After purchasing his sword Daylen had done a little searching and found a darkstone vendor to replace the dagger in his gauntlet. It was quite the revelation that darkstone could nullify lightbinding, and having that dagger had just gotten him out of a very sticky situation.
Daylen had never even heard rumor that the knights bore such a fatal weakness, even from the spies he had sent to infiltrate them. Just another secret the knights kept—and for obvious reason. Had he known this when he had been in power… Light, he could have defeated them easily. If he’d just tipped shotspikes with darkstone, he would have reigned night down on them. It was a troubling thought. The knights weren’t nearly as invincible as they acted, which wasn’t good. The world truly needed them, especially because of the Shade.
Daylen would keep their secret, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use this secret to his advantage.
After replacing the dagger Daylen had stopped for dinner, all the while wondering how Ahrek would deal with those Archknights. Oh boy, would that have been a sight!
Now he was making his way to the hotel where had had planned to meet Ahrek. He landed on the Fallton’s penthouse patio. Instantly, he sensed a bright inner light from within the next penthouse over. That light had to be Ahrek’s, Daylen knew, as there were very few people as bright as he. Jumping to the next terrace over, Daylen saw that this penthouse was much larger than the others; indeed, this must have been the Imperial Suite.
Daylen wondered why Ahrek, who was so reluctant to even rent a penthouse, would purchase the most expensive room among them.
Then Daylen sensed the two other inner lights inside.
Ahrek wasn’t alone.
Hotel attendants? Maybe some constables waiting for him?
Or it could be the last two people Daylen wanted to see?
Daylen walked across the terrace and opened the double glass doors that led to the Penthouse’s sitting room.
The two Archknights stood inside with Ahrek, who was relaxing on a coach and drawing away in his sketchbook.
Daylen’s eyes were instantly drawn toward Lyrah, and seeing her brought a sharp stab of pain and guilt which quickly turned to caution. These two knights had just attacked him half a fall earlier.
“They’re not here to fight,” Ahrek said, clearly noticing Daylen’s defensive posture.
Daylen glanced to Ahrek and then looked back to the knights distrustfully.
“He can’t lie, remember?” Lyrah said.
“Then why are you here?” Daylen asked accusingly.
“We’ve come to an arrangement.”
“Funny how I’m clearly not included in the we, even though I’m the one the arrangement must be about.”
“The arrangement will require your acceptance too, Daylen,” Ahrek said, “but I do believe it’s the best option.”
Daylen glared at the Archknights. “All right, let’s hear it.”
“Lightbringer Ahrek has convinced us to not take you into Archknight custody,” Lyrah said, “though you will turn yourself over to the constabulary to face the charges against you. If you’re found guilty, I’ll see that your sentence be carried out. If you’re innocent, we will remain with you to see that you don’t abuse your powers or give away any secrets until the time comes that you keep your word and join our ranks.”
“This is the only peaceful possibility,” Ahrek said, answering Daylen’s frustrated expression.
“No, another possibility is that you knights could go and shove all this up your…” Daylen’s heated words died in his mouth the instant he looked back to Lyrah’s face. Guilt and heartache came upon him instead.
“Archon Lyrah has already spoken to her superiors, and they’ve agreed,” Ahrek added.
Lyrah’s face flashed with deep displeasure at that comment, but her very presence was recalling such terrible guilt within Daylen that he had barely noticed.
In fact, it was hard to think anything at all, standing face to face with one of the young girls that had been forced into his bed more than twenty years ago. One of the young girls he had raped…again and again.
The more he looked at her, the worse his guilt grew.
Daylen tried to fake composure. “Fine, I suppose we’re going to have to get…to get used to each other. Nice to meet you,” Daylen added as he turned abruptly and walked to one of the rooms. He closed the double door behind him and leaned on it, slowly losing the strength in his legs, sliding to the floor.
There he remained as the pain of past memories grew to consume him, his eyes seeing only those things in his mind—and there they found nothing but torment.
Ahrek kept looking at the double doors that Daylen had closed. “Hmm… I thought he would have kicked up a bigger fuss than that.”
“Yet he did not look happy, not at all,” Ahrek’s Tuerasian kinsman, Cueseg, replied.
“Good,” Lyrah said. “It’s only fitting that he hates this situation as much as we do.”
Ahrek frowned. “There’s no need to be petty.”
“Petty?” Lyrah spat. “You’ve strong-armed this whole situation, Bringer! Who’s being petty here?”
“And now we’re companions, so we’d best find a way to get along.”
“It can be hard to get along with this one,” Cueseg said, nodding to Lyrah. “But she is good.”
“Oh, great way to show loyalty, Cueseg!”
“I do not find this as bad as you. My Seerium brother is right that we cannot arrest the boy. It is not justice. Now the boy knows we will follow him until he joins the Order and he is not fighting us.”
“But babysitting isn’t what we should be doing. We should be hunting out the blackened Shade!”
Ahrek cleared his throat. “Surely a woman who bears such a sacred duty would use more civil language.”
“This is what I say to her,” Cueseg chimed in.
Lyrah rubbed her forehead. “Yes, I know, thank you!”
“It is you who said we will follow the boy,” Cueseg said to Lyrah, “and now you say you do not want to? Is he a danger to the Order, or is he not?”
“Of course he’s a danger,” Lyrah said.
Ahrek chose that time to interject. “I think you’ll see differently as you get to know him.”
“Argh! This whole situation stinks,” Lyrah said. “I need sleep. Cueseg, keep an eye on the brat and make sure he doesn’t sneak off without us. Wake me by mid Low.”
Lyrah walked to another bedroom and shut the doors behind her.
Ahrek looked to his Tuerasian brother and asked in their native tongue, “Would you like some company?”
Cueseg looked at him with a blank face. “Seerium, you wish to be in my presence?” The Archknight’s Tuerasian speech was of the formal prestigious accent. Clear and perfectly spoken.
“Of course,” Ahrek said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to spend time with anyone from Tuerase.”
“It’s my responsibility to explain to you,” Cueseg said, “as you’re obviously more Hamahran than Tuerasian, that I am a lowsum and shunned by our people, but as a knight you must also show me respect.”
“I know what your mark is; my parents were full Tuerasian, after all. But I grew up in Hamahra and I couldn’t care less.”
Cueseg’s face barely changed, but from his experience with his father Ahrek knew that Cueseg was pleased. Cueseg also seemed to relax and took a seat on one of the couches. “I can’t express how good it is to speak in our language. Whenever I speak in Hamahran I feel like a dribbling idiot barely able to make myself understood.”
“Oh, you do fine,” Ahrek said, creating some plates of sticky bread on the low table in front of the couch. “Please, help yourself.”
Cueseg looked at it with a blank face, but the tone of his voice conveyed distrust. “I’ve never seen a dish like this.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.”
Cueseg sighed. “I don’t think so. It’s clearly Hamahran, and the food of this land is horrible.”
Ahrek smiled in reply but didn’t say anything.
Cueseg sighed and took a piece of sticky bread. After chewing a little, his eyes brightened. “Seerium! This is actually good.”
“That appears to be more of a miracle than the fact I created it out of light.”
“But it is!”
Ahrek laughed. “You must have been starved of fine food for some time.”
“Yes!” Cueseg exclaimed. “Everything I’ve purchased in this land is either too bland, lacking any spice, or so overpowered that it’s as if the ingredients are at war.” He held up the sticky bread. “This has been the first truly good thing I’ve eaten since coming here.”
“Where has your food come from?”
“From the vendors, of course, and the regular meals from the Hold.”
“Ah, that’s why.”
“What, have I been doing something wrong?”
“Unlike Tuerase, anyone allowed to publicly sell food in Hamahra doesn’t have to undergo formal training or meet a certain standard apart from the health and safety laws.”
“Yes, I’ve learned that.”
“Instead, the master chefs work in places called restaurants. They’re like a formal supply store that sells cooked meals. It’s there that you’ll find the true heights of Hamahran cuisine.”
“So, Hamahran restaurants are like Tuerasian street vendors?”
“In terms of quality, yes.”
“Oh…”
“Your companion would have told you as much.”
“You have no idea how hard it is to communicate with that woman.”
“You don’t get along?”
“No,” the Tuerasian replied stridently. “I like her very much. She is a strong woman, has a kind heart, and wishes to help anyone in need. But whenever I try and help her overcome her weaknesses, all I do is manage to offend. She has such amazing strength that she hasn’t embraced, having given in to her fears too easily. The Tuerasian way would help her greatly, for she needs to master herself. I tried this when we first met…”
“Oh dear, you weren’t naked, were you?”
“Of course I was. She, more than anyone I’ve met, needs to confront the weaknesses of her flesh and learn to master them.”
“Hamahrans view the body very differently.”
“So I’ve learned, as backward as it is. By hiding their nakedness they make it taboo to one another, making their bodies like hidden prizes that must be earned. And because they rarely ever see a naked body, when they do, their own bodies take control. Do you know how much rape is in this land? Because the body is held as a prize, those who cannot earn it choose to take it by force. It’s horrendous!”
“I wonder if the lower rate of sexual assault in Tuerase is more due to the penalty rather than cultural differences of modesty.”
“The penalty is as bad here.”
“Many men would rather die than publicly lose their manhood,” Ahrek pointed out. “And there are other regretful cultural practices here in Hamahra that might inflate the difference.”
“Such as?”
“Social shame. Women who’ve been sexually assaulted here can, unfortunately, be seen as ‘damaged goods.’ Because of this, there’re many cases where women choose not to report the crime.”
“What?” Cueseg said in disbelief.
“I know, it’s horrible.”
“It’s unforgivable!”
“Every land has unfortunate elements within their culture,” Ahrek said, pointing to his forehead and giving Cueseg a knowing look.
Cueseg sniffed.
“What was your profession?” Ahrek asked at length.
“I was a chef.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
Cueseg nodded. “My standards are very high… I haven’t had the opportunity to cook in so long. But that was my choice. I am an Archknight now. Not that anyone would ever accept food from a lowsum.”
“Hamahrans don’t care about that.”
“Then they don’t know my shame.”
“I’d happily eat anything you made,” Ahrek said. “In fact, judging by Tuerasian standards, if you really were a qualified chef, I would be delighted.”
Cueseg’s brow rose.
“There’s a kitchen right here. I would love to taste some genuine food from our homeland; it has been quite a while.”
For the first time since Ahrek had met this serious man, he smiled—and it was a true, genuine smile. “I would be honored, Seerium.”
Daylen hadn’t moved a fraction from where he had slumped against the door, his body frozen as his mind drowned in misery.
He kept drifting in and out of troubled sleep, but now his internal body clock was telling him a new fall had dawned.
Daylen still didn’t move.
He couldn’t face her again; he was simply unable to bear the guilt and pain. He was such a coward. But she wasn’t going anywhere. What was Daylen going to do?
Truly, the Light hated him. It wasn’t enough to lengthen his torturous life; now Daylen had to face what was likely the most terrible and significant reminder of his crimes, one of his past victims. And not just any victim, but one of the most innocent and vulnerable souls that he had ever violated.
Lyrah hadn’t changed much, yet at the same time she seemed like a different person. She carried herself with such strength. Light, she was more than just strong, she was an Archknight! Yet still her face, though aged, was exactly the same as that of the poor frightened young girl that Daylen had taken such pleasure in abusing.
Lyrah had been one of the youngest at fourteen years old. Hard to believe that back then he’d thought he had standards, fourteen years being the legal age of marriage and consent during the Dawn Empire. Dayless the Conqueror made sure that no girl he took was under that age, like that made what he had done any better.
Daylen remembered how he had convinced himself that each girl he took had come willingly, though deep in the back of his mind he really knew the truth, he just didn’t ever admit it to himself—not until much later, at least. In fact, any honest man would have found the truth impossible to miss, for it was in the fearful eyes of each girl, Lyrah far from the least among them. She had been so innocent, so scared.
In his later years Daylen didn’t even let the girls wear clothes for the length of time they stayed in the palace, dressing them up like Tuerasian women. Just another type of humiliation and abuse he had inflicted on them.
“I’ve been such a Light-cursed monster!” Daylen said to himself, recoiling from the memory, which seemed clearer and more vivid than ever before.
He couldn’t help but recoil, as any sane and good person would, when thinking of such a perverted and foul a thing as raping a frightened fourteen-year-old girl. The problem was that Daylen couldn’t recoil away from himself, as much as he might try, for wherever he turned he would find another vile perversion he had committed which only compounded his guilt.
Daylen moved a shaking hand in front of his face. Though young and strong, they were still the hands that had committed the crimes. How could he have done such acts? How could any man do such evil? Yet he had.
And now he was being punished for those crimes, and he deserved every bit of misery and torment that tortured him, including this new one, a constant reminder of his past sins.
It was true that Daylen was unable to bear the full force of his guilt and self-hatred; he had been crushed by just a fraction of it that low fall. But even so, there eventually came a point where Daylen found that he could move again. He could bear it and keep on going, as the only other option was to lay down and die. Perhaps this was thanks to his infinite stubbornness and pride; he just couldn’t allow himself to give up, regardless of how much he wanted to. Or perhaps it was a curse from the Light, for it simply wouldn’t let him die before his punishment was over, even if that meant giving him the strength to stand when he honestly felt that he was unable.
Daylen grasped the door handle above him and with one han
d dragged the rest of his body up. He grunted under the strain. There was no physical resistance, but the emotional effort he had to exert at that moment was like pushing back against a mountain of guilt and loathing.
Daylen found his feet eventually and stood strong.
So, what was he going to do with a constant reminder of his worst crimes following him wherever he went? Suck it up and take the torture. Daylen knew that he was scum and deserved everything he was given. Such was his life.
Lyrah hadn’t slept much that low. Thankfully she didn’t need to; by bonding light to her body’s ability to heal while she slept, three hours had the same effect as nine. The unfortunate thing was that this had left her a lot of time to think about the recent events.
She had left her room and relieved Cueseg from his watch. Cueseg and the Bringer seemed to have had a great time together. The Bringer had gone to sleep at the same time Cueseg did, finding their own rooms—the penthouse had six of them—which left Lyrah alone with her thoughts in the bright sitting room as she stared at the closed doors to the boy’s bedroom.
When demanding this arrangement she had acted out of duty and anger. After chasing that boy for so long, her instinctive reaction was to not let him go, which was why she fought so hard against the Bringer’s defense. This was right, of course, as the Order’s needs were paramount: that boy had to be watched. Of course the best thing would have been to simply force the boy into the Order, or execute him, but that damned Bringer was right. If the Archknights were willing to commit such a crime to protect themselves, even for the greater good, then the Order wasn’t worthy of their power.
That didn’t mean her superiors agreed with her. Archallion Kennet had ordered her to go back and bring the boy to the Hold by force. He had figured out, or he simply knew, being of higher rank, that the Vigil could actually be performed by anyone, not just Archknights. What she suspected he didn’t know was that the vow to fight evil wasn’t necessary, either. Still, Kennet’s belief was enough to insist that the boy be brought in knowing that if the governments learned the truth, they would do anything to learn the secrets of the Vigil and try to make Lightbinders themselves. Vowing to fight evil didn’t mean that a man wouldn’t serve the unjust interests of his own nation.
Shadow of the Conqueror Page 38
