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

by J. Edward Neill

  The Furyons spoke. She could but listen and try to guess at what they said. She witnessed Daćin and Vom meet in a silent stare, their wills striving against one another in a wordless struggle. There is discord. These men hate one another. But why?

  “Welcome, Daćin.” The Emperor grinned. “I see you have caught something, a gentle fawn from the Graeland. I am not surprised you kept her from Minec.”

  “She is rare, Sire. I did not think she belonged with the rest,” answered Daćin.

  Chakran’s laugh unsettled her. “Rare indeed. You have done well to keep her here. She will not go to Dageni or to the black anvil, but instead to my keeper in Malog. She is, as you say, unique, or so Vom has told me.”

  Daćin’s mouth hardened into a daggerlike line. When he looked at her, she swore she sensed protectiveness in his eyes.

  “Commander,” continued the Emperor. “You are not a man of mercy. Explain why you chose such a pet. I am curious.”

  Daćin spoke carefully. “Sire, I have chosen to spare her as but once I am allowed. Call it not mercy, but my own desire that is her salvation. She is fairest among the Grae, and I would keep her at my hall should ever I return home.”

  Ear to ear, Chakran grinned. He seemed pleasured by a private thought, amused as only a wicked man could be. “Ah… Birds and snowflakes and pretty little fawns. I see your mind, my son. Who am I to deny you this small, small pleasure? So be it. You may have her.”

  “Thank you,” said Daćin.

  The Emperor’s smile faded. “Now then, permit yourself no further distraction, lest the spires of Tyberia be forgotten as you tarry. I return to Minec tonight. At my leaving, you are granted reprieve from the storm. But know this, when next the clouds thicken, they shall herald the end of our foes. When this damnable forest falls, call upon me. I shall ride from Minec again, and we shall bring our swords forever west.”

  It ended so quickly. The bearded beast, the shadowy snake, and the silent guardians marched from the tower chamber, leaving only Daćin and Arjobec behind. An argument has ended, she surmised. But who was the victor?

  Arjobec came to her. She snapped her eyes shut and open again, surprised to still be alive. “It is done, mistress.” The Furyon bowed. “They will not return. My master has bartered for you and won. Cast away your gloom. You will find it but a burden.”

  She lifted her chin. Two tears spilled like shattered glass from the empty hourglasses of her eyes. “Do you think that is what I want? To belong to one man in place of another? I do not care. Toss me in the sea or throw me before the wolves. I am a traitor. My life does not matter.”

  “This is not a death sentence.” He appeared genuinely sympathetic. “You will change your mind once you set foot into Furyon. Our realm is not what you think it is. It is breathtaking, so say all who see it. It is a long, emerald shore, beyond which lay endless fields of amber. In the west, a seamless row of mountains, and in the east, a host of manses so magnificent you might forget your own homeland when you swing open their gilded doors. That is but a taste of Furyon, fairest but for Tyberia. Does it sound so bad?”

  She dried her cheek with one soiled sleeve. “It is not enough. I am dead in here.” She tapped her chest. “You have killed me. I have killed myself.”

  The old soldier looked perplexed. “Not once in three days have you begged for release. How is it you are so forlorn? Is it the nature of the Grae to resign so easily? I pity you, mistress. We offer you hope, and you turn your back to it. You should find what good you can in this small freedom my master offers. He has never given it before, and he never will again.”

  “I have betrayed my friends.” She clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt. “Your offer means nothing.”

  He shook his head and wrinkled his weary brow. When next he spoke, his words were weighted with sorrow. “If telling us the truth to save your skin is the worst you have done, then you have no guilt worthy of tears. The poison of this war is on our spear, its blood on our hands. The outcome is inevitable with or without any secrets you have told.”

  He wrung his hands and rose to leave. Only Daćin remained. The great Furyon lord stood before her, swimming for a time in the greenness of her eyes. Startling her, he laid his palm upon her cheek, brushing her face with his calloused fingers. She did not move beneath his touch, no matter than it was warm. Why? She wanted to ask him. You destroyed everything else. Why not me?

  * * *

  A moment’s longing, and it was ended. Daćin left the tower and the red-haired girl behind. In the marble courtyard, there was no trace of Chakran and Vom, a fact for which he was grateful. “Arjobec.” He saw his old friend ambling away. “Wait.”

  “Commander.” Arjobec halted between two crumbling fountains.

  He stalked across the pale courtyard grounds. His boots felt heavier this morn, filled to their brims as if by mountain stone. When at last he arrived at the white-marbled fountains, he enclosed Arjobec’s shoulder within one massive hand. This will not be easy, he knew. “We have been through much, you and I,” he said after a short silence.

  “We surely have, my liege.”

  “We have known each other since I was a boy. You have taught me humility, patience, and respect for our enemies. For all this, I am thankful. I have long wanted to tell you these things. I wish I had done so before today.”

  Arjobec looked perplexedly at him. He does not understand. “Old friend…” His hand fell from Arjobec’s shoulder. “I have thought long upon this. I have decided your many virtues have no place in this war. You and I fight for Furyon, but our purpose is blacker than that. We are proud slayers of a whole nation, and I fear our spears have dipped too deep into the blood of the innocent. There is no glory here in the Graeland, the same as in Davin Kal. Men like you do not belong.”

  “What do you mean to say?” Arjobec looked worried.

  “I am sending you home.”

  Arjobec reeled as if struck by an arrow in the gut. The elder warrior’s neck turned scarlet, his eyes full of shame. “Milord, you would banish me?”

  “You look as if I have crushed the better part of you.” Daćin shook his head. “No, do not wear this look. It does not suit you.”

  “But…”

  “There are no buts, old friend. It is decided. I have a task for you that has nothing to do with war, one that will be your last in my service. You will do it, and afterward you will remember what it is like to be something other than a soldier.”

  “Milord, I would do whatever you ask.” Arjobec’s shame caused his voice to crack “But this…I… I did not expect.”

  “Nor did I. No matter. You will do it, and someday you will thank me.”

  “I would rather fight at your side,” Arjobec stammered. “But… you are Commander. I am but an old man anymore, replaceable as a mule. If you say it must be so, I will submit. Please tell me your demand. I must know what you would have me do.”

  “Go back to Furyon.” He saw his every word crushing the old man. “Bring the girl with you. Take her as far from blood and death as the sea allows, and keep her away from Malog. Find my home and take it up as your own. Treat yourself to all my house has to offer. With this do I release you, loyal Arjobec. This is not a punishment, but a reward for duty served without flaw.”

  “I...” Arjobec bowed, trembling all the way. “I will do it if I must. Though I wish there were some other way”

  He leaned lower. His shadow fell across Arjobec, bringing the much smaller man to swift silence. “There is no other way, my friend. Tomorrow you will leave. You will not stay long in Minec if you can avoid it. Chakran’s most watchful eyes are there. When Minec is behind you, you will take to the mountain path, then to the harbor. I will give you my seal, but you will trust no slaver to honor it. Go to Dageni. The mines are shut, for all the black ore is gone. Go now, and find a peaceful life. Do not argue. Do not feel shame. You may not see it now, but this is a gift, not a curse.”

  “Master, when will you return?” Arjobec asked
, still bowing.

  He drew in a deep breath. “I do not know.” His words felt hollow. “The war may not suffer me to live. I do not foresee a battle lost, but I cannot help but think I will be claimed nonetheless, if not by death then by madness. But these are not your concerns. Take the key to my household and arise, yourself a lord of Furyon.”

  Subdued, Arjobec turned his back and picked his way across the courtyard. Daćin watched him go. The old soldier meandered through patches of sunlight, but he knew Arjobec felt no warmth. Rather, his old friend departed from the courtyard like a lost child, orphaned into the world without purpose. There will be no Tyberia for him, no glory of victory over the Grae. Daćin was glad for it. Better that he should be spared the Emperor. Better that he and the girl live in peace.

  * * *

  A red, glowering dusk, and her tower was quiet. Andelusia had no guards anymore, only the dread sense that she would be slaughtered if she stepped outside. Most of the Furyons had long left the city, abandoning her again to solitude. She could not hear the army, but she smelled their campfires in the forest. The roiling smoke drifted into Orye like a second sunset, the fumes like a pall choking everything. They will leave soon, she knew. But what about me?

  Arjobec stepped into her tower like a ghost gliding out from the mist. She thought nothing of his arrival. She had spent her last hour pacing, wondering what lay behind each of the sealed tower doors. Her body ached, wanting her to fly into the forest or spring into the waters of a lake warmed by the sun, but her heart was dark as midnight. When Arjobec entered, she did not look at him, but sat upon her sacks of grain and stared into the void.

  “Tomorrow we go,” he announced. “It is a long voyage across woods, mountains, and the sea.”

  She remained silent, hardly lifting her gaze from her study of the floor. Arjobec did not relent. “And after the sea, we will find the shores of mighty Morellellus, where the streets will overflow with the summer bazaars. Not two weeks from there, we will come to the house of Lord Daćin. Ah, my master’s manse. He lives in southern Dageni, far from the mines. Near his home, we will find tall grasses in the fields, ancient groves about the walls, and lakes so crystalline you can count the stars on their surfaces by night. There is excellent fare at his home, my mistress, and beds fit for the Emperor himself. A fountain, a garden, and a library are there also, no doubt longing to be seen by fresh eyes. Mistress, can you truly say that this does not arouse your interest? Are folk of Graehelm fond of nothing but gold and silver? Were I to be captured, I could only dream that the Grae would deliver me into such luxury.”

  He is lying, she believed. He makes it seem far more splendid than possible. “Will I be forced to work?” she asked.

  “No. Women perform no hard labor in our land, only that of keeping house and raising children, though some might say those are the hardest labors of all. But no, you will not even be called on for that.”

  “Will I be mistress to him? Perhaps to some Fury brute? Will I bear his children?”

  “Surely not a brute’s mistress, I assure you. Any man who dares touch you is subject to my master’s wrath. You are in his keeping, and there is no wrath greater than his save the Emperor’s.”

  “Then I am to be free?”

  “Well… perhaps not as free as you may have been, but then perhaps you were not as free as you thought. In time you will come to understand all things, mistress. Better not to tell you, but for you to see for yourself.”

  “My cloak and dress are spoiled. Will I get better clothes? Or will I even be allowed to wear clothes?”

  “Enough questions for tonight, mistress,” he said. “Get a last night’s sleep before we journey. It may be a long time before we enjoy a soft bed and a hot meal, and you have much to be taught.”

  Arjobec said no more. He reached to his back and loosed the satchel hanging across his shoulder. My satchel. She tingled at the sight of something familiar. She watched as he laid it before her, removing from its depth a half loaf of bread, a bowl of berries, and a skin filled with cool water. He cracked a small smile, quickly fading, and slipped out into the night.

  She sat down to her supper. Her satchel felt good to touch again, its smell a reminder of better places, better times. Thoughts began to flicker through her mind, dim imaginings of a future unknown. She had been captured for but a few days, but already her heart had run through a gauntlet of emotions. Into fear, then sadness, and then to utter hopelessness she had sunk. And yet, after speaking with Arjobec, she could not help that a tiny trace of hope leaked into her heart. His promises are so grand, his descriptions of Furyon so vivid. Surely all lies. But what if not?

  She did not sleep that night. Long after Arjobec was gone, as the smoke lessened and the moonlight shined through the archway, she slipped into a daydream of many things that had come and gone. Of Rellen, Garrett, and Saul, she anguished. They are probably dead, she wept, sleeping forever with Fury swords in their hearts. Of Lord Daćin and weary Arjobec, she wondered where they had really come from and why they had invaded. A hateful reason, no doubt. If Furyon is half as beautiful as the old man says, why leave it? Lastly, she imagined the blighted face of the Furyon Emperor, the wild-eyed monster who had hovered over her, reeking of malevolence. He is the worst of them. He is already dead, his soul rotten. We should kill him first. The rest will leave if he goes. The night deepened, dark and silent as death, and eventually all her thoughts fell away. As the first rays of dawn crept into the tower, she curled onto the floor and allowed her leaden eyelids to plummet shut at last.

  The armies of Furyon marched, but she heard nothing. The hours passed, the morning became mid-afternoon, and only when the faintest whisper wafted into the edge of her senses did she finally stir.

  “Arise, mistress. We must leave.” The voice was Arjobec’s.

  She cracked her eyes open. Somehow she had slept the whole day through, for dusk was already falling. The courtyard beyond the archway was bathed with warm, crimson light, so inviting she wished she were free to take an evening walk. Regretting that she could not, she peeled herself like old paper off the grass. Dull pain coursed through her head and arms. Sleeping on broken stone and bags of old grain had not done her well.

  Arjobec came to her. Gentle as a grandfather, he helped her to her feet. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Mistress, as you have likely guessed, it is time to go,” he told her. “But first…” He chose that moment to surprise her. From his bag he produced a clean set of garments: a loose shirt of soft leather, a long, slitted skirt meant for riding, and a pair of hard sandals. She stared blankly as he set the sandals at her feet and draped the garments over her arm. “These are for you.” He smiled. “Courtesy of me. I will wait outside while you change.”

  He strode out into the evening, leaving her to her privacy. She dressed herself in moments, afterward folding her ruined cloak and dress neatly on the floor. Garrett, she remembered when she saw her dress, now in tatters. I am sorry. I was not worthy to wear it. Her new clothing was clean, at least. Her shirt breathed of the night, smelling fresh as a forest after the rain. Her riding skirt fair floated over her legs, and her sandals felt far better than bare feet atop brittle grass and broken stone.

  Outside, two horses were waiting. Arjobec was already atop his. When he saw her emerge, he trotted a few steps nearer to the second horse and patted its saddle. “I know you can ride.” He regarded her with a half-smile. “You did it without much trouble when we found you. Now come, the night awaits us. Join me on the long road home.”

  A moment more spent gazing toward the tower, and she was off. Her passage from Orye was a silent one. She followed Arjobec past a thousand silent dwellings, a trek that served as a reminder that not all the folk of Mormist were as fortunate as she. She glimpsed the same sad faces that had peered out at her when first she had arrived. She wondered if it was from them her new clothing had been stolen, and she let her guilty gaze sink to the broken street until the sky became dark and the
city was behind her.

  She and Arjobec traveled deep into the night, where the only sounds left to hear were the chirping of crickets, the thudding hooves of their horses, and the voices of owls hidden in the trees. She wondered aloud how late they would ride, for it seemed strange to her they would go without the aid of sunlight. “Not all the forest is safe,” Arjobec explained. “At least not for us. Mormist folk are still out there. They would happily kill me, and given the times, they might do ever worse to you. Trust me when I say traveling by darkness is safer.”

  The deepest dark of night, and she and Arjobec came to a haunted road, an old passage hollowed into the side of a steep hill. Her stallion trotted onto the gloomy path, guided only by a swaying lantern, and as she slunk through the darkness Arjobec told her yet another of his tales. He told of caverns lurking in hills like these, mines that had long ago been abandoned, and ghosts who were said to roam at night. She thought at first he meant to frighten her, but he soon stretched his tale to less terrifying things, teaching her much of the mountain country she did not know. “How is it you know so much of Mormist?” She wondered.

  “The war,” he said. “We must know the enemy we mean to conquer.”

  Farther eastward he took her, beneath the shadow of the Crown Mountains, which loomed against the stars like giants with crowns of stone. The more she advanced upon the mountains, the more the mighty wall of rock blocked out great swaths of the night sky. Unafraid of the dark, Arjobec turned northward at the first sign of a break in the trees. Leading his horse by foot, he took her into a clearing, a space in the trees surrounded on nearly all sides by vines and creepers. “We stop here,” he told her.

  “Why here?” She ducked under a curtain of thorns and brushed the creepers from her shoulder.