided to board Noris at the livery and seek shelter in the inn.

  The proprietor stiffened as Brenyn gave his name and his manner became almost piously deferential as he reached into the drawer beneath the counter and slid a key across toward Brenyn. “It’s the first door to the right – top o’ the stairs,” he said. Then he glanced down for a moment before looking up again.

  “How do you do it?” He asked in a timid voice. “How do you slay those wicked creatures?”

  “I do not know,” Brenyn answered honestly. “I only know that I can – and that I will ever do so until there are no more to slay.” He picked up the key and nodded. “Thank you, sir, and good night.”

  The man stared and then nodded. “Good night, sir.”

  He watched as Brenyn climbed the stairs, a look of wonder yet in control of his features.

  The room Brenyn entered was cramped and narrow, with one small, square window that looked out over the street. Night had fallen, darkness had overtaken the earth, but the ambient light of lamps burning in various shops along the street illuminated huge flakes of snow that had begun drifting slowly down from the heavy sky.

  Brenyn lay down on the bed, and, for the first time in many days, realized that he was fatigued, indeed, nearly exhausted, from the many weeks upon the road, hunting darkings.

  The bed, though old, was firm and well-furnished with soft blankets and a decent pillow. He relaxed and gazed out through the window at the snowflakes drifting down out of the darkness. Surrendering to fatigue, he slept.

  53.

  He stood upon a lonely stretch of road that ran away toward a distant line of ragged mountains. The sky overhead was overcast, the day was cold, gloomy, dark. The wind gusted from his left, from the angle of a rocky slope that rose above the road on that side, and it carried hard bits of icy snow with it. The other way, to the right, that slope fell away and descended into a broad valley that lay in shadow under the gray and wintry sky.

  He knew this stretch of road, had been on it sometime in the past; there was a dim familiarity to it. He knew the valley off to his right as well. And he knew that he looked eastward; he knew that the far side of those distant mountains would greet the sun every morning long before it rose high enough to look down upon this lonely stretch of roadway.

  He had been here before.

  Brenyn looked about him and then peered along the road through the gloom of the snowy day but could see no one about anywhere. Nor was Noris anywhere in view. Where was his horse? Had he lost his mount? Or had he walked to this place?

  The latter appeared extremely unlikely, for there was no sign of human habitation anywhere, no farms, no houses, no barns, or animals. The landscape about him on all sides was deserted.

  Deciding to go and find Noris, he turned toward the slope on the upper side where there were large outcroppings of rock and scattered copses of juniper. If he had encamped along this empty stretch of road, he had likely made his camp up there somewhere.

  But he could not move.

  Surprised, he looked down.

  His boots were free, there was no impediment; but try as he might, he could not move his feet.

  Frowning, he studied his boots and then looked around him, peering into the gloom of the day. Was all this yet another dream? – as on that other occasion when he had dreamed of Emi? – for the circumstances, and the location, seemed vaguely familiar.

  But if he dreamt, he wondered, how could he be aware that he dreamt?

  No, he was here, he was present and aware, though how he had come to this place, and why he seemed rooted to one spot upon the roadway remained mysteries.

  The cold began to bite through his jacket, and he wrapped his arms tightly about him as he struggled to pry his feet loose from the pavement.

  It was a futile labor.

  He could not move.

  Something held him captive.

  Then, as he peered around him through the bitter wind and driven snow, a vison appeared suddenly to his front, upon the road, like a doorway opening by magic in the fabric of reality.

  He found himself looking into a small room that was faintly illuminated by a reddish-orange glow, as if a fire burned in that tiny space somewhere just out of view.

  A woman lay upon a narrow cot, apparently asleep. She was turned toward Brenyn with her long hair, rendered auburn by the glow of the unseen fire, partially covering the features of her face.

  With a shock, Brenyn realized that he knew her.

  He started, his heart leapt in his chest, and he cried out.

  “Emi!”

  As his voice reverberated into the chamber where she lay, Emi stirred, and murmured in her sleep, but did not awaken.

  Brenyn tried desperately to move, to rush into where she lay and take her in his arms, but his feet would not move, however frantically he struggled.

  He was rooted to the ancient stone pavement.

  Terrified that she would vanish from his sight as abruptly as she had appeared, he called out to her again; “Emi!”
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  And then, as if the strange door that had opened in the fabric of reality was just as suddenly closed again, Emi and the chamber in which she lay were gone.

  Another figure stood where the vison of Emi had been.

  A darking lord stood in the roadway, tall, thin, imperious, its crimson cloak billowing in the icy wind. It studied him through the slits in its masking cloth for a long silent moment, then;

  “Do you know the true value of human life, Brenyn Vagus?” It asked. “You that names yourself the slayer of darkings – do you comprehend the only true value of humanity?”

  Horrified that Emi had been taken from his sight only to be replaced by the crimson-hatted fiend standing before him, Brenyn felt a surge of raw fury flood through him, heating his blood and driving the cold from his muscle and sinew.

  “I know the value of darkings,” he answered coldly. “It is to be slain at my hand.” He crooked his finger at the creature. “Come,” he said. “Come close and taste of my vengeance.”

  The darking made the small staccato sound that passed for laughter and ignored the challenge.

  “I understand that you have long sought me,” it said.

  Brenyn considered this arcane statement but could make no sense of it. “I hunt all darkings,” he replied, his fury yet bright and hot. “You are no different. Should we meet – and we will at some time and in some place – I assure you that I will destroy you as I have destroyed the others.”

  The darking shook its head slowly. “Ah, but I am not like the others,” it corrected him. “For it was I that took her – the woman. Have you not asked this of each of my kin ere you murdered them? It was I that went into the land of Vicundium. I rode past the shack where you dwelled with the old woman, and across the bridge, and thence into Pierum to the palace of Cole, whom I slew, and then I took the girl and removed her far beyond your finding.”

  Brenyn stared, shocked by this declaration, and astonished. Filled with fury mingled with horror, he could not answer.

  The soft, low, staccato noise resounded once more, quietly, through the gloom of the winter day.

  The darking lord leaned slightly toward him, its black eyes glistening in the twilight. “I took her from you, slayer. It was I.”

  Brenyn bunched his leg muscles and pulled with his might, trying to tear his feet loose, to rush the creature, but to no avail. He was rooted in the roadway as soundly as a tree.

  The darking observed his struggles for a time in silence and then it tendered the question yet again.

  “Do you know the only value of humanity, Brenyn Vagus?” The darking lord wondered. “I will tell you,” it continued, without allowing for a response. “It is to suffer, to bleed, and to die.”

  Brenyn, infused with terrible anger, shaking with the force of his fury, glared back but did not respond to the taunt.

  Then the darking said, “I will ask but one thing more of you, slayer.”

  Brenyn remained silent.

  “Come,” the darking said after a moment, “do you not wish to know the thing I would ask? – for it is vital.”

  Brenyn watched the creature for another long moment and then answered coldly.

  “What would you ask of me?”

  The darking laughed once more, low, and soft.

  “Would you like to watch her suffer, bleed, and die?”

  It moved its hand and the vison of Emi, asleep upon the cot, appeared again. Brenyn’s heart lurched in his chest. Immediately, his fury drained completely away to be replaced by horror. Terror at the darking’s threat to Emi utterly broke him.

  “No,” he answered. “Please – I beg you – I do not want her to die. Kill me if you like, but touch her not.”

  The darking watched him for a long moment. “Kill you? But how,” it wondered, “would I take your life from you, Brenyn Vagus? – for you are the slayer, are you not? How, then, can you be slain?”

  Brenyn gulped in mouthfuls of the frigid air, breathing hard and fast, while he stared at his beloved Emi, asleep and unaware of the threat of the darking that stood mere paces from her.

  Brenyn tore his gaze away from her and focused upon the darking once more. “Do not touch her – I beg you,” he pleaded. “I swear that I will slay no more of your kind – ever – if you will but spare her and release her to me. I beg you.”

  The darking moved its hand again, and Emi vanished.

  It shook its head and spoke with disdain drenching its voice. “No, slayer; there will be no peace between us. If you want the woman, you must come and find her. You must come and stand before the one who caused her to be taken and beg for her life – and then, when you bow and scrape and plead and bend the knee, we will know the true extent of your powers. The world will then witness the mighty slayer brought low because of a woman.”

  “Where?” Brenyn asked, terror for Emi causing his voice to break. “Where may I find her? Where may I come and find the one that caused her to be taken? Where dwells your master?”

  “She dwells in the east of the world,” the darking answered, “deep inside the Mountain of Power.”

  Brenyn stared back in silence, wondering at the darking’s words. She? A sorceress ruled these creatures?

  But he did not tender the questions engendered by these thoughts – his need to free Emi overwhelmed all else, and his fear for her rendered his tone conciliatory, humble. “I know not where to find this mountain of power,” he said to the darking. “You must tell me the way.”

  “But are you not a powerful wizard?” The darking sneered. “Will not your powers show you the way?”

  In response to this taunt, Brenyn considered admitting that he did not control the magic that dwelled within him, but a warning sounded in his mind and he managed to hold his tongue. Another thought intruded in that moment, however, and this he did put into words.

  “If your mistress wishes to speak with me,” he stated, “she surely knows where I may be found. Why then does she not come to me? Why send a servant to summon me?”

  The darking’s black gaze, inside the masking cloth, gleamed with contempt. “My queen will not be summoned to come forth to speak with anyone – even one such as you,” it answered. “All who would beg her forgiveness must come and kneel before her.”

  Despite his sense that, for Emi’s sake, he must refrain from belligerence, Brenyn frowned at the darking’s words. “Why would I beg forgiveness?” He wondered. “It was you – at the direction of your mistress – that took Emi.” He shook his head. “I did not create the animus between us – it was your actions, her actions, not mine.”

  The darking went oddly silent while it watched him, then, and did not speak for a time. For several moments, the only sound pervading the cold gray day was the keening of the icy wind as it drove tiny bits of hardened snow down across the rocky slope.

  “You are mistaken,” the darking stated then. “It is your mere existence, slayer, that has caused the eye of my mistress to fall upon you. You should not exist in the world, for, by being, you destroy the balance of all that she has done.”

  “All that she has done?” Brenyn demanded. At this haughty and incredible statement, anger erupted inside him, tamping down his caution. “What has she done?” He asked bitterly, “except to fill the world with violence and misery. Where is the balance in this?”

  “All that is done,” the darking replied in cold tones, “is done for the pleasure of my mistress. The world is hers to do with as she pleases. She will not be challenged – even by you, slayer.” It raised its hand and pointed one long, thin finger at Brenyn. “Beware how you speak,” it warned, “for the life of the woman you seek is in the hand of my queen.”

  “I do not challenge your mistress,” Brenyn replied carefully, as fear for Emi made caution assert itself once more. “I only ask by what authority she oppresses my people?”

  The darking laughed, low and soft. “By what authority? By hers, and hers alone. There is no other authority beside her – you would do well to remembe
r this.” It moved its hand and the image of Emi reappeared. “Shall her authority be proven to you, slayer? – here and at this moment? Shall she destroy the woman while you watch?”

  Terrified by this threat, his heart aching at the sight of Emi asleep within the confines of an imprisoning chamber far from his protection, Brenyn held his tongue, and deliberately tamped down the anger that had surged within him.

  “I will come,” he told the darking, while his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of her that was more than life to him. “I will come to where your mistress dwells – though I know not the way.”

  “The way is east,” the darking said. It moved its hand; the vision of Emi vanished, and it indicated the road to the east behind it. “The way is long – so I adjure you to hasten.”

  “And Emi will remain alive?” Brenyn asked.

  “For a time,” the darking replied. “But do not tarry, for every day that the woman lives my queen contemplates her death.”

  “No,” Brenyn answered, “that will not do. I will journey into the east, for as many leagues as I must to find where your… queen … dwells. But I must have your pledge that Emi will remain alive.”

  Silence fell upon the cold and desolate stretch of road while the darking studied him and Brenyn waited for its reply. The black eyes glistened with scorn in the depths of the masking cloth.

  “My queen makes promises to no one,” it said.

  At that, the fury that Brenyn had held in check burst forth. “She will make this promise to me,” he answered harshly, “else she will pay the price for Emi’s death.”

  The darking raised its hand once more. “You dare so lightly threaten my queen? – then the woman dies now.”

  But Brenyn’s anger did not quell this time even as the image of Emi reappeared upon the desolate roadway. He did not look that way but kept his gaze fixed upon the darking lord as he indicated the image with his hand. “How do I know that what you show me is truth?” He demanded. “All darkings are liars – and I doubt not that the mistress of liars is herself a liar.”