Down the Dark Path (Tyrants of the Dead Book 1)

by J. Edward Neill

  Rellen patted Marlos, the plumper of his two friends, upon his arm. For all his blondeness, Marlos could have been Rellen’s older brother, if not for his eyes. Those were dark, brown as nuts, and always roving. Marlos’s beard was an impressive thing, for though his cheeks were smooth and pale, the clod of hair jutting from his chin reached nearly to his sternum. “Marlos will take a while to get used to.” Rellen grinned. “Though not if we get him drunk.”

  Rellen looked to the other man, far huger than Marlos, and his smile broke out like no other. “This beast is Bruced, a friend since I was no higher than a tot,” he said to Garrett. “Some Grae houses have dogs, but we’ve a bear. He’s even bigger than I remember. He must’ve been eating while we were away. A few horses here, and few cities there. You’ll find none stronger in Gryphon, and none who can better hold his mead.”

  Rellen beamed with pride. Even Garrett for all his height had to look up to massive Bruced. Bruced’s smile was warm as a hearth, but his chest was barreled like a stallion’s, and his arms thick as Grandwood roots.

  “Well met.” Bruced bowed deferentially to Garrett. “Thank you for keeping the lad alive.”

  “My pleasure,” replied Garrett. “It was not always easy.”

  The introductions complete, Rellen gave the crowd his back and beckoned his friends to follow. Horses were stabled and bags left with porters, and after freeing themselves of all possessions save their swords, the four of them trekked toward Gryphon Keep, a train of guardsmen at their backs. By now the darkness was absolute. The street lanterns dwindled at their backs, and the fog thickened. Crossing the bridge over the misty moat, the friends came to the keep courtyard, whose gloomy grasses they trod across almost blindly. At last, they came to a great archway of rock, beneath which lay the doors leading into Gryphon Keep.

  Rellen threw open the portal to his father’s hall and took a deep, satisfied breath. Ahead of the others, he stomped into Gryphon Hall, grandest of all the chambers in his father’s keep, a spacious room of vaulted ceilings and perilously high windows. Nothing’s changed. He smiled as the room opened up like a cavern before him. All the better.

  Polished wooden tables were arrayed in perfect order throughout the hall, each topped with lit candelabras, while banners hung from the high ceiling, lit by the glow of a hundred lamps and a score of flickering braziers and fireplaces. The hall was nigh empty for now, but he expected it would soon be otherwise. “There needs to be a feast tonight.” He clapped Marlos and Bruced on the shoulders. “Father’s sure to have one ready. Marlos, please show Garrett to his quarters. Bruced, tell Mother I’ve returned. I must speak to Father before we eat. I’ll meet you back here within the hour.”

  “Rellen, there’s something you—” began Marlos.

  “It can wait, friend. Something needs doing.” He ignored Marlos and set his sights on the rear of the hall, where another archway and an iron-banded door lay sheltered in the shadows. The voices of his friends followed him, but he waved them off. Already a world away, he opened the door and ascended the spiraling stairs to his father’s chambers.

  His father’s tower was largest of the seven, a sharp spire leaping like a spear from the heart of Gryphon Keep. Some two hundred steps up, he turned the corner and ran headlong into a serving maid descending the stairs. He caught her before she fell, gripping her sleeves and tugging her back to her feet. “Goodness, I’m sorry!” He felt a fool for being so hurried.

  “Rellen, is that you?” She blushed scarlet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  He recognized her. She was Helena, his mother’s favorite servant, and by far the prettiest woman in Gryphon. “Helena…goodness, no. It was my fault. I was in a hurry. There I came a blundering, clumsy as a bear. I never saw you!”

  “Master Rellen! I knew it was you!” She dropped her basket and hugged him hard. “You’re back! It’s so good to see you! We heard you might be returning, but—”

  He wished not to be short with her, but the moment could not wait. “Helena.” He smiled, melting her on the spot. “I must go for now. We can catch up in the morning, I promise. Please forgive me. I have to see Father.” He pecked the poor girl on the forehead with a kiss, shooed the rest of her apologies, and slipped past her to climb the last of the stairs.

  He came to the door at the stairwell top. He heard Helena calling after him, but pretended not to. He gripped the great bronze handles upon Emun’s doors, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed inward to enter. Here it comes, he thought as he crossed the threshold.

  Will his mood be fair…or foul?

  His father’s chambers claimed the entire top of Gryphon keep. He remembered the room as though it was only yesterday he had seen it last. Tapestries of Grandwood oaks and battles long forgotten adorned the walls and each of four great pillars. The floor, buried under fine furs and pelts, was a carpet more luxurious than anything in Ardenn. In tribute to the founders of House Gryphon, sets of arms and armor adorned the inner walls, each piece a relic of his forefathers, each sword, spear, and shield with a story of its own. From corner to corner, the entire room was aglow with lantern light. Some twenty of the little golden lights hung by silver chains from the ceiling, blazing like stars in the night. The room had barely changed since his childhood, though it seemed much quieter than he remembered. “Father?” he called out. “Are you there? I’m home. Where are you?”

  It was then he sensed a presence within the room, a settling of soft footsteps on the floor behind him. As he spun to see whoever it was, a voice sounded. It was not harsh, but beguiling. “So loud. So full of fire,” said the woman, her voice as delicate as a songbird’s. “You might have been nicer to poor Helena. She missed you nearly as much as I did.”

  “Mother!” He reached out to hug Lady Gryphon, who emerged from the shadows like a warm summer’s wind.

  Sara Gryphon, wise and fair wife to Lord Emun, was a slender, graceful creature. The years had hardly diffused her radiance. Her voice flowed like cool water from a sparkling stream, and her gaze was as calming as summer sunshine. Rellen knew her as his loving mother, but it was Sara’s wisdom that tempered the mind of his father. Father is the sword, he thought. And Mother the hand that steadies him. Sara was the heart and soul of Gryphon. He regretted having forgotten her in his haste to speak with his father.

  “Sorry for my entrance,” he said.

  She kissed his forehead. “Oh Rellen.” She beamed. “The whole city has longed for your return, and I most of all. I’m so proud of you. Welcome home.”

  Beckoning him to follow, she floated to an open window looking out over Gryphon. The invading breezes were chilly, but she stood before the window as though the wind could not touch her. He trailed her across the carpet of furs and stood beside her, feeling warmer just to be near her.

  “Rellen dear, did they tell you?” she asked.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Your father isn’t yet home.” She frowned. “He’s expected within a few days. He went to the capital to meet with the lords of many houses. I should warn you. He was upset you were so late, and for that you’ll surely answer a thousand questions. He hoped you’d be here before he left. He wanted you to join him.”

  I should ‘ve known. His heart sank. “The capital. But the nobles, the violence. Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” She set her slender fingers on his arm, calming him. “I understand why you’re late. I always understand. I didn’t wish you to be away for so long, but you are a Gryphon, and are compelled to go far and wide. I have known since you were a babe. You were a kitten crawling into every crevice of every room, a little sparrow trapped in this great big house. My only worry is that you’ll leave and face the long road too soon, again at your father’s bidding.”

  It was as though she had seen his deepest thoughts and touched them. He felt like a child again, marveling at how easily she read him. “I was worried about that, too,” he admitted. “Garrett put the idea in my head. Never left my
mind.”

  “You’ve only just come home, and I see the fervor in you to finish words with Father.” She tried to assuage him. “You shouldn’t be in such a hurry. You’re back now. You’ll stay here for the winter and be with your family. We’ll be whole again. For that, I’m grateful.”

  “Mother, surely you know,” he said. “Why did Father bring me back? And why didn’t he send a retinue? Is the new king about to be crowned? We heard there was trouble in the capital. Does it involve us? Please tell me.”

  The looked she gave him cooled his blood. She seemed able to cast off his questions as though they were but raindrops sloughing from an oiled cloak. “I don’t know what news he will bring,” she said. “I cannot say. Be assured of this; his last letter said he was safe. It came just two days ago. Let us talk no more of it now. Dinner will be ready soon, and I saw from the window you brought a friend. It must be this Garrett I hear so much of. I should very much like to meet him.”

  “We’ll talk later then?” He followed as she made for the door.

  “Of course.” She squeezed his hand. “After the feast. You did not think we would go hungry, did you? We heard your stomach rumbling even before you left Ardenn.”

  Winter

  The hour was late. Candles blazed in every corner, gnawing at the bottoms of their wicks. It was the fifth night since his arrival in Gryphon, and Rellen found himself alone in the great hall, awaiting the arrival of his father. Dressed in his finest attire, he sipped at a cup of hot tea and fought the sleepiness creeping over him. So tired… Eyelids so heavy… he thought as his chin sank onto his upturned palm. Too much feasting, I think.

  Would that Father would arrive tomorrow, my mind might be less…dull.

  As he sat, wishing for sleep, the sound of the main doors groaning open shook him to alertness. He rose from his stool, cheerless and long-faced. He saw ten warriors shuffle into the hall, their footsteps pounding like drums in his ears. Soldiers. The house guard. Father is back, he knew. Each of the warriors was dressed in elaborate suits of mail, and each draped in the blue and gold tabards of house Gryphon. As they passed him by, many nodded in recognition, but none slowed their pace. Exhausted, he knew. When was the last time they slept?

  As quickly as they burst into the hall they were gone, hurried to their beds for desperate want of sleep.

  His eyes never left the entrance to the hall. Without a parting word to the soldiers, he stared at the stone archway, waiting and watching. A figure therein grasped a tall, slender lantern before striding into the hall. He saw his father’s shadow, long and lean, and he heard the hard tap of his steel-tipped boots against the floor. Lord Gryphon, he felt proud. Lord of the Councilors of Graehelm.

  At fifty years old, Emun Gryphon was twice his son’s age, but it did not show on his face. Though his eyes were wizened, even tired, he betrayed no sign of frailty. His hair was short and curled into fine grey locks, and he wore only the hint of a narrow white beard. Around his forehead rested a fine band of gold and silver, two ropes of fine metal coiled together like a snake, while upon his back rested a broadsword. He looks strong, Rellen marveled. Does the man never age?

  He was not afraid of his father, and yet during this late hour he felt timid in the Gryphon patriarch’s presence. He walked to meet Emun in the center of the room, expecting a flurry of anger. But there was no anger, only two shared smiles. He and his father locked in a firm embrace, and when they separated, Emun gripped him by both shoulders and looked proudly upon him.

  “Welcome home, Father,” he said.

  “Do not welcome me. ‘Tis you who are welcome. My son. My good, good son.”

  “So…you’re happy to see me?” For a moment, he doubted it.

  “Of course! I’ve waited too long. Ah, the stories we heard. The letters tell that you’ve become a fine soldier, strong as Grandwood oak, as quick with a sword as you always were with your wit. Ardenn is cold and hard as the moon, but I see it’s shaped you into a fine, fine lord.”

  “A lord?” he laughed uncomfortably. “Not yet, I hope.

  Emun slung his sword onto a table and took Rellen under his arm. “Someday, my son, you’ll be the man of this house. Ah, but it makes me happy to see you home. I heard you maintained Ardenn in peace, and that the barbarians of the south have been pacified. Damned Yrul. If they’d killed you, I’d have gone to war against them, and half of Graehelm would’ve been happy to join me. You did well. I commend you.”

  “Thank you.” He felt dizzy with all the praise. “I tried to let the Yrul see our strength from afar. We wanted to avoid bloodshed. Still, it sometimes came to blows, but Garrett and I…we never seemed to lose.”

  Still grasping him shoulders, Emun exclaimed, “Then you’ve done well, and have succeeded where many before you failed. There’re those who don’t trust in your ability, those who knew you only as a child. Let them voice their mistrust now!”

  In the light of his father’s pride, a question budded in his mind. He remembered what Garrett had said in the forest, and he could not help but ask. “Father, it’s rumored you wish me to do some service. What would you have me do?”

  Emun loosed his shoulders. “My boy, I called you home because you’re missed. We sent you away for too long, and it’s time you spent a season among loved ones. Does not every soldier deserve as much?”

  “But I thought—”

  “Fret not,” said Emun. “The time for worry may come soon enough. Until then, you’ll stay here and be at ease. Feasts await us. Songs will be sung. There’re too many days ahead of us for you to spend all your time reaching for what’s yet to come. It’s best you breathe deeply of winter and be happy that you’re home.”

  Emun smiled and moved past him, calling back as he approached the stairwell passage to his chamber. “I sleep now, my son. You’re tired, and I the same. Go to your tower and dream of good things. We’ll feast tomorrow, and again the day after.”

  It was all too quick. He watched the old man vanish into the stairwell, and he winced when the door slammed shut.

  Is that all?

  He could not help what thoughts began to roam in his mind. Something caught fire in the darkest corner of his mind, a cold comet streaking through his imagination. Half-truths and warm welcomes, he told himself. Just like Garrett said.

  Something isn’t right.

  * * *

  That same night, only half day’s ride to the west, two travelers rested on their way to Gryphon. Having endured weeks of cold nights and exhausting days, Saul and Andelusia entered the southernmost stretch of Graehelm’s great prairie. The wind blew upon their backs, biting at their ears. The chillness in the air settled upon their cheeks like frost upon loam. But no matter the weather, their spirits were not low. Their trip across the northern prairie had seen them safe. They were befriended, by now so comfortable in each other’s company it seemed they had traveled many years together.

  Dusk deepened and the sun disappeared below the far horizon. Amid the bristly grass and frosted prairie weeds, Andelusia stretched on her bedroll while Saul looked on, stirring a campfire to life with the butt of his staff. The higher the flames climbed, the more she saw him become lost in thought. His eyelids looked heavy, his shoulders loose and relaxed, and his attention to the fire slipped away until the end of his staff began to smoke.

  Saul and Andelusia had not come directly for Gryphon. Not hardly, she thought. Truth be told, they had never planned to go to Gryphon at all. Only one week ago, they had arrived in Graehelm’s capital, where they had hoped to deliver Saul’s message. She remembered the stink of the city, the crowds swelling and the guards barking. She remembered Cyrul Tower, the cheerless, windowless pillar of rock standing high above the most barren of all the city’s courtyards. Cyrul was the meeting place for the ruling Councilors of Graehelm, Saul had told her, and it was there he had hoped to relieve himself of his message. They had arrived at the bottom of Cyrul’s forbidding stairs on a grey, gloomy eve, and she had waited outside when h
e had vanished into darkness. The poor man, she recalled the disappointment he had expressed after descending Cyrul’s stairs. All that way for nothing. In the top of the grim tower, Saul had met only three Councilors, for the others had long since dispersed to their respective seats of power. The three Councilors had expressed only the mildest concern with his message. So preoccupied with the finding of a new king, their disinterest had crushed his hopes so profoundly that she and he had gathered their things and rode out of the capital without spending another night inside.

  Saul gazed hard into the snapping fire. She saw him half-awake, half-asleep, rocking slowly in place as he mouthed silent words of frustration. He has only one hope now, she remembered. Emun, lord of Gryphon, whom the Councilors bade him visit. “Mmmm. So sleepy,” she murmured from her resting place in the grass. “What is wrong with you? Have a nibble and go to bed.”

  Saul’s brooding ceased. He pried his attentions to the present, snapping from his trance faster than an ember leaping from the fire. “I was thinking. I came all this way and they paid me no mind. If I were a Councilor, a protector of such a wide and powerful place as Graehelm, I’d like to think I’d listen to someone who came so far.”

  “Pssshh.” She waved her hand. “What do they know? Maybe this other lord, this Emun fellow, will listen.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How far is Gryphon from here?” She stretched out her fingers as though to stroke the flame.

  “We’re close. We’ll rise early tomorrow and ride quickly. Perhaps by nightfall we’ll arrive.”

  “What will you do when you are done giving the message to Lord Gryphon? Will you go back home, back to Elrain? I would come with you if you asked. I mean it.”

  He let loose a low laugh. “No, I’ll not go home again. Once the message is delivered, I’ll offer my service to Graehelm, perhaps even to the lords of Gryphon. What other purpose would I have?”