Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “There is much he will try to do, Lu,” Rachel said. “We must accede to that arrangement.”

  May Mother God forgive me. “Yes, but let us see what Ser Johnathan has to say.”

  In the quiet Lutessa uncurled the missives and wrote replies. Most were requests from outlying villages for repairs and commissions to their own churches. Each were denied in turn, and ordered to recall every man, woman, and child to the hidden passages. It would raise questions, but sheltering Mother God’s children was her solemn responsibility.

  After ten such reports, she dropped her feathered quill in the ink pot, and looked aside to Rachel, who was sitting in the corner of the room, leafing through a leather booklet. “What are you reading?”

  Rachel barely raised her eyes, but spoke clearly. “I commissioned a scholar copy out Justine’s journals. She was the only Voice who also served as lord protector. The burdens on her shoulders were unimaginable.”

  “Just like ours?”

  Rachel closed the booklet, and put it on her lap. “If our burden is like hers, we will not be ready for it. You know what happened.”

  Our prophet dead, Justine eviscerated in the very Light that rent the imperium’s ancient army asunder, the birth of a three-century old conflict. It never ended.

  Three knocks came at the solar door. Lady Tiffany stood in the doorway, helmet in one hand, and the hilt of her sword in another. Her black hair shaded eyes that looked askance at the burly figure of Ser Johnathan Falenir. He was fully armoured in crystalline plate, and his long sword hung upon his hip. “The lord protector to beg an audience, High Priestess.”

  “I shall receive him, Lady Tiffany.”

  The tall knight bowed her head, brushing past Ser Johnathan, before slamming the solar door.

  “It is only pride,” Ser Johnathan chuckled, looking beyond the door. “Is it some other affront, is she—”

  The words trailed off. Lutessa stared at Ser Johnathan sternly.

  Moments passed before the knight bowed low, and with all the dignity and formality in his long years announced, “The Voice called, and here I stand in answer.”

  Lutessa sat solemn with an unflinching gaze. There were so many words that she wanted to express to the lord protector. Words that were unfit to any who bore the mantle of the Voice. She knew that Ser Johnathan did what he should, but not in the Chamber of Judgment, not without forewarning.

  “What were you thinking?!” Lutessa shouted, passion overtaking sense. “Or were you not? How can a man who has lived so long, who devoted his entire life to Mother God be so mule headed on affairs of faith and state? What did you think was going to happen by your charade? Did you believe the stewards, scholars, and priests were wont to forgive a living heretic? Worse: did you not feel it necessary to include a word of warning to me? Have you lost your senses? Account yourself here, to me, now.”

  Lutessa felt guilty at the words, holding onto her anger to hide the flush embarrassment. It was not since Ser Elin last shared her bed that she lost herself so deeply, whence in passion he uttered the name Alicia.

  Ser Johnathan looked back, still as a stone, with nary a word of regret. “You would not have permitted it. Yet it had to be done. All of them—you included High Priestess—had to see his face, his resolve. Whether you want to admit it or not, we need Ser Elin from three years past, if this Faith is not to die with your reign.”

  “You still do not understand,” Rachel declared, storming in front of the knight, standing on her tippy-toes, though rising only to his chest. “Excommunication could be the fate for all of us. A Holy Tribunal is coming. Even with the imperium cast down again, our faith will perish, be it from the gold mongering pirates to the east, or the warlord tyrants from the west!”

  “If not for what I did,” Ser Johnathan replied irritably. “No one would have a family to return to. I did not expect orphans to know of that loss. Ser Elin does. I do. Trecht has been defeated once, and the islanders are no more than bloody pirates. I give you a chance. What you would give is death.”

  “Counsel, enough,” Lutessa announced as the Voice, spreading her hands flat on the desk. “We must calm ourselves, should we wish to set our course against the rising tide. Much as we may like it, it is not our place to berate a dim-witted man, stubborn as he is.”

  Her counsel backed down and stood behind Lutessa. Then she continued as the Voice. “There is an important matter that must be discussed. We must come to an understanding, and it may be that neither of our proclamations will bear fruit. Battles and skirmishes will not dictate our survival, but this will. Words must be spoken, actions taken, or we are no better than the imperium. I would not have our knights win the day, only to lose our soul. Do you understand my will in this, Lord Protector?”

  “This is about Ser Elin.”

  “Yes, Lord Protector. The sins of Ser Elin can never be forgotten. He is a threat to every man, woman, and child here. What he did three years past, we cannot pardon, and though he fights for us, it cannot stand as it is. If I were to appear sympathetic towards him, towards this heretic, we would fall before another battle is fought. Argath Diomedes has put us in this position, and though I still bear love for the knight, I must make this choice.”

  “Keep your scheming and politics to yourself, Lutessa, I will have none of it.”

  “High Priestess or the Voice,” her counsel chastised.

  “High Priestess,” Ser Johnathan replied curtly.

  Lutessa continued. “If Ser Elin should not return from the imperium, we may yet be strong. If we celebrate victory, laud those who fight in the Light of Mother God, we may yet have a chance of unity. If Ser Elin does not return, we would be strong.”

  The words echoed in Lutessa’s mind long after she spoke them; endlessly reminding her that she would reward good deeds with death. That she was condemning the only man she ever loved.

  The knight balled his fists. “I will have no part in this! I may not be the faithful lad I once was, but this is not the will of Mother God. This is sacrilege!”

  “What would you know of that word?” Lutessa near shouted, while waving her counsel into silence. “You have not held faith in years. Few others have known about it, but we do. You are the lord protector despite your faithlessness, only on account of your vows. Ser Elin warded us from Trecht? I will not reject his valour or deeds, but you commanded our armies, not him. You will move us towards a new day. A bright day. A day bridled with hope and salvation. That is why you bear your titles, is it not? Is your loyalty to your friend, or Holy Dalia?”

  Not a word was spoken. Then there was the clangor of plate on stone. Ser Johnathan walked towards the door.

  “The Voice did not give you leave!” Rachel shouted.

  Chaos reigned.

  Ser Johnathan bared his steel, meeting the thin, long blade of a dark-haired warrior in studded leather. The two combatants pushed off each other, the knight coming down with savage two handed swings, whilst the warrior met the descending steel with a sword breaker in one hand, and the other slashing out.

  Ser Johnathan moved little, choosing to pivot, parry, and slash. The warrior was much like a shade in the night, skirting to his side and back. His armour was dented along his left leg and right arm, and the warrior took no harm at all.

  Amidst the flurry, the solar door opened. Ser Mattias and Lady Tiffany bared their steel, but stood sentry at either side of Lutessa’s desk, looking onward. Ser Johnathan was furious. “Fools, kill this daemon who bears steel before the Voice!”

  The Faith Templar did not move, and Lutessa looked on, watching the warrior she paid a terrible price for.

  The warrior was no longer skirting around, but quickly coming towards the knight from the front, bracing against his steel, slicing deeper through the crystalline plate, though falling short of flesh and bone. In a reserve of strength, Ser Johnathan pushed his foe away, knocking the sword breaker out of the warrior’s hand. He fell on top of her; his two-handed sword coming down, and the warri
or’s thin blade was wavering.

  Lutessa swallowed a lump in her throat, wondering if the Harpy sent too weak of a champion to fell even an old man. The warrior suddenly rolled out of the way, and Ser Johnathan’s blade crashed hard into the stone floor. The warrior swept the feet from under him, the blade at his throat. “Yield,” the warrior demanded.

  “Enough,” Lutessa pronounced, unwilling to wait for the stubborn old man to answer. “Klara, your mistress does not boast idly.”

  The woman sheathed her blade in the scabbard on her back, and picked up the sword breaker on the other side of the chamber. Ser Johnathan lumbered to his feet, enraged.

  Now do you see the place you push me to, Ser Johnathan? “You surely have words for me, Lord Protector?”

  “Words?!” Ser Johnathan spat on the ground. “Account yourself to me High Priestess. What in blazes is one of the Harpy’s Brood doing in Dale?”

  Lutessa let the insolence pass. “She will do what you cannot. I hoped that I would not have to resort to this, but alas, I must. Nor is what I am about to say a request. It is a command from the Voice of Mother God. It will not be gainsaid by any man or woman. Klara will follow you in secret, and when Ser Elin is no longer needed against the imperium, she will cut his throat.”

  Lutessa expected more anger and fury from Ser Johnathan, but he seemed torn and solemn, his words despondent. “How I pity you. To stoop so low, to reach for such ends. What would High Priestess Gloria have said, who spoke so well of you?”

  The beginning of all this. “She would have trusted to these hard choices. Will you see my will done, or must you go to the gaols?”

  Ser Johnathan turned to leave, limping towards the door, and spoke with his back turned. “I will see your commands done, but then I will serve you no longer.”

  Lutessa let the knight leave without comment. Klara nodded towards her, then disappeared down the hall. The Faith Templar returned to their posts. Rachel looked at Lutessa, worried. “I do not trust him.”

  “Nor do I Rachel, nor do I. We must needs pay the Harpy’s price. Will you make the necessary arrangements?”

  “At once.”

  Left to herself, Lutessa stood and stared out the window. It was only mid afternoon, and the streets of her city were still busy: men and women made their way into the cathedral, and children ran at play on the wide green.

  Children, I do this for the children.

  She refused all petitioners, and left inquiries unanswered. She just watched the children.

  All that mattered were the children.

  Chapter Ten

  Zelen

  Rafael knew a decision must be made.

  He lingered in Talin for weeks. Riders returned from north and south bearing news. The northern riders reported that Serenity was naught but piles of corpses, twisted and contorted upon the barren ground and broken steps. Much of their story was familiar, but when they placed a blood-stained broken blade from the imperium on the ground, he knew there was much that he did not know, with little more to learn.

  He did not speak his thoughts to any, but he was convinced that Lord Kaldred must have ordered the onslaught, most likely dispatching the Black Guard. It would have been a simple task for the imperator’s chosen to lose themselves amid the fleet. Yet the why and purpose still eluded him. Ser Elin Durand—and the relic—was at one time within Serenity’s walls, though seemingly not anymore.

  If it is not distrust, then we are pawns in a deadlier game.

  It was hard, but Rafael forgot it for the nonce. He knew he could think on it much during the return home, once the Dalian Southlands were thoroughly searched.

  Other northern riders returned from the coasts, beyond the sprawling forests. They reported the ports were rebuilt, the fleet intact, and several more galleys and cogs were near completion. Masons reinforced and fortified towns in low valleys, and built makeshift watchtowers on high hills. The riders assured Rafael that, should they have to flee north, they would be fortified against Dalians.

  It will not come to that. We hold all the cards.

  The southern riders brought tidings that he did not wish to hear. The Sister Cities were unmanned, undefended, but not uninhabited. Smoke curled out from tall stone chimneys, and the people milled about within, though the gates were locked shut.

  The Voice and her vaunted lord protector did not heed the warning.

  “Sack the bloody cities,” Lucas declared in council. “If they will not meet us upon the field, they will amid their ruins.”

  “That is what they wish,” Ian professed, raising eyes from the stretched-out map on the table. “Any of these cities are labyrinths that we do not know. Stone roads twist into alleys and side streets. If rumours are true, there are hidden pathways beneath the cities, some leading out, others to buildings and underground caverns. They may be waiting for us, bottle necking our forces. Our greater numbers would avail us little.”

  Rafael thought the same. It was not a battle that he wanted to fight. Patience drove him, but only so far. Is this your play, Johnathan? To force battle upon ruins where numbers matter little?

  “We cannot sit here and wait!” Lucas shouted, slamming down upon the table. “If they were to arrive here, they would have done so already. The imperator did not send us to sit and wait.”

  “He sent us to retrieve the relic,” Ashleigh said slyly with arms crossed. “What we learned in Talin was useless. The healer is nowhere to be seen, and our northern riders think it no more than lies. Daskin becomes more worthless by the day. I do not wish to agree with Lucas, but lest we displease our sovereign, I do not see any other choice. We must adhere to our threat.”

  “Lord Commander?” Ian asked. “Where do you stand on this?”

  Rafael felt a chilling sensation in his mind that warned him against his chosen course, but he knew little else could be done. Kaldred worries me more than any lingering fear. “I cannot accede to you, Ian. Not in this. Zelen. We must take it, search it, and burn it to rubble. What can you tell me that we did not know three years past?”

  “Some of it has been rebuilt, or so the scouts say. It is the smallest of the three, mostly straight streets. We know there is at least one underground path that comes from underneath the church, though it leads only to a large cavern—large enough to house most of the women and children.”

  It was a cavern that Rafael knew all too well. He would never forget it.

  “It is also by the western coast,” he mused. “Trecht will not bestir themselves, and we would only suffer from two fronts, if Ser Johnathan has not bunkered down there.”

  “They would know that as well as we do,” Ashleigh remarked. “They may be waiting for us.”

  “Our losses would be slight,” Rafael did not intend to infer much. “It is long, slanting, and dark. They would dare not light the path, and we can reach the neck before long, and push through to the open space. The darkness is our ally, not theirs.”

  “Should they even be in there,” Ian offered. “It cannot house the men. They will hide beneath floorboards in their homes.”

  “You will find them, Lucas,” Rafael said, barely glancing at the sentinel.

  “About bloody time!” Lucas declared. “Heh, I’ll flatten their hovels if I must—and break down their walls. Then we will find those trinkets for the imperator.”

  If only they were mere trinkets. If only Argath Diomedes was not twisted by a counsellor that should be shorter by a head.

  “Marshal our forces,” Rafael declared. “We make for Zelen at first light.”

  Lucas bellowed excitedly as he exited, and Ian gathered rolled parchments and maps, clumsily tip toeing around stools and chairs. Ashleigh remained, severe and skeptical.

  “You disapprove of this course?” Rafael asked.

  Ashleigh unfolded her arms, and her eyes belied warmth that was not there before. “Daskin is not telling us everything.”

  “The man is a secret monger, and you have rung him dry,” Rafael rebuked. “We
have gone over this. You did your work well.”

  “The riders neglected some nook or cranny in Serenity, they had to. Daskin believed his story too strongly for it to be otherwise. Or he deceives us as no other could. We are upon the edge of their strength, and they are unseen? Remain here, wait for the Dalians, while I take Daskin to Serenity.”

  Time was fleeting. The shadow of Lord Kaldred was ever reaching, and Rafael knew the south was where there would be answers.

  “We march south. To Zelen.”

  The southward march took weeks. Ian sent outriders to scout the land. Every day they returned without word of any movements, but Rafael dared not avoid caution. Though Ser Johnathan’s intent was suspect, the man was not stupid.

  The plains were flat, with nary but thin forests to either side, and the call of birds and beasts were faint and far away. If the Dalians mustered any bands, Rafael would see them from far off.

  It was as if none ever lived upon the continent.

  Most of the nights he spurned council, seeing only to matters of great need. Instead, he spent the evenings among the men-at-arms, pike, and archers. These were men and women that he did not know. They were not unlike the sentinels: some were well read, others knew very little at all; they were kind or mean, well mannered, and brutish. They were people, loyal and true, longing for home.

  “Two battles remain to us,” Rafael said at the camp fires. “Then we can return home. Imperator Argath Diomedes will forge a prosperous realm, now that Trecht is tractable.”

  Men and women alike bobbed their heads. The bolder offered words, though few risked to speak out of turn. He did not expect much more than he received, but the mirth and cheer made it worthwhile.

  What was it that you told me, old friend? That when men and women know you, they will gladly die for you? You were right in that, though there shall be no death for the imperium.

  Night rolled into day, and day into night.

  Then, in the light of day, Zelen rose in the distance.