The Darkness of Dawn

by Braden Michael

  Asher’s instincts informed him of Bertrand’s honesty. “I understand, but he’s not here right now. He is busy with the armistice, which could go terribly wrong and result in his death. If I’m to lead our people into war, I need to be aware of every tool at my disposal.”

  Bertrand nodded, appreciating Asher’s sentiment. “Very well, I’ll bring you into the fold.”

  Asher smiled with satisfaction as the door thrust open. Andy and Damon walked into the room with curious gazes.

  “Ah! There you are, Damon. You’ll come with me and Bertrand. He has something to show us.” Asher turned to Andy. “Remain posted by the door outside.”

  Andy nodded and proceeded to comply, but Asher sensed a hint of confusion within his face. Nothing personal, Andy. I just can’t trust you with the secrets of this “Conduit” just yet. He may have not fully trusted Andy, but he had absolute trust in Damon. It must have been that he was well-acquainted with the man, or how Damon had seen the Red Artifact incident firsthand yet was unafraid of him. Many other men had been attacked and injured by Asher’s inhuman strength during his enthrallment, so he did not resent their distrusting nature, which Damon lacked. Damon trusts me, so why shouldn’t I trust him?

  Andy opened the door and the rest of the group was led out the door by Bertrand. They passed the six marble Emberland Guard statues and went through the hallway and onto the wooden ferry.

  “We need to go one floor up,” Bertrand informed.

  I always thought my father’s quarters were the topmost floor. Asher quickly went to the wheel, turned it clockwise, and the ferry began to lift. At the topmost part of the shaft, the ferry found itself encased in concrete. No light was able to reach the ferry platform, and so everything was shrouded in darkness.

  “Where do we go from here, Bertrand?” Asher asked.

  Bertrand did not feign a response. Instead, he shuffled towards the wall. The sound of Bertrand tapping the wall at multiple locations echoed until a strange green light emanated from a slit in the wall, focusing its beams directly into Bertrand’s left eye.

  “What the—” Asher stood in the darkness with his mouth wide open.

  “Scanning.” The voice sounded like nothing Asher had ever heard in his life. It sounded like a human, yet it did not. “Bertrand. Glover. Access Granted.” The voice’s inflections and pattern of speech were strange. The voice sounded like a person talking through a metal pipe, only much clearer.

  “Who the hell said that?” Asher reached for his dagger, but he was unarmed, so he perched his hand on his hip, lifted it, then shook it nervously.

  “No need to be afraid, your Majesty,” Bertrand reassured.

  Right then, the concrete wall retreated in on itself, and natural light shone upon Asher once again. A room was revealed once the concrete slab no longer obstructed the view. The marble styling of the floor and walls was exactly like his father’s quarters, but the room was far smaller, with no artwork decorations or fancy furniture. Instead, a few white chairs surrounded a strange white platform with a strange and unfamiliar design. He glanced at Damon, who was equally amazed by the reveal.

  “I have plenty of questions, Bertrand,” said Asher.

  “Ask away, your Majesty.”

  “What was the light in your eye? And who was speaking?”

  “No one spoke, not exactly.” Bertrand seated himself in one of the strange white chairs. “The light and the voice were part of the same device. I am not certain where the device comes from, but it grants entry to this room to certain people. It approves of me and looks into my eye to verify my identity.”

  Bertrand turned towards the platform and placed his hand on the surface. “Display the most recent update.”

  Written messages began appearing above the platform in the form of fuzzy light. The Emberland fleet has arrived in Kaiyotan.

  “Bertrand, please explain,” Asher requested.

  “This is the Conduit. It provides real-time updates of information throughout the Dawnlands. I won’t even pretend to understand how this machine can do such a thing, but it has been correct with every notice it provides.”

  “I am truly at a loss for words,” Asher stammered.

  “Is it an Artifact?” Damon posited.

  Bertrand looked over to Damon and responded. “Not exactly. The Artifacts in the vault are a different animal, but as you have observed, the Artifacts down below and the Conduit are both at a level of technology we cannot even begin to comprehend.”

  “What kind of information does it provide?” Asher inquired.

  “Key diplomatic information, mostly. The deaths of key people, strategic marriages, troop movements. Things of that nature,” said Bertrand.

  “Can it tell us how the armistice will go? What Howell, Yamamoto, and Robinson are planning?” asked Asher.

  “No. It only provides facts and information, nothing about anyone’s intentions I’m afraid. The Emperor simply uses the information provided to make the appropriate decisions,” Bertrand explained.

  I came here expecting answers, but all I have is more questions, Asher thought, furrowing his brow.

  An unfamiliar sound erupted from the center of the platform. Beep? Asher thought. Is that how to describe it? The floating letters began to rearrange themselves. Some letters disappeared, and some spawned while many moved from one spot in the air to another.

  “Another notification?” said Bertrand.

  The letters were finishing their rearrangement, and the words became legible. A fleet descends upon the West. Asher was confused by the words. Had his father changed course?

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Asher said. “The Rocklands are the westmost empire, my father would never send—”

  Asher, Bertrand, and Damon looked at each other with extreme concern as the horrible realization dawned upon all of them.

  CH 17 – Black Eyes V

  The Headlanders had taken Black Eyes and his men to a tavern popular with Headland soldiers. The establishment boasted an ivory-furnished countertop, leather-cushioned stools, and a half dozen oak tables and four times as many oak chairs. The place was made complete by four high-end booths with silk cushions and marble-furnished tabletops.

  The tavern was packed with Headlander civilians, all of whom glared at Black Eyes with nervous contempt. The Headlander squad leader waved his hand at the barkeep, who quickly rushed towards the corner booth to prepare it.

  “Sergeant!” the barkeep announced. He was shorter than the average man, but somewhat youthful and quick on his feet, with the look of a typical Headlander. “How can I be of service?” He looked from the Headland soldiers to the Emberland soldiers. When he looked upon Black Eyes, he gulped anxiously and quickly averted his gaze.

  “These fine gentlemen want to see if they can drink as much as us, Itsuki.” The Sergeant looked back and appeared to count the soldiers before him. “We’ll need to start with ten large ales.” He looked directly at Black Eyes. “There might not be that many rounds if they can’t hold their booze.”

  The Headlanders laughed and the barkeep scurried off to retrieve the ale. The soldiers all filed in to sit down at the booth. The chairs were exceptionally comfortable, and each man leaned back to take advantage of as much cushion as he could.

  “Not even my cabin was this comfortable.” Black Eyes stretched his arms over his head and groaned in an exaggerated manner.

  “That’s because the Headlands have better fabric,” the Sergeant claimed. He placed his five gold pieces on the table and Black Eyes did the same. “The last man awake will earn them!” he proclaimed.

  “Agreed!” Black Eyes said.

  As the soldiers roared with laughter, the barkeep returned with a large serving tray and placed each glass in front of a soldier. The glasses were a foot tall, and the ale was an appetizing dark brown.

  Black Eyes quickly took a healthy sip from his glass. “You don’t have better ale, though.” He winced artificially as he set his glass down. This ale is damn g
ood, he thought.

  “Sir, I don’t know what ale you’re drinking, but this is good shit!” Troy celebrated as he put his glass back down at the table. He had already finished half his glass. Black Eyes looked around the table, and no one else had drank nearly as much. He then peered at Troy, who was laughing obnoxiously, and he decided to ignore the young soldier’s sharp tongue. Focus on getting information, Black Eyes reiterated to himself. Proceed carefully and with civility.

  “Consider this round a warm-up,” said the Sergeant. He then proceeded to chug down a large amount of his glass, as did the other Headlanders: the Emberland men followed suit. Black Eyes drank from his glass while scanning the smug faces of the Headlander men. They are hiding something. The ten glasses were finished in seconds. Troy and Osmund let out monstrous burps as they proudly planted their empty glasses onto the table. The Sergeant motioned his hand at the barkeep for another round.

  “Out-drinking Headlanders ought to be easier than fighting the Midland Navy!” Troy erupted.

  “The Midlands are land-locked, dumb cunt,” said Milton.

  “It would appear that this Emberlander doesn’t understand metaphors,” a Headlander cracked.

  “It would appear this Emberlander doesn’t understand metaphors,” Troy said, mocking the Headland accent.

  “It would appear this Emberlander cannot handle a first round,” the Sergeant quipped. The entire table laughed, except Troy, who furrowed his brow. How can he be this drunk so quickly? Black Eyes asked himself. Was he drinking before we landed?

  “So, Sergeant, tell me your name,” said Black Eyes.

  “Eito,” the Sergeant replied, “and you must be Black Eyes.”

  “What gave that away?” Black Eyes asked innocently.

  “It’s those fucking eyes of his!” Troy cracked.

  If this were any other situation, I’d gut this drunken fool, Black Eyes raged internally. Just then, Osmund elbowed Troy in the side of the head just hard enough to make Troy quiet without seriously harming him. The men all howled with laughter.

  “Are you certain you can handle a second round, Troy?” Dirk asked.

  The barkeep arrived at the table with ten more large glasses, filled to the brim with ale. Steadily yet quickly, the barkeep placed the ale glasses in front of the soldiers and then scampered away.

  “Look here.” Black Eyes rummaged through his pocket and pulled out another gold piece, placing it in front of him onto the table, where the men eyed it hungrily. “The first one to finish his glass earns this coin!”

  Without hesitation, each of the men rushed to grab his glass and down the ale. Black Eyes chugged his drink a little more slowly than the rest, eyeing the men carefully to see who might earn the coin. Troy gleefully finished his drink and shoved the glass onto the table, accidentally smashing it to bits. The other men choked and spat up the last drops of their ale, unable to contain their laughter.

  “My glass!” the barkeep shouted. Black Eyes turned around, noticing several stares from the patrons, and the barkeep looking on in anger. Once Black Eyes made eye contact with the barkeep, he immediately surrendered his anger and went about his business. Black Eyes then turned back to the table.

  “Ale is consumed by children.” Black Eyes glanced at Troy, who was in his own world, giggling like a little boy. He turned to Sergeant Eito. “Get us something stronger,” he said, smirking. Perhaps stronger stuff will loosen you up a bit.

  “Itsuki!” The barkeep perked up at Eito’s voice. “Bring us a large bottle of your best whiskey!” Eito held out three silver coins, to ease the barkeep’s apprehensiveness. Quickly as ever, the barkeep searched for the appropriate glass of liquor and brought it to the table, along with ten shot-sized glasses. He placed the bottle in the table’s center, and each shot glass in front of one man. The barkeep bowed stiffly, took the sergeant’s money, then hurried away.

  The whiskey bottle was immense, large enough to contain fifty shot glasses of liquid inside. Black Eyes grabbed the bottle and pulled it towards himself. It was quite heavy, taking a fair bit of strength to heave. He opened the top, and carefully poured into his glass. He slid the bottle to his right, where Dirk sat. One by one, each soldier poured himself a share of the whiskey, until each glass was filled. At the final spot in line was Eito, who then moved the glass back to the center of the table.

  “To our new friends from the Emberlands.” Eito raised his shot glass up. The entire table joined him. “May the best empire drink the most!”

  All the men proceeded to take their shot of whiskey, except for Black Eyes. While the other men had their heads pointed upwards with the glasses in their mouths, he quickly threw the contents of the glass at his feet and pretended to finish the drink: none of the men noticed his deceit. In unison, ten shot glasses were thrust back onto the table as the men exhaled and cringed from the strength of the alcohol.

  “We don’t stop there, right?” said Black Eyes.

  Ten more shots were poured across the table, and nine more were taken. After the glasses returned to the table, he carefully scanned the Headlanders. They now seemed to be quite intoxicated, with their faces unnaturally relaxed and lack of focus apparent in their eyes. I should start planting the seed now, Black Eyes decided.

  “I am surprised to learn the Headlands has such good whiskey. It appears you make better booze than you do ships,” Black Eyes taunted.

  Sergeant Eito threw his head back and guffawed obnoxiously, along with every other man at the table. Once more the bottle was passed around and once more the glasses were filled to the brim with whiskey. Eito held up his drink in the air while tilting his head in an exaggerated manner.

  “We have hundreds of ships, you fool!” Eito downed the next shot, along with the entire table.

  “I saw fewer than that in the port. We showed you our strength, and you showed us yours. I must say how unimpressed I am.” Another shot was done by the table. The bottle of whiskey was nearly finished, and each man except Black Eyes was half-conscious. Troy rested his head on the table and snored loudly.

  “The Headland Navy—" Eito burped and stifled vomit, “is off doing more important things than staying anchored here.” Eito threw his head upwards and downwards. It seemed as if the world was off-balance to him.

  “What could be more important than an armistice?” Black Eyes questioned. None of the men at the table seemed to be paying much attention—they were conversing among themselves or passing out.

  Eito was barely clinging to consciousness as Black Eyes spoke. He did not attempt a response as his head hit the table and he fell unconscious. What the hell does he mean by that? He looked around the table and each man had passed out. Lightweights, he scoffed.

  Black Eyes quickly grabbed the ten gold pieces sprawled across the table, then stood up to leave the tavern. The sun was a fair deal lower in the sky than when he first entered the tavern. In the street he saw a handful of Emberland guards walking, and he shouted for them. They quickly forced their way through the crowd of Headlanders, reaching Black Eyes as quickly as they could.

  “Where is the Emperor? I would see him at once.”

  “Last I heard he was being set up in the big inn at the top of the hill.” The soldier pointed down the street. Thousands of feet in that direction, the road ended at a large hill surely enough. A great tower stood atop the hill, appearing to be made of stone with white marble furnishings on the pillars and columns.

  Black Eyes could see a large number of people entering the tower atop the hill, ranging from soldiers to servants. They appeared so small from this distance that they could all be blocked if Black Eyes raised his thumb.

  “A few of our boys passed out in that tavern.” Black Eyes pointed his thumb behind him. “Go see that they make it where they need to go.”

  The men nodded and quickly ran into the tavern. Black Eyes turned and ran through the street towards the hilltop inn. The road was paved with gray stones and bustling with foot traffic. The buildings were te
eming with countless Headland commoners dallying about while singers performed on street corners. There must have been dozens of inns, taverns, and shops down the length of the street. There are more people on this stretch of road than all Steeltower, he observed.

  Black Eyes thought back to the sergeant’s words. The Headland Navy is off doing something important? Although he could not get specifics from the drunken Headlanders, he needed to go see the Emperor immediately. He rushed his way through the crowd of people, bumping into many displeased people. Once they saw the color of his armor, the Flame on his breastplate, or the black in his eyes, they knew to swallow their words.

  Thousands of feet run in full plate-armor left Black Eyes winded. He reached the top of the hill and the entrance to the inn. He shoved through the crowd, forcing his way past everyone trying to get inside. The Headlanders were off-put by him, and the Emberlanders dared not show dissent once they saw who he was. He ignored the whispers and murmurs as he ran through the main doorway to the inn. The Subarashi Inn of Kaiyotan, the sign above the door read.

  The main hall was grander than anything he had ever laid eyes on. Steeltower’s main hall was impressive, but nothing like The Subarashi Inn. The hall was overlooked by a thirty-foot-tall marble statue of a man wearing Headland armor. The statue had been painted to look as close to a real person as possible. Blue armor, and the dark brown-yellow skin was right to a tee. Black Eyes peered towards the base of the tower, where lay a stone plaque that read “Yiroshi Yamamoto (1405-1498 A.B.).” That was hundreds of years ago, Black Eyes reflected.

  Beside the great statue was a grand fountain in either direction, only the water was the color of wine. Could that be actual wine? Dozens of Headlander nobles were mingling around the fountains, wearing blue silk tunics or dresses. A hundred Headland soldiers were posted at various points throughout the hall. At the far end were two spiraling staircases that led to a balcony, where Black Eyes could no longer make sight of anything.