“Don’t be. If you had any idea what he was like, you’d be as happy as me to see him gone.”
“You didn’t get along?”
Daylen laughed. “Now that is a funny question, because while the answer is yes, it’s at the same time a profound no.”
“It sounds complicated.”
Daylen laughed even harder. “You have no idea.”
“Well, at least you’re here to break the news to his friend.”
“Friend? I have no—” Daylen stopped himself. “I mean, my father had no friends.”
“Yes he does, the farmer who gave your father a ride in his wagon. He’s in the house.”
Paradan—the letter! Oh, black!
Daylen ran inside to find Paradan sitting in the very chair Daylen himself had sat in before he had left. Paradan was holding Daylen’s suicide letter, his face pale and expression horrified.
“Who… Who’re you?” Paradan asked.
“I, um…”
Ahrek entered after Daylen. “He’s the old tinker’s son.”
“Did you know?” Paradan asked Daylen through clenched teeth.
Daylen couldn’t think of anything to say. His intent had been to burn the note, along with his life’s accounting.
“Know what?” Ahrek asked.
“That the old tinker who lived here, Daylen, was really that daybreaking, stoned tyrant, Dayless the Conqueror!”
“What?” Ahrek said, stepping forward and taking the letter. He read, and as he did so, utter incredulity crossed his face. Once finished, his eyes were wide, and he looked to Daylen. Anger crossed the Lightbringer’s face, anger that seemed truly uncharacteristic from what Daylen had supposed of the seemingly kindhearted man. “Your resemblance is no coincidence,” Ahrek said, slow and clear. “Your father was Dayless the Conqueror!”
Daylen swallowed, not sure what to do. He could pretend that he didn’t know, but that would cause complications, especially with the things he wanted to grab. So, he made his decision.
“Yes,” Daylen said.
Paradan spat at the floor. “That blackened son of a Shade! He’s been living right under my nose for twenty years! I gave him a ride in my own wagon, we even had a duel, in which he beat me soundly. Light, I actually had a duel with Dayless the Conqueror.”
Ahrek’s face shook. He threw the note aside and paced across the floor. “This is unbelievable. After all this time, the Conqueror, alive! The Light truly must have a sense of humor if that was how we finally met. His age created the perfect disguise. I didn’t even recognize him, yet now, as I think about it, I can see his face under those wrinkles. It really was him!”
Ahrek’s eyes, like burning coals, turned on Daylen. “And this explains your namesake, Daylen.”
“What are you talking about?” Paradan asked.
“Daylen was Dayless the Conqueror’s name in his early life,” Ahrek said.
“Really? He had another name, and he even had the gall to go by it?”
Ahrek sneered. “And the gall to name his son the same. He had given it up for the darker name Dayless once he gained power. Most people don’t know this, which explains why he retook the name while in hiding.”
“Have a look at this,” Paradan said, handing Ahrek Daylen’s journal. “It was under the letter.”
Ahrek took the book and began to read, his brow climbing with each crossing of his eyes. He flicked through the pages reading briefly. “This is a full accounting of the Conqueror’s life!”
Paradan stood and paced across the room, kicking over the chair. “We should burn this place and everything that daybreaker touched down!”
“Does that include you? He touched you, I’m assuming,” Daylen accused dryly. “What about the money he gave you, or your wagon? You better burn them all.”
“How do you know he gave me money?” Paradan asked.
“He told me. I was with him at the end. I’m not saying he wasn’t a right blackened bastard, but his life here might still have led to some good.”
“Like what?” Paradan asked skeptically.
“The money he gave you…”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Then throw the coin away, you little snot.”
“Snot! Watch your tongue, boy!”
“If you act like a child, I’ll treat you like one, so put a rock in it and listen. If you don’t count it as good that he spent his years fixing the town’s things, look at me. I’m here solely because Dayless hid himself away, and if you knew anything about my father you would know he wasn’t exactly happy doing so. Living was the worst punishment anyone could have given him.”
Paradan paused. “He said as much in his note, but he still escaped justice.”
“At least we know the tyrant is finally dead,” Ahrek said.
“But how can we really know?” Paradan replied. “The word of his son? How can we trust that? And how can we even know that you’re really his son?”
“Just look at his face,” Ahrek said. “Apart from his age, he’s the express image of the Conqueror.”
“I never saw the Conqueror,” Paradan said, “apart from when he was hiding here, and by that time he was too old.” Paradan looked closely at Daylen. “But now that I look for it, there is a lot of resemblance…and your voice is even the same, just not as croaky.”
“Having any connection with…him…isn’t something I’m proud of,” Daylen said. “But the Light saw fit to bring me here, so I intend to live my life regardless of where I’ve come from.”
“I never knew he had a son,” Paradan said. “He must have fathered you after he went into hiding. But he’s been living here for nearly twenty years, as long as the daybreaker’s supposed to have been dead.” Paradan looked directly at Daylen. “Who was your mother?”
This was a question Daylen had prepared for. “Titina,” Daylen said.
“The old widow?” Paradan said. Daylen nodded. “She died…what, sixteen years ago?”
The old widow Titina had actually befriended Daylen when he had moved to Karadale, before she died. She had been somewhat of a recluse and had taken to Daylen seeing that he was in much the same situation as her: all alone. She was the perfect person to claim to have born a son no one knew of.
“She was able to suckle me as a babe, but after that was too old. I was sent away to the Mornington prefecture and grew up in an orphanage. Mother died not long after.”
“Stranger things have happened, I suppose,” Paradan said, looking about the room. His face scrunched in revulsion, he continued, “I need to get out of here. I can’t stand thinking such an evil murdering butcher has been living so close. People gotta know, though. I’ll go tell the magistrate and pass on the letter.”
Ahrek passed Paradan the journal, and the farmer retrieved the letter from the floor. He left the old cottage shaking his head.
And that was it. In a couple of falls, via many phonotrack communiqués, the whole world would know the truth, or half of it anyway. Daylen had to reach the capital before the news spread enough to warrant further investigation, namely into Daylen’s false birth.
“I see why the Light sent me,” Ahrek said after a small time of silence.
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“I’m to ensure that you don’t follow in the Conqueror’s footsteps.”
“You’re worried I might?”
“Honestly, yes.”
“. . .Me too.”
Ahrek nodded slowly. “So the question is, how much are you like your father?”
Daylen laughed. “Now that, Bringer, was funny. The answer is not at all, and every bit the same.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And hopefully no one ever will.”
Lyrah and Cueseg visited the closest constabulary to find out about any violent encounters in the city. There were a few, but the one that stood out most was a violent murder in a street alley. Some beggar had been utterly butchered. They visited the alley, and Lyrah picked up the very
same scent as they had on the tiled roof.
“Oh, light,” Lyrah said. “Things just got a lot worse.”
“You smell him?” Cueseg asked.
“That, and you just stepped in poo.”
“Bieuseck!” Cueseg said, cursing in his native tongue and scraping his shoe along the ground.
“You think the water they use to wash away the blood they would clean the poo away, too. Disgusting city!”
“Oh get over it, it’s just poo.”
“No, it is not. I am fouled and need to wash.”
“No time for that.”
“I have to wash myself. I am fouled!”
Lyrah had enough. “If you don’t get in line right now, I’ll pick up that steaming turd over there and force in down your throat.”
Cueseg’s eyes widened in horror. “You… You will not!”
“Oh yes I will.”
“I will stop you.”
“You know my bonds are stronger. I’m senior for a reason, Cueseg,” Lyrah bit out. “When it comes to our mandate or something that might threaten the Order, you’ll put up with literal crap, blood, pain, and death.”
Cueseg pressed his lips tight.
“Good. Let’s go.”
Lyrah and Cueseg entered the Laybourn’s skyport at Low Fall to find it bustling with activity and industry.
The sight recalled memories from Lyrah’s childhood, as she had grown up near the huge capital port in Highdawn.
Dockworkers raced back and forth hauling cargo, driving wagons, sweeping docks, or directing traffic. There were several whalers skinning their most recent catch in more than one dock.
Countless shipmen wearing common working clothes or the uniform of their respective ships also filled the port. They directed passengers, loaded or unloaded cargo, walked in merry groups off to a pub, or were returning to the dock to man their ships.
Most slept during this time, but as every fall was lit continuously by the sun, it wasn’t much of an inconvenience to switch sleeping habits to satisfy the demands of commerce. Some didn’t even follow the falls and just slept whenever they got tired.
They all gave Lyrah and Cueseg a wide berth.
The whale carcasses filled the port with the stink of blubber, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as a true edge port.
“There’s been too much activity here,” Lyrah said. “His scent is all mixed.”
“He comes here to find a ship,” Cueseg said with a mouth full of pastry.
“Light, Cueseg, can you please finish your food before talking!”
“No, I find food in this place that is not awful,” Cueseg said, his mouth still full of food. Holding up the pastry he was eating, he continued, “Look, it is cooked through, flaky and has lots of butter. I am going to eat.”
For a man who was so picky about food, Cueseg certainly ate a lot of it—and as it turned out, Tuerasians had some very different eating habits. Cueseg always ate with his hands, made a lot of noises when eating, threw his scraps on the floor or the ground, and of course had no problem speaking with his mouth full.
“Whatever. Let’s separate. Someone’s bound to have seen the boy.”
Cueseg left and began interrogating every person he found. Though foreign, he was still instantly recognized as an Archon with the Order’s white mantle over his shoulders and arms.
Lyrah grabbed the attention of a passing dockworker.
“Lady Archon,” the man said, bowing.
“I’m looking for the Portmaster,” Lyrah replied.
The dockman pointed.
Now that Lyrah was looking in the right direction, the Portmaster was easily identified. She was an elderly woman wearing a business-like vest over a white shirt, a top hat, a puffy cravat, and a long-laced skirt, with a ledger in hand.
Light, what was this grandma doing being the Portmaster? Wouldn’t the stress of such an office kill her? And that sword on her side should have made her fall over.
Lyrah approached the older woman.
Though surrounded by lackeys and clearly busy, the Portmaster bowed respectfully. “Master Archon,” she said in a wheezy voice. “How can I serve you?”
“I’m looking for one of my brothers who might have caught a carrier out of the city,” Lyrah said.
“Oh, yes, and let me be the first to officially apologize to the Order that one of our noble protectors was asked to prove his legitimacy.” It literally took the woman twice as long to say this as a regular person. “Word hasn’t spread too far regarding the incident and all I can do is hope that the Order will show leniency. My understanding is that the Archon wasn’t wearing the mantle. He was quite young and…”
“In what way exactly did you force my brother to prove his legitimacy?” Lyrah said, unable to bear the slow discourse any longer.
The woman swallowed. “Ah. Well, just a small demonstration of his powers. Nothing too disruptive, I assure you. The Archon chose to demonstrate his speed. Once the tollman knew his mistake, the Archon was offered every courtesy, I assure you.”
“What was the name of the ship in question, and where was it headed?”
The woman flicked through her thick ledger and really seemed to take her time.
Lyrah struggled to contain her growing impatience.
“It was the Farrwhen, headed for Treremain,” the Portmaster finally said.
“What’s the fastest ship currently in port?”
“That would be the Sparrow, a runner owned by the National Post.”
“It’s now headed for Treremain with two additional passengers. Make sure the ship doesn’t leave until I’m aboard. The mail will have to be late. I’ll collect my brother and we’ll leave immediately.”
The Portmaster paled, but bowed and walked away slowly.
Lyrah sighed, not feeling very proud of herself for being so brisk with the older woman. But seriously, she was in a hurry, and that conversation had taken three times as long as it had needed to.
Lyrah left thinking about how the old woman described the boy using his powers. The boy had to be a Lightbinder; there was no way to fake enhanced speed like that. But was he a brother? Surely he had to be, for only Archknights could obtain the lightbinding powers… Unless Cueseg was right, and the boy had dedicated his life to fighting evil and had learned the secrets of the Vigil independently.
This was worrying, but not too much, for he could only survive the Vigil if his dedication was whole and true…
But what about the deserters? Lyrah asked herself.
Knights that deserted their calling weren’t common, but it happened, and it was serious enough that a special group existed within the knights to hunt them down.
This had always bothered Lyrah. If a knight lost their dedication to the cause, they should have lost their powers in the exact same way a Lightbringer did when they lied or committed a crime against the Light. But deserted knights still kept their powers. Once a knight got their powers, they kept them for life. This was true regardless of a change of heart. It was a close-kept secret within the Order that the world didn’t know, yet it still didn’t make sense. If the powers came from one’s dedication to a cause, they should then be reliant on that dedication, shouldn’t they?
Then Lyrah had another troubling thought. What if a person could get the powers regardless of their dedication?
She had never thought of that possibility before, and it troubled her deeply.
If it was true, anyone could become a Lightbinder if they knew the secret, even someone wholly evil. What destruction and chaos could be wrought if that was the case?
Lyrah shook her head. It was a stupid thought. The powers had only ever been received by men and women who were willing to give up the rest of their lives to fight evil.
But then Lyrah thought of Vaytem.
Vaytem had gone through basic training with her and no one had seemed more devout than he. The knights had saved his and his family’s lives from a Shade, which was why he had been so eager to join. He wa
s the one who had encouraged the others throughout the training, and continually praised the knights. Yet when they all underwent the Vigil, Vaytem was one of the recruits to have died. Lyrah’s trainer said Vaytem must have had doubt in his heart, so soft and hidden that maybe Vaytem himself wasn’t even aware of it. But Lyrah had known Vaytem. No one was more committed than he. His death had troubled her ever since.
Lyrah found Cueseg speaking to a blushing young woman who was having a hard time looking at anything but the man’s bare chest. “Young with blue hair,” Cueseg said. “He is wearing a long coat with blood on it. He came to port last fall. You see?”
“N-no, Archon. I wasn’t here last fall.”
“Then go,” Cueseg ordered with a palm held up, his other hand holding what was left of his pastry. He turned to Lyrah as the woman left. “I am doing as you say, but it is stupid.”
“I didn’t expect much.”
“Then why I do this?”
“There was a chance we might have learned something. It doesn’t matter; I know where the boy went.”
“And how did you find this?”
Lyrah smiled. “I spoke with the Portmaster.”
“You send me to ask people who would have no chance to know while you do what I need to do.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t figure it out.”
“I was doing as you say!”
Lyrah leaned down to the shorter man and patted him on the head. “And you’re a good boy for doing so.”
Utter confusion crossed Cueseg’s face. “What does this mean, the touching of my head? Are you asking to have sex with me again?”
Lyrah’s heart leapt. “What? No!” She turned away, trying to regain control. “Light, Cueseg, are all Tuerasians as perverted as you?”
“How am I perverted when you keep asking to have sex?”
Lyrah’s hand curled into a fist and she had to stop herself from hitting him.
She turned back and judging by Cueseg’s sudden hesitant expression, Lyrah’s rage was showing on her face. She hissed out her reply: “Listen to me carefully, Cueseg, because I’ve had enough of this. I’ll never have…have SEX with you or any man, and if you ever talk to me about it again, I’ll kill you.”
Uncharacteristic shock hung on Cueseg’s face. He blinked and then leaned forward, touching both hands to his forehead and then spreading them out before him. Lyrah had only ever seen Cueseg do this to the Order’s Archerons and the High Archain. “My sister Lyrah, I am sorry from the truth of my heart. I do not know. In my culture, to master self is great above all. We only show how we feel when we want others to see. Here everyone show everything, and this is strange to me.”
Shadow of the Conqueror Page 12
