Shadow of the Conqueror

by Shad M Brooks

  “It’s a pleasure to serve.”

  The rattle of a wagon announced Paradan’s approach.

  Daylen hobbled past the Bringer, surprised at the strength in his legs. The Bringer followed him down the path to sit back on the log railing.

  Paradan’s wagon was a very old darkstone machine, probably as old as Daylen himself, which was saying something. It pulled to a stop in front of Daylen’s yard.

  The man atop had large ears and a wide mouth that formed an unfortunate appearance. Two beads hung on a length of hair to the side of his head, called a tassel: one dull white, and one a shining sunstone. This indicated Paradan had won two sword duels in the past; one against a person who had never dueled before, and another against a person who had won at least one.

  “Light to ya, Daylen,” Paradan said as the soft wind failed to bother his messy reed-green hair. “And Light to you, Bringer,” Paradan said respectfully.

  The Lightbringer nodded back. “May the Light brighten your fall as well.”

  “You’re late,” Daylen said.

  “Sorry about that. Fergen Le’donner came around making a fuss just as I was about to leave, saying my son is paying his daughter too much attention. I had to deal with that old uproot before talking to Perenday. Not that it’s wrong for him to pay courtesies to young women, mind you—he’s marrying age, after all—but night come on me before I let any Le’donners marry into our family.”

  “Fergen is a Shade’s tit,” Daylen said. “And his kids would think half a wit is an endowment of intelligence. Light, Fergon’s stupid enough to think Perenday should marry into the Le’donners, if such a shadow ever fell on you.”

  “Shade take me now,” Paradan said in dread. He looked to the Bringer. “Are you to accompany—”

  “No, he’s not,” Daylen snapped. “He’s waiting for someone else. Honestly, I think I might turn this place into a skyport with all the traffic I’ve seen infall.” Daylen ended his grumble with a hacking cough, and struggled to stay on his feet.

  “Easy there, old-timer,” Paradan said, jumping off his open topped wagon to help, his left hand keeping the longsword at his side from swinging.

  “Off with ya!” Daylen spat, hitting Paradan’s hand away. “I’m not so old that I can’t stand on my own two legs!”

  Paradan looked at him with insufferable concern. Daylen hated it. He had ruled the world, and now a peasant farmer was looking down upon him.

  Grunting, he shuffled to the other side of Paradan’s wagon.

  “You sure you’re up to travelling, tinker?”

  “I’m fine, shade it!”

  But Daylen knew the small energy he had from the Bringer’s healing wouldn’t last; indeed, the trip would see to that. He heaved himself up onto the wagon, which was usually an impossible feat for him.

  Paradan sighed and climbed aboard into the driver’s seat. It was obvious the farmer didn’t like Daylen—no one did—but this wasn’t hatred. It was the dislike anyone had for spending time with the ill-tempered and old.

  Daylen didn’t mean to be so perturbed by everything; it was just that everything perturbed him. He didn’t think he had been so easily annoyed when he had been young, and surely people hadn’t been as patronizing.

  Still, like it or not, Paradan had to give Daylen a ride. It was payment for Daylen fixing the very wagon he sat upon.

  Paradan nodded respectfully to the Lightbringer and worked the wagon’s control levers. He pulled on the main throttle, which opened a hatch-like door to the darkstone driver fixed at the rear. With light now shining on the back of the stone through a few magnifying lenses, the wagon lurched forward, being pushed by the darkstone’s luminous repulsion. Paradan put a hand on the large steering lever sitting in front of him to direct the wagon as it traveled.

  It was an amazing means of transportation, far more so than the animal-pulled wagons of old, though it was one of the simpler darkstone engines.

  Even in his old age, Daylen was still enthralled by this technology. Machines powered by light, a never-ending resource. Of course, it was all thanks to darkstone’s natural properties.

  The wagon rattled on over one of the many brick roads Daylen had seen built during his time in power.

  The bumpy trip didn’t help Daylen’s health, and he coughed and hacked in pain regularly. At least the weather was fine; rain would have made this trip unbearable.

  They passed a patchwork of cultivated fields which sat over the rolling hills like a blanket. Many a farmer was out working their darkstone-powered plows, tilling the ground for the spring crops of barley, oats, beans, and potatoes.

  Groves of varying sizes were scattered throughout the paddocks, with many tree lines bordering the fields making windbreaks.

  Occasionally they passed an old ruin, most of them left over from the empires of the First Day which had ended with the First Night. It was thanks to the First Night that most of what stood in the distant past had been left in ruins.

  “I’ve never been to the city before,” Paradan eventually said, clearly trying to break the silence.

  Daylen couldn’t be bothered to respond.

  “My son wanted to come along with us. I might have let him if not for that mess with Fergon’s daughter. Light, that boy is shading my day these falls. Skipping his chores, courting air-headed nits with his own head not too far away, what with it being in the clouds so much. The lad keeps saying he wants to join the Archknights.”

  “You wouldn’t want him to be an Archknight?” Daylen asked.

  “If Perenday committed to practicing his sword more often, yes. The knights would reject him after the first week of trials with how he is at the moment. That’s his problem—he keeps saying he wants all these things, but he isn’t willing to work for them.”

  “Sounds like he just needs a good kick up the ass.”

  “I’ve tried that, too. Light, it makes me wish I were an Archknight so I could use their magic to fix the boy’s head.”

  Daylen huffed. “Lightbinding doesn’t work like that.”

  “But I’ve heard the knights can control the minds of men.”

  “That’s a myth. I’ve met many Archknights in my life and as much as they’ve wanted to change my mind, they never could, though some of the stories are true.”

  “Like what?”

  “Incredible strength, speed, massive jumps; some can fly, some can heal incredibly fast. I’ve even seen one cast lightning from his hands. But they’re not invincible. I’ve seen Archknights die.”

  “You have!” Paradan said with such shock his eyes looked as though they would pop out of his head.

  “I lived through the Fourth Night, Paradan. The Shade are more than capable of killing Archknights.”

  “I wondered about that. I mean, you look old enough, but I didn’t want to be rude. So, night… What’s it like?”

  Daylen replied with soft-spoken words. “About as terrifying as you can imagine. Darkness all around, while being constantly hunted by flying monsters, the ever-present risk that you might turn into one if without light for too long.”

  “You’ve known people who’ve turned?”

  “My own parents.”

  “Light,” Paradan said breathlessly. “I… Daylen, I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault, Paradan, and I got my revenge. With the Archknights, we fought back the Shade, killing thousands, and we brought an end to the Fourth Night.”

  “Wow. Your life must have been… I can’t even describe.”

  Daylen huffed. “That’s not the half of it.”

  “Do you have any other stories?”

  “None that I really want to share.”

  “Oh,” Paradan said, falling silent before curiosity once again got the better of him. “So what have ya got in that box there?”

  “None of your business,” Daylen said, growing tired of the conversation.

  Paradan pursed his lips and sniffed, looking forward.

  Daylen sighed and threw a sm
all pouch into Paradan’s lap that clinked as it fell. “Here. I, er… I wanted to give you that.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  Paradan did and his eyes widened at seeing the coin. “Daylen, I…I can’t accept this. It’s more money than I make in a year!” The pouch was full of golden quates, worth a hundred grams each.

  “Of course you can and you will,” Daylen said. “You need it, what with how bad winter was.”

  “Daylen, I…”

  “Put a rock in it, will you?”

  And Paradan did, with not the least hint of annoyance. Honestly, who would be annoyed with the man, ill-tempered and rude as he was, after he gave them a pouch full of money? Daylen wasn’t going to need it, and the truth was he had more stored away back home. He had more than enough coin on his person for the ship fare.

  Daylen had left his home behind and he wouldn’t miss it, though it was light-blindingly difficult to leave behind his sword, Imperious. If there was anything he wanted to die with, it was his sword, like the kings of old. He could have wrapped it in a cloth so no one would recognize it but he was too weak to carry the thing for the whole journey.

  So Daylen had to leave Imperious, along with everything else. The townsfolk would probably ransack the place eventually. Although, once finding out who he really was, they’d be just as likely to burn everything he’d ever touched.

  Darkstone could move exceptionally fast when enough light shone on it, and the roads Daylen had seen built were still strong and smooth, facilitating faster travel. They easily crossed a hundred kilometers in a few hours, passing the six towns that lay alongside the road to Treremain, though one of the towns, Liemet, barely earned the title.

  A commanding view of the land beyond revealed itself once they crested a small hill. Treremain sat far away in a broad valley.

  The city was average-sized, at least to Daylen’s eyes. He’d seen most of the great metropolises of Tellos in his life and Treremain didn’t come close to any of them—especially not the nation’s capital, Highdawn, Daylen’s former seat of power. But Daylen guessed that to the locals Treremain would appear to be the largest and most bustling place they’d ever seen.

  Treremain had once belonged to the Kingdom of Sunsen, which had declared war on Hamahra at the same time as the kingdoms of Daymar and Lumas did after Daylen had executed the Queen. In return, Daylen had made sure not a single a drop of noble blood remained. So devastating was his purge that many years later, when he was defeated, the lands and peoples who once belonged to those kingdoms had no royal claim or identity, and simply chose to remain with the new Hamahra.

  Skyships spotted the sky like upside-down boats, though designed to be far more aerodynamic with huge variance between themselves. The larger traders and carriers queued at the registry station to pass through the city’s shield net.

  The shield was made from a net of darkstone anchors, large square blocks of stone that encased a darkstone core. With no light shining on the cores they were fixed in the air, the very same way the Tectonic Darkstone Mantle held the continent in place. The anchors were spaced two meters apart from one another in a diamond pattern that formed a dome over the city. The anchors were so close that any skyship larger than a dory couldn’t fit between them. Any ship that tried to fly through the shield separate to the openings on the ground and at the registry stations would run into the immovable anchors and get shredded to pieces.

  Shield nets had been developed before Daylen rose to power, but he had certainly employed them to a much larger degree than times before. They were very common these falls.

  Even from this distance Daylen could spot the two battleships patrolling the city’s airspace from within the shield. They had very distinct silhouettes.

  The smaller personal skyships, ferries and coaches, flew much lower to the city and weren’t required to land in port.

  What remarkable and ingenious works of engineering skyships were. Daylen had even designed a few himself, though one, the annihilator, wasn’t something he was too proud of. With skyships, man had made the world a much smaller place.

  It was going to be a guilty pleasure to fly in one after twenty years of exile.

  Daylen looked back down to the city with anticipation.

  Apart from its fine shield, the city’s defenses were woeful, only having those two battleships to protect it. With a full-sized company of dragoons and a single battleship or warship, Daylen knew he could take the city in an hour. Other commanders might have difficulty with those resources; the city did have a border patrol, shield net, and would have a decent garrison, but Daylen had done more with less.

  “Now that is a sight,” Paradan said, looking at the city before them.

  “I agree with you there,” Daylen said, “but this city is nothing compared to Highdawn.”

  Paradan reached into a pocket at his side and pulled out some red ribbon. He began tying it around his arm, but Daylen snapped at him.

  “Put that away, you blackened idiot.”

  A red ribbon tied around part of the body was a dueling invitation. One could be challenged to a duel without a ribbon, but unless there was sufficient cause for the challenge, there was no shame in turning it down. Ribbons also prompted official duels that would be recorded in the ranking, which were a day’s length from a friendly bout.

  “You sound like I’m setting up a picnic in a Shade’s nest.”

  “The stupidity’s more comparable than you give it credit.”

  “I’m just looking for a duel or two,” Paradan said with no small amount of bravado.

  Daylen sighed. In the past he had been by no means an exception to bragging, but now, having lived for so long, he saw things differently. Yes, the ever-present threat of the Shade and the oncoming Night meant everyone had the right to bear arms. Well, arms that could fight the Shade, at least, which excluded things like shotspikes and rapiers. But that didn’t mean one needed to risk their life to prove themselves. If you knew you were strong, that was enough, but tradition said otherwise.

  “You’re not ready to compete in the lists.”

  “I already do.”

  “Not the city lists.”

  “I’m fairly good with a sword, old-timer, one of the best in the village. I’ve practiced with my brothers since before I could walk.”

  “A good foundation, but nothing compared to the precision that comes from being taught by a master. I’m not saying you’re a bad match for most in the city, but that’s because most know they’d get eaten alive by professional duelists.”

  “I still might win.”

  “You have a spare sword on you?”

  Paradan looked confused. “Uh… Well, yeah, of course. There’s three in the trunk.”

  “Stop the wagon.”

  “Daylen, I…”

  “I said, stop the wagon!”

  Paradan did so.

  “Grab one of your spares and help me down.”

  Paradan stared at him and Daylen scowled back. That got him moving—Daylen’s scowl could turn a Shade. Paradan was also probably being more accommodating than he would have been otherwise due to the money.

  With some difficulty and help from Paradan, Daylen managed to get off the wagon.

  His legs still felt strong, thanks to the Bringer’s healing. “Give it here,” Daylen said, holding out his hand.

  Paradan handed him the longsword.

  The sword was old and Daylen could tell by the state of the hilt and scabbard that the blade would need a good oil, but it would do.

  Daylen drew the blade and threw the scabbard aside.

  “Daylen, what under the Light are you doing?”

  Daylen ignored him.

  It felt right to hold a sword again, and yet it was distinctly heavier than he remembered. He had grown so weak.

  Daylen had once been a Grand High Master of the Sword, not that he would tell Paradan that. It was the highest ranking level in the world and no more than fifty
people were alive at any given time who had attained it.

  With how frail Daylen was he would be orders of magnitude from the ability worthy of that rank. But he still possessed the knowledge and experience of the rank, along with the added artificial energy from his recent healing.

  More than enough to deal with this misguided snot.

  Daylen breathed in deeply and forced his body to move. He walked with a much stronger gait than before, though he knew would pay for it later.

  That was the thing about being frail. Moving slowly and hobbling wherever he went was a way to conserve his strength, not that he couldn’t force himself to exert more strength when he wanted to; it just took more effort and was bad for his body.

  This was going to hurt.

  “Daylen, what is this about?” Paradan said as he followed him to a clearing in the shrubby field.

  Daylen pointed the sword at Paradan and said, with steel in his voice, “Paradan, I challenge you to a duel!”

  Chapter Two

  I was born to loving parents in the city of Sunview, though now you would know it as the capital, Highdawn. My father was an educated man despite growing up under the boot of the aristocracy, so my family hadn’t exactly been as poor as the rest of the country. This meant I received a good education, mostly in mathematics and engineering, the latter being my father’s trade—and something I myself learned to love.

  * * *

  What!” Paradan said incredulously.

  “You heard me,” Daylen spat.

  “Daylen, you can barely stand.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You can’t deny anyone while wearing that ribbon.”

  “Of course I can. Light, the ribbon means I must accept every fair challenge. Fair!”

  “You listen now and listen good, you little snot!” Daylen said with a growl. “You’ll grant me what my honor deserves and fight to first blood with the best of your ability, got it?”

  “I might kill you!”

  “Like that’s far off, anyway! If you deny me, I’ll take back that money I gave you and tell everyone how much of a light-cursed coward you are and that you piss yourself at the sight of your own shadow.”