Shadow of the Conqueror

by Shad M Brooks

  And then where would the world be?

  Lyrah had to track down this boy and stop him as soon as possible. At the very least he knew the secret of the Vigil, and if that secret was revealed, the world would fall into chaos.

  “Where is he now?” Lyrah demanded urgently.

  “He caused a commotion in town before leaving. The captain tried to detain him, but the Lightbringer he was with wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He caught a coach,” the magister sputtered, “headed for Treremain.”

  “The coach!” Lyrah spat, turning to Cueseg. “Light, we passed the blackened thing on our way here!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I had not claimed any leadership or sovereignty, but if there was any decision needing to be made, the people came to me to make it. I had been named leader of Hamahra without anyone saying a single word to make it so; and, seeing that this was the case, I saw fit to rebuild my nation.

  The people loved me for that, and with their support I put in place my government. I could see how things had become so bad under the aristocracy’s boot. A group of elite snobs had each claimed a bit of the nation and held it over the rest of the larger population, forcing them into servitude. They had a stranglehold on property and the economy all because of greed and status. To make sure this would never happen in my new Hamahra, I decreed that no one could own property, not even me. Everything was owned by the government. No one owned anything, and everything was owned by all. I believed it to be a fair and just system, a true communal state.

  With the state retaining control over the land, I could ensure a fair and even distribution of its resources, overseeing how the land was worked, putting the effort where it was needed. This was primarily how I fed a starving nation.

  * * *

  Daylen and Ahrek arrived in Treremain by the end of mid High, their coach pulling up in the city’s Grand Central Station at one of the many platforms.

  The station was a remarkable construction, with each outer platform canopied by half-cylinder roofs made of iron and glass, and the main building itself constructed out of brick, standing tall and proud with a prominent domed center.

  The city’s skyport was very near the station, with many darkstone-floated platforms constantly ferrying cargo between the two.

  The Grand Central Station and the skyport were the main transport hubs of the city and thus the main commercial district had grown around them. The impressive brick buildings that encircled the station and port were built high and close together, bordering wide cobblestoned roads. Daylen could see that there must be high demand for space in this district, due to the many skysitters floating above with darkstone-supported staircases leading to their small terraces at their front doors; or, if the residents were richer, with fixed levitation platforms that would lift the people as high as needed.

  All of the buildings on the ground had some type of storefront sellingdifferent goods or services.

  Daylen and everyone else disembarked the coach, the other occupants all too happy to put distance between themselves and Daylen.

  Daylen had unclasped Imperious from his belt, holding the sheathed sword in his gauntleted left hand. Ahrek and he began making their way down the platform when Daylen heard, “Extra! Extra! Dayless the Conqueror living in hiding for last twenty years! Read all about it!”

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” Ahrek said.

  “The magistrate in Karadale must have a phonotrack and sold the news to the press as soon as he heard it.”

  Daylen glanced to a group of well-dressed people, top hats and parasols all, who were whispering intently to one another while looking at Daylen. They were holding a single paper each. The news extra.

  Daylen turned to walk to the paper boy, who was in the middle of his call. The boy lost his voice completely when he saw him.

  The paperboy looked to the extra in his hand, to Daylen’s face, then down to the shining mark of a Grand High Master of the sword on Daylen’s belt and back to his face. His eyes were as wide as coins.

  Daylen flipped the boy a gram and took an extra. When he saw it, he realized why he stood out. The paper had gone to the trouble of making two drawings, one a guess of his aged appearance—a good guess, too, though they had certainly tried to make him look as menacing as possible. The other picture looked to have simply been a reproduction of one of his older portraits, meaning a painting done early in his rule, and they had just made him look younger. Even with the loss of detail through the printing process, the image looked exactly like him.

  “A perfect resemblance,” Ahrek said from over Daylen’s shoulder.

  Daylen finished reading the extra and passed it to Ahrek. “You said yourself that I look exactly like the Conqueror. Well, apparently Paradan took that to heart, and the information was passed on. My mug is probably on every paper in the city.”

  “People still might not recognize you unless they look closely at your face, but then again your master’s mark grabs attention.”

  “If anyone wants to challenge me they have a right to know of my skill, so I can’t exactly take it off.”

  “I accept that. Just remember that with their recognition there will be many judgments and expectations. So in other words, Daylen, be on your best behavior, please.”

  Oh, that grated on Daylen’s nerves. He looked down to the paperboy, who was still staring.

  “It’s really you,” the paper boy said.

  Daylen ignored the boy and left. Blackened kids.

  Walking along the platform, he drew looks from every person he passed.

  Yep, he really was going to be popular.

  A man and woman dressed in the most expensive of clothes made eye contact in no other way but to say, We intend to speak to you. A copper-collared slave, meaning one who had entered into slavery voluntarily, stood inconspicuously behind the two.

  The man approaching Daylen wore a rich tailed dueling suit, a cravat, and a top hat with an expensive broadsword at his left side. He also walked with a parrying cane in his right hand.

  The woman wore a fine dueling dress. One often had to take a second look to see if a dress was made for dueling or not, for they could bear as much lace and finery as any other. But the decorated studs at the front held the dress’s removable front. The elaborate swept hilt of a mastercrafted sword sat at the woman’s hip, though the blade hung inside the dress, having been threaded through a purposely cut and laced bordered slit in the side.

  The couple each had long tassels hanging from their hair. The man had at least two orange beads and a red, while the woman had three orange. They were very successful duelists, though anyone who wanted an honorable position in society had to bear tassels like these.

  After reaching Daylen the two of them bowed respectfully, and Daylen had no choice but to stop, for they made sure to bar his path. The slave didn’t bow, as was customary; they were regarded separate from society.

  “I am Master Sunsarret of the Kon’aden family, and this is my wife, the Lady Viveen of the same.”

  Daylen looked at them, not replying. Kon’aden must have been one of the more powerful families in Treremain.

  “Please forgive my forwardness,” the man, Sunsarret, said, “but I must know, young sir, are you the one of which this article speaks? You certainly bear the resemblance.”

  Oh, what a stuck-up rock.

  “If I am, that would be my business,” Daylen replied.

  “Indeed… You bear quite the mark for one so young, yet I don’t recognize you from the masters.”

  “Are you truly a Grand High Master of the Sword?” the woman asked with keen interest. “It’s hard to believe, seeing as we’ve never heard of you.”

  Glancing to Ahrek, Daylen replied, “Apparently there are more Grand High Masters than people realize.”

  “Your sword?” the man asked in awe. “It looks exactly like Imperious itself, from what I’ve seen in paintings. But it can’t actually be I
mperious, can it?”

  Daylen didn’t respond, his annoyance building.

  The couple looked to each other nervously, and then the woman leaned forward. “Have you come to attend the tournaments?” When there came no reply, she continued, “Hundreds would pay to see a demonstration of your skill. Oh, and you must come to the ball! Our family is hosting this evening. Why, you would be the guest of honor, especially if you’re indeed who we suspect. Everyone is positively beside themselves to find out more about you.”

  “Pray tell your name, young sir?” Sunsarret asked.

  “I don’t feel inclined to give it, nor to attend any ball, tournament, or function. My business is my own, to which I must be about. Good day.” Daylen went to walk around the two, but was stopped as the man shot up his cane to bar the way.

  “I might take offense at being dismissed so. I would implore you to offer the expected courtesy, or I would be prompted to action.”

  Daylen could feel the heat in his voice and his eyes locked on the man’s. “You can act however you want, but just remember that I bear this mark for a reason—and unless you want a shorter life, you had better get out of my way.”

  The man wilted like a dying flower, and lowered his cane. “Upon my honor, I meant no offense. I wish you light in your fall, good sir.”

  “And I also to you,” Daylen said flatly, his expression matching his foul mood as he stalked away.

  Walking down the platform, Daylen could feel Ahrek’s displeasure as if it were indigestion. “Believe it or not, Ahrek, I was holding back.”

  “From what, exactly?”

  “Shoving that peacock’s cane up his own ass.”

  Ahrek sighed. “While I’m very glad you didn’t do that, you still threatened to kill him unless he moved out of the way.”

  “A hollow threat. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Yet that man certainly believed it, and now he thinks the son of Dayless the Conqueror is not only willing to kill people who get in his way, but as a Grand High Master, that he is perfectly equipped to do so.”

  Daylen stopped walking and sighed. He actually had done his best to hold back, and it really had been a hollow threat. Yet his anger had surged, and he honestly didn’t know what he could do when enraged. He needed to do better; holding back wasn’t enough. He needed to do the very last thing he would ever actually do in a situation like this.

  Light, this was going to be hard.

  Daylen turned and walked back to the finely dressed couple and their slave.

  The man’s face paled as he noticed Daylen and his left hand hesitantly rose to hold his sword.

  Daylen stopped before the couple and with his whole body tense forced himself to act.

  “I’m sorry for dismissing you so rudely, and for any threat I might have implied. In truth, I would never harm you.”

  The man… What was his name? Sun-something? Regardless, his brow rose in surprise and he visibly calmed.

  “I’m feeling judged enough as it is and hesitate to admit who I am,” Daylen continued. He glanced about to see that nearly every passerby on the platform had stopped to watch the encounter. “My name is Daylen Namaran, son of Daylen Namaran, also known as Dayless the Conqueror.” That lie was always strange to say, for it was very unnatural to think of himself as his own son. He was trying to be a different man, yet that wasn’t anything new. He’d been trying to do that for years now. The fact that he was now young didn’t make him a different person; he was still the same old man he had been a few falls past.

  The onlookers gasped when hearing Daylen, and he turned to yell at them. “Oh, come on! It’s not like you hadn’t guessed.” Turning back, Daylen continued, “And this sword is indeed Imperious, the link passed to me upon my father’s death—and yes, that can happen.” The couple appeared to be at a loss for words.

  Thank the Light. Daylen thought and bowing, he left.

  Ahrek was smiling ear to ear

  “Shut up,” Daylen said, walking past the Bringer.

  Leaving the station, they walked onto the busy street. Thankfully most people were too preoccupied to notice who Daylen was, but they weren’t too preoccupied to notice the man standing atop a box giving a very enthusiastic speech.

  Soap boxing in such public places wasn’t anything odd, but this particular man seemed to be truly upsetting the crowds as they booed and jeered him.

  Ahrek became noticeably displeased when he saw the man. “Another one—such a despicable movement!”

  “What movement?”

  “Dawnism, and you’re more related to it than you would like. It’s those who wish to bring back the Dawn Empire.”

  “What?” Daylen said.

  “Yes, that was my reaction too. It’s mostly supported by discontents and those who who’re too young to remember what the Dawn Empire was like. They practically worship your father.”

  “That’s… That’s insane!”

  “Yes.”

  “But everyone in the world hates Dayless the Conqueror.”

  “Most, but not everyone.”

  “You think people are going to make a connection between me and this…Dawnism?”

  “I think they already have,” Ahrek said, nodding to the impassioned speaker.

  The man on the box wore common factory clothes and shook a paper in his hand. It was the extra. Clearly he had a lot to say about the fact that the Conqueror had been alive for so long.

  “I would avoid speaking to any of them if I were you. Anyone who sees you with such people will think you support their movement.”

  “Yeah, they’d love to have the son of their hero on their side,” Daylen said, thinking about the truth of the matter. These people would piss their pants if they knew. Still, it would have been sweet poetry if he could have shown these idiot extremists that the man they idolized hated everything about them and what he once stood for.

  If only.

  “How could I not have heard of these idiots? There’s been nothing in the papers about them.”

  “I suspect the government has put a gag order on the press regarding the movement.”

  “It’s not enough. That barking fool should be arrested with the rest of them.”

  “No, he shouldn’t, and the government shouldn’t restrain the press.”

  “To stop lies they should. Listen to what this idiot is saying! It’s enough to make me want to bash his face in.”

  “That was the very logic the Dawn Empire espoused.”

  Ahrek’s comment was like a slap in the face.

  “Dayless made sure to crush anyone he disagreed with and who dared speak out against him,” Ahrek continued. “The freedom to express one’s beliefs, no matter how good or ill, should never be censured. So as much as I despise the ideology this man promotes, I would never stop him from promoting it. Otherwise I would have no right to promote my own and give those in power the right to silence anyone they arbitrarily deem a threat.”

  “I don’t know if I agree with that,” Daylen said, feeling revolted. “Lies and hatred should never be promoted. They should be crushed.”

  “And that’s most probably what Dayless the Conqueror said when he arrested and even executed thousands for just so much as speaking out against him.”

  “Yeah… probably.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Of course, every other nation saw me as a usurper and tyrant. What else were the monarchs of the other nations to feel toward the man who had executed his own monarchy? Light, many neighboring monarchs were related to the higher members of the Hamahran aristocracy. I represented a threat to their power and stability. Thus they painted me as a villain to their people, for only a true villain would rise up against their rightful rulers.

  It was at this time that the name Dayless surfaced in reference to me.

  * * *

  Why are we even here?” Daylen asked as he sat with Ahrek in a cafe. “You can just create what you need.”

  “That’s true, but in spending coin h
ere I help the proprietors support their family.”

  “I see.” Daylen looked around. “We need to eat quickly. I want to get to the capital and escape all this attention.”

  Everyone in the restaurant was intermittently turning to stare at them.

  “This extra is probably getting sold in every city in the country, if not the world,” Ahrek said, waving the paper. “You’re going to get noticed in the capital as much as here.”

  “Oh, black it, you’re right.”

  “Language.”

  “Sorry. What I meant to say was: Oh, shove it up a blackened motherless dracking Shade’s asshole, you’re right.”

  Ahrek frowned and his eyes stared at him from under lowered brows.

  “I’ll speak how I want, Bringer.”

  “You see, there you go again. More concerned about your own convenience than others. Using clean language is as much about showing other people courtesy as it is reflecting one’s own intellect.”

  “Intellect? I’d be happy to match wits with anyone.”

  “Yes, you’re smart enough to think of words that aren’t crude or offensive, and yet you express yourself just so.”

  “But some words are stronger and cause a stronger reaction from others. When you want to express something with weight, a curse does the job better than a politer adjective.”

  “And how much weight was needed just now?”

  “That’s for me to decide. Honestly, what’s a better world, Bringer? One in which everyone takes offense at everything, or the opposite?”

  “Well, fences are essential to managing livestock.”

  “Oh, don’t start!”

  Ahrek chuckled a little before replying, “Daylen, the answer’s obvious. The world would be much better if people weren’t so easily offended, something you still need to practice, might I add. Also, simply expecting people to be mature isn’t an excuse to abandon common courtesy.”