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

by J. Edward Neill

  “Are we going to war?”

  “No,” Emun answered. “We won’t let it come to that. Diplomacy, it must be. We must never succumb to the trap of battles, blood, and graveyards. It’s our duty to make peace. Always peace, never war. Remember that.”

  “If not war, why does your voice falter?”

  Emun had seemed a pillar of strength only minutes ago, but now his face betrayed otherwise. His cheeks became pale, his hands rattled, and his head shook like a pendulum, swaying between ill thoughts. Just as he raised his arms and cracked his lips to answer, there came a heavy knock upon the door. What now? Rellen wanted to groan.

  “Enter and be heard!” Emun shouted, seeming relieved by the interruption.

  Rellen looked on as both doors parted at Garrett’s hands. Thank goodness, he thought. Someone sane is here. Ever calm, Garrett entered and stepped aside, and Rellen glimpsed the two strangers behind him. Their faces were half hidden by hoods, their bodies buried in frost-dappled furs.

  “These must be the messengers foretold,” boomed Emun. “Is it so, Garrett? Which of them carries the letter?”

  The visitors entered. One of them knelt to the floor and drew back his hood, answering Emun as though speaking to a king. “I am Saul of Elrain, milord,” said the kneeler. “I am the messenger of King Lumaur. Your fellow Councilors sent me here to find you.”

  Emun turned to the second visitor. “And you are?”

  The woman drew back her hood, batted her emerald eyes, and stilled every heart in the room. Her face was like the moon, shining brightly over a realm filled with dark hearts and darker states of mind. Every man caught himself staring, Rellen especially, and every voice was hushed. She opened her mouth to speak, but her gaze wandered onto the wonders of Emun’s room, and before she could utter anything, Saul stepped forward.

  “Milords, this is Andelusia of Cairn. She’s been my guide through northern Grae and my good companion. She humbly requests you allow her to remain. She has no home but here, for hers is lost by circumstance.”

  “You are the messenger, not she.” Emun frowned. “She may wait outside until we are finished. Lady Andelusia, I welcome you to Gryphon. You may stay in my keep and sup at my table, but only Saul will speak tonight. This is dire business, and no place for a girl.”

  Rellen wanted to argue, but managed not a sound. Saul said nothing. The look of a wounded pup in her eyes, Andelusia curtseyed and retreated toward the door. A mere step before reaching it, she lifted her eyes for a last glance into the room. It was a strange thing, a moment of chance, but just as she looked up, Rellen did the same. He plunged into the ocean’s green of her eyes, drowning in the depths of her beauty. She never once blinked, but returned his stare with the subtlest hint of a smile. Who are you? Rellen caught himself wondering. Why are you with this man from Elrain? And what are you doing in Gryphon?

  The girl backed another step away. The door hammered shut behind her, and he saw no more of her.

  He heard hardly a word as his father introduced Saul to the room. He remembered only Andelusia. Her face, soft as whitewood, had seemed entirely out of sorts with the dreariness of the eve. He remembered her eyes, consuming him like rain, and for a flicker of time he forgot where he was and what seriousness surrounded him.

  “Rise and speak,” Emun commanded Saul.

  Looking doggedly tired and half-numb with cold, Saul reached into his satchel and pulled forth a slender jade drum, within which rested the written words of Lumaur, king of Elrain. Saul blinked hard, focusing his eyes to remain steady. He offered the container to Emun, but the lord of Gryphon stepped forth and pushed Saul’s arm down to his side. “Read it aloud, I beg you. We would hear Elrain’s words from one of its people.”

  Rellen snapped out of his daydream. He glimpsed Garrett standing stoically at the door, eyes unreadable, and he saw his father step back from Saul. Saul unraveled the contents of the drum and read aloud his message:

  Greetings, good people of Graehelm. I do not know who in your lands receives this missive, or if it shall be received at all, but I tell you now, it has been too long since I sat together with any of you. It should please all of us that our people remain friendly to one another. I hope your receipt of this letter means my servant is safely within in your custody.

  As I sit to write this, the seasons are changing. The leaves of Cour are amber and scarlet, and our finest harvest in many years is safely tucked away. Another year has gone by without any greater trouble than I could expect. Were all autumns so fair, we might be thought fortunate. But autumn is not the only change that comes. The tiding of another has come to my ear. As you might know, the Nimis plain is all that separates eastern Elrain from the great range of hills and mountains known as the Corus. It is in the Corus we have chanced to meet the people of Davin Kal. To my reckoning, the Kal are a docile sort who live for the love of peace and strive for no greater thing than happiness. The small amount of exchange we have had with them suggests they find meaning in the simplest of things, be it the stars, the moon, or the earth itself. The Kal are good neighbors, for all I know of them. What king can hope for more than that?

  But even good men have enemies. Like the rest of us, the Davin Kal have a foe of their own. Each time my emissaries have gone to the Corus, they have returned to me with the rumor of war between the Kal and another, less savory power. Never once have the Kal asked us for our aid. To fight their enemies, the Kal trained an army of their own, men who make war in only the most sacred and traditional ways. These men, proud and powerful, defend the Kal from their foes, whom they know by name only as the Furies.

  It was one year ago. I remember it to the day. I sent fourteen men to the lands of Davin Kal, meaning to bring back as many of the goods, ideas, and history of these people as they could. I proposed to forge an alliance between neighbors, for what better offering is there to make than friendship? To this day I am troubled by what returned to me. Instead of the things I hoped for, my men told of an invasion by the Kal’s adversary, the Furies. They are vicious, these Furies, so my men tell me. Swords shatter against their helms, and dark clouds follow them wherever they go.

  Unless the eyes of my men were deceived, there now rages a terrible war of cleansing in the shadow of the Corus. The Furies have invaded the Kal, and it seems to me our quiet friends cannot emerge as victors. The Furies may only be men, but seem so monstrous that the Kal’s holy men have declared that this shall be the last generation, that all others will likely be annihilated by the Furies, and that all Kal should make peace with their maker. So my emissaries tell me, and so I believe. The hatred the Furies hold for the Kal is limitless, for by the witness of my men, the Furies sent a hundred thousand soldiers into the Corus, murdering and butchering all the way. Deathbringers, the Kal name them. Pale knights, black tines, and sorcerers of old. If this be true, the Kal are surely doomed. Their army is a quarter of the Furies’ number. No valor may account for such overwhelming odds.

  As the lord of ancient Elrain, I admit a reluctance to throw our nation into war, even to defend an ally. Never would I suggest otherwise to Graehelm. But the world we live in is no shelter of grace, and such powers that we cannot conceive of appear to have awakened. The Furies are here. Something must be done.

  They say the desert gloom of the Nimis is nine days wide, and that no army of significance has ever crossed it. I presume a foe of any wisdom would know this. The Nimis protects the eastern border of Elrain as surely as a wall of mountains. But it is not Elrain I worry for. Graehelm has no Nimis that I know of. Your borders are clean and lush to the end of all sights. You are vulnerable.

  And so I come to the point. This letter is a warning. Long before I sat to write, the Furies stood upon the threshold of murdering an entire people, a people whose home lies dangerously close to your lands. I fear it even now. Once the Kal are destroyed, this nemesis we know so little of may come to your doorstep, and the sanctity of your realm defiled. I beg you now; guard thy house and shield thy heart.
For as formidable as we may be, a ruinous power has awoken amongst us. The Furies, whoever they may be, have already destroyed one nation. Soon they may seek another.

  May you live long and without suffering, in fields of gold and forests forever green.

  King Lumaur of Elrain

  A contemplative quiet settled upon every man in the room. Not a word was uttered for many, many moments. Rellen’s mind became darkest of all. The letter, he dwelled upon Lumaur’s words. Father and Mother already knew. They hid it from me. “Father, you lied.” The room went cold when he said it. “There’s a war. You knew all along.”

  Emun’s face reddened as though licked by a roaring hearth’s flames. His jaw constricted and his booted heels tensed, crushing the soft fur beneath his feet. “You’ll not speak to me like that.” He stared so hard Rellen blanched. “You dare to accuse, but you in all your youth do not understand. I couldn’t have foreseen this. What King Lumaur speaks of is beyond any estimation any of us have made. No lies have been told here. No one knew of this until now.”

  “Then what is it, Father? If not that, why are we here?”

  Emun collected himself. Knitting his fingers together and closing his eyes, he spoke as softly as he could manage. “Dennov is here for a reason having nothing to do with the Davin Kal. He and his father have uncovered a plot amongst the Three Lords of Mormist. There’s a rebellion, my son. It seems we’re in the best position to do something about it.”

  Dennov of Graf unfolded his arms, inclined his chin, and addressed Rellen’s father as though the two were equals. “Lord Gryphon, what if King Lumaur’s warning is nearer to heart than we presume? The Crown Mountains are no great distance from Corus. Could these things be entwined? Could these evils be one in the same?”

  Dennov’s guesses overshadowed everything in the room. All the men save Garrett, who stood patiently at the door, lowered their gazes to the floor in thought. Rellen’s heartbeat, hard and cold, cudgeled his senses with its rhythm. Maybe I should ‘ve stayed in Ardenn. Better barbarians and thieves than a real war.

  “Father?” he said at length.

  “Yes, my son?”

  “No more secrets. No more guarding of your mind. Tell me all you know, even if it’s awful. If the reason I’m here has nothing to do with Lumaur’s letter, then what’s so disastrous in Mormist? How does it involve us?”

  “So many questions,” said Emun. “The simplest answer is that I don’t have all the answers. There’s much to uncover, many truths in need of light. Lumaur’s message is not why I summoned you and the others. It’s Mormist, my son, all Mormist.”

  “What of it?”

  “Winter…” Emun shuddered as though to shake invisible snow from his body. “It clouds everything, but also buys us time. I must ponder all I’ve heard today. I’ll tell you what I know, my son, but you must come with me to the far tower, where even your mother does not go. I’ll show you what truths I can.”

  “The far tower?” He remembered the dark, lonely pillar of rock at the rear of Gryphon Keep. “Tonight?”

  Emun lowered his head and rubbed his temple with tired fingers. “Aye. Tonight,” he said wearily. “Garrett, Dennov, Saul of Elrain, I ask that you repeat nothing you’ve heard here tonight. My son and I must discuss these things in private. Gryphon need know nothing until our path is decided.”

  * * *

  Just outside the room, Andelusia drew in a sharp breath and peeled her ear off the door. Having heard every syllable spoken, she felt her bones quaking beneath her skin.

  The moon blind me, did I hear them rightly? Who are these people? What did Saul just go and do?

  Every word of King Lumaur’s letter burned in her mind. She found herself riveted to the struggles of House Gryphon, torn to hear the plight of Davin Kal, and wildly excited to know what would happen next. Saul’s voyage to the lands of Grae finally made sense. Dark and desperate times seemed on the threshold of the world, and she began to wonder just what she had gotten herself into.

  Heavy footsteps from the far side of the door drew near. Springing to her feet, she whirled and sneaked soundlessly down the stairs. Like the quietest of breezes, she slipped down into the great hall, where she breathed her first easy breath since daring to set her ear against Emun’s door. The hall was dark, its last servants blind to her presence. She felt exhilarated to have escaped, and terrified of what might happen if her eavesdropping were discovered.

  Saul would kill me if he knew. She secreted it away. I cannot tell anyone.

  A Walk in the Woods

  The dead of winter, and snow reigned in Gryphon. Piled in mounds on the city streets and sweeping like downy from every rooftop, winter’s offerings were everywhere, blanketing everything. Every chimney in the city breathed streams of smoke like pipe puffs into the sky, the only signs of warmth in a land benighted. Gryphon’s ponds and streams were frozen, their surfaces shining like blue glass. Icicles hung like pale swords from awnings, branches, and window sills. All was quiet. All was serene. This was winter in Graehelm, colder than in years.

  A brief walk beyond the southernmost street of Gryphon, Grandwood endured the cold season as ever it had. The great forest seemed a sea of white towers, its boundless branches encased by ice, clear and crystalline as glass. White, spidery oak limbs shrouded the earth in a warren of shadows, while evergreens and conifers taller than any tower in Gryphon stood sentinel. Behind the outermost row of trees, the forest was a shelter from the wind, the silence penetrated only by the shrill cries of a few hungry crows.

  It was late morning. The skies were grey and silver, a single sheet of clouds conquering all. Shrouded in white furs, Andelusia crept toward Grandwood. She was alone, free of Saul for the day, free by the grace of Lord Emun to do as she willed. Before the city fell from her sights, she looked back to Gryphon Keep. Lord Emun’s castle was plenty warm, its dwellers as kind and courteous as any she had ever meant, but it cannot not compare to Grandwood. She slid into the great forest like a sparrow, skipping atop the frozen powder as though weightless. The white earth and sea of glassy limbs welcomed her. She wandered over snow and frost until she found a secluded pond, one whose frozen waters were as hard as stone, and she made it her home for the day.

  The morning passed peacefully. She noshed on a breakfast of cold sausages and buttered bread, and later wandered about the frozen pond, whose frosted blue waters she named Mirror. Come midday, she perched upon an icy shelf of shale overlooking Mirror. She lingered atop the shelf for more than an hour, counting snow rabbits, daydreaming of mysterious shapes in the tree-limbs, and listening to the crows squabble. The morning’s cold sank beneath her furs, but she remained, seeming so much a part of the season that the rabbits, crows, and deer forgot she was so near. It was not until midday, when finally her limbs grew stiff and her eyes tired, she pushed herself off the frosted rock. She was hungry again, eager to scurry back to the warmth of Gryphon.

  What Andelusia did not know was that she was no longer alone. Not long after she leapt down from her icy shelf of shale, there was another who entered Grandwood. Today was a rare day for Rellen. No events were at hand, no friends calling, and no secret meetings planned with his father. Escaping from the demands of Gryphon, he approached the wall of Grandwood and slipped quietly into its embrace, not wanting to be seen by anyone. His mind was much like Andelusia’s this day. The snow-covered tracts of Grandwood were the perfect place to detach himself, an ideal setting to forget the world for a while.

  If Rellen was so eager to escape Gryphon, he could hardly be blamed. I’ve learned much in recent days, too much. Father told me plenty, and yet not nearly enough.

  With a sour smirk, he remembered it all as he cut between the old, magnificent oaks. High in the far tower of Gryphon Keep, his father had told him of the trouble in Mormist, of the nature of Nentham and Farid’s argument, and of Dennov of Graf’s plea for help. But I still have questions, and Father still hides. Since that night, his father had retired into solitude, emerging o
nly to dine, and Rellen was suspended without further foresight as to what Emun’s plans might be.

  Andelusia halted when she heard Rellen clomping through the snow. At first, she did not know him for who he was. She glimpsed him as he walked deeper into the woods, my woods, and he seemed unaware of her presence. His face still in shadows, he meandered around tree and trunk, rock and pond, and he failed to notice she was near. Her curiosity claimed the better of her. Quiet as a feather drifting, she crept to the flank of a marvelously tall tree and peered around it. Rellen walked into a pool of pale light filtered by the frozen limbs above, and her mouth fell open.

  I know this one.

  I saw him in the tower.

  He was the young man she had seen in the chamber of Lord Gryphon, the one she had not seen for seven days since. He stood beneath the trees, gazing into the grey sky, and she smiled secretly behind her tree.

  She watched him saunter to Mirror’s shore. The longer she watched him, the harder her heart beat. He was dressed in the manner of a prince, or so she imagined. His blue tabard bore the gold and silver crest of Gryphon, while upon his belt rested a sword of the likes she had never seen. She swung quietly around the tree and snuck behind the trunk of another, taking care to remain hidden. She crept ever closer to him, but he did not hear her soft footfalls. He knelt to the ground, where he crafted a snowball and hurled it into a tree. She did not mean to startle him, but when she slid to his side, sidling a mere footstep away, he sprang to his feet. In a flash she was at the end of his unsheathed sword.

  She froze. His face went white. As blindingly fast as he had drawn the blade, he put it away. “So sorry, milady. I mistook you for…” His confusion made a mess of his face. “What are you doing out here?”

  She extended her hand to graze the crest on his tabard with her fingertips, but then let her arm drift back to her side. “I was only now leaving. I did not mean to startle you,” she apologized.