Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  The walls of the city were tall without ramparts; it seemed like strong, unbroken mortar as it sprawled across the low, flat plain. To the west, the wall curled around a thin thicket of forest, though the old oaks were large and grasping. Rafael posted sentries by the borders of the wood, suspicious of Dalians hidden beneath leaf and branch. The northern gate was near his position: tall, iron banded wood doors, and a portcullis beyond, but no guards.

  Atop the high hill, Rafael saw the stone chimneys, and the bunched in homes and buildings. Pockets of the city was not rebuilt, though the streets were straight, leading towards the immense church in the middle of the city. It was grand, but simple in design, though even from the distance, he could not make out any movements, if aught bestirred.

  “They have abandoned this city,” Rafael said aloud to Ian, who had his head in a map. “Why will he not come out and fight?”

  “I do not understand it either, Lord Commander,” Ian replied, shaking his head. “The land is flat for miles from the Sister Cities to Dale, much as it was to the north. Some hidden spy must have sent word, and led the people away from the city,” he sighed. “Not that it would avail them. Even if they were hidden further east, they could not come at us unawares. Then Dale,” he shrugged his shoulders, bewildered. “The White Walls are strong, though not impenetrable. Dale’s fortifications are meant to repulse an attack from the sea, not the plains to the north.”

  “I do not understand their intent, but I know we will find little here. Still, we must needs be thorough,” Rafael mused aloud. “We will cross, and find them to their city in the south.”

  “You knew Ser Elin’s mind three years past. Is this his work?”

  Ser Elin Durand. The dead seemed to resurface for Rafael. Deception was always the mark of the man. The Cleaver Prince did not know what awaited him until it was too late.

  Was it then that became so jaded? Did those fires burn away all that I was? All I could do was watch, and here I am again.

  “Ser Elin is dead,” Rafael replied, dismissing his thoughts. “This is the Ser Johnathan’s work. A stalwart, loyal soldier, though entirely ignorant in guile. He is doing what he believes is right. Dale. That is where he shall make his last stand.”

  “Aye, Lord Commander,” Ian said, eyes downcast.

  “Send word to Lucas. They will take the city at dusk.”

  Three hours passed and Rafael did not stir from the crest of the high hill. Zelen seemed much the same as it was hours before, though cascading now in the shadows of dusk. Ashleigh dismounted from her stallion.

  “What word?” Rafael asked, staring dismally at the city; his mind still searched for a sliver of doubt, but found none. Lest the riders brought news that moved him, he would remain committed.

  “Naught,” Ashleigh replied, staring longingly at him, though he did not look back. “It is a dead city by all accounts. I swept the forests clean; riders are covered all around. If any Dalian were here, they are long gone.”

  “Yet smoke rises from chimneys.”

  “It may be some vagrants sit in the homes, though they are few and far between. Lucas will see to them.”

  Rafael’s gaze shifted to his right, where the long rows of sword, men-at-arms, pike, and archers made for the northern gate. Lucas was at their head.

  That was not the end of Rafael’s worries. He put Talin out of his mind, but being just outside Zelen reminded him of his old friend, and that he would be called Butcher, just as Ser Elin was. All on account of Lord Kaldred and his lust for relics from the ancient realm.

  “What do you suppose they truly are?” Rafael asked.

  “They?” Ashleigh asked, the surprise in her voice undeniable. “The relics?”

  “Yes,” Rafael sighed. “So much blood has been shorn already on account of them. I wish I only knew what Lord Kaldred means to do with them, and what lies he has fed our sovereign. Argath was changed, Ashleigh. Changed.”

  “We obey!”

  “It cannot be that simple. Three years past, I fought on these plains, watched friends die as the Marcanas brothers came from over the sea. The very people that we butchered, I fought to defend them. What was the purpose to it all?”

  “Rafael,” Ashleigh said softly. He turned to meet her eyes. She must have seen the confusion and hurt, for her scowl faded. “I was still in the barracks, then, and I will not think to understand what you endured, but it was for the imperium that you fought, not for these Dalians. These people do not deserve death. Yet they were born upon the wrong continent.”

  Death by birth. That is not why I took up my sword. “All for a lost heirloom. It should not be this way.”

  “We must obey the imperator.”

  “When this is over, and we return to Isil, there is much I mean to ask the imperator. I do not ask you, nor the others, to stand with me; only that you do not hinder me.”

  Rafael wanted Ashleigh to understand, and though her face would not assent to it, she nodded, and left.

  It was past midnight. Messengers came from the city every hour, though the news was always the same. “Abandoned. No man, woman, or child within the walls. Lucas searches still.”

  Rafael would nod and send the messenger on his way, but he watched Zelen in the heart of darkness.

  Ashleigh did not return, though she checked in with sentries, archers, and the few swords that were left behind. It was a small auxiliary force, enough to defend the camp if foes fell in from the west or north. It was not an eventuality that Rafael expected. He met with the outriders himself. There was not a Dalian for miles around.

  That did not worry Ian any less.

  “Do not fidget so much, Ian,” Rafael declared when his tactician came to meet. “There is naught to fear.”

  “We are overlooking some matter.”

  Rafael scoffed, unamused. “You are sounder of mind than that. Messengers from the city report it empty, and our outriders have espied not

  even a bird on the plains. We have eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “That is what I came to report, Lord Commander. The outriders are late. Did Lucas’ messenger come with the hourly report?”

  No messenger returned for some time. Rafael thought it was no more than a delay, but the outriders made it more than coincidental. “Find Ashleigh, perhaps she—”

  His words cut off as throated screams yelled “FIRE! SMOKE!” The tents burst into flame, and burning arrows soared across the sky. He drew his own sword, and made for the command tent behind that was yet untouched by the fire, and looked to the east. He heard sounds of clashing steel, shouts of agony, and death.

  The cries were everywhere, and he ducked as burning arrows pierced the command tent, though he looked to where they came from, and saw a lone knight in crystalline armour charge at him. The man’s face was covered by a helm and darkness. Swinging in a side arc, the knight overstepped, and Rafael slid his blade between the folds of plate.

  There was a thunder in the air, and the neighing of horses. The riders wore leather armour, but silver and white tabards were draped across their chests. Rafael stared incredulous, but he was pulled aside. Ashleigh was strained and panicked. “We have to flee. We have to go!”

  He pushed her aside and ran to the stables; his shield tented above his head, he dodged arrows, corpses, and burning debris. Ian saddled three fleet footed bays. The archers and pike vainly pushed the foes back, sacrificing themselves.

  “Saddle up, Lord Commander,” Ian declared. “East and then south, that is the only path.”

  “Where did they come from?!” Rafael demanded.

  “We do not have time—”

  “From the forests,” Ashleigh interjected. “They came from the east. Fault lies with me, Lord Commander, but none of us will set this to rights unless we flee, now. These men and women fight, and they will die for your escape.”

  Rafael nodded, and mounted.

  He leaned low upon the horse, while arrows flew and the dead cried out. Smoke and sulphur filled his nostr
ils, and though he did not look back, he knew Ian and Ashleigh were with him.

  “South, Lord Commander. South,” Ian implored above the cacophony. “We can follow the wall into the city. We can regroup with Lucas.”

  Rafael did not question it. The horse cut through the wind, trampling the plain below. In the darkness, the wall was soon upon him, but his horse soon faltered, and a powerful voice cut through the air. “Boy! You have much to answer for.”

  It was Ser Johnathan. He stood before endless lines of knights in crystalline plate, and archers along the flanks.

  We will not break through that line.

  Rafael turned his horse to the west, and despite the cries of protestation

  from his allies, they followed towards the northern gate.

  And the raging inferno.

  The northern part of the city was burning, the oaken doors battered and broken, his sentinels in a heap. There were knights cleaning blood off their blades, and he felt the impenetrable gaze of one who stood at their head, marching forward.

  “Lord Commander! We must flee!” Ashleigh shouted, her voice barely on the edge of hearing. Rafael shut out her voice. The approaching knight was familiar. He wanted to know who it was.

  “You should heed her wisdom, Lord Commander.”

  The voice of the knight was clearer in ways that Ashleigh’s never was. It was hard and cold, judgmental and severe. Familiar.

  “You died,” Rafael declared flatly, looking upon his old friend from the grave.

  “I should have. I returned to set matters aright.”

  Ian and Ashleigh shouted from behind, but their voices were muffled.

  “You died in Serenity.”

  “No, I did not. Your men did not discover me, though they left behind their steel. Did it truly take three men to fell a kind, old man who never spoke an ill word in his life? He tended to the gate, and though my sins were as plain as the nose on my face, Samuel Taryn saw only the good in me. Few others did.

  “There were a hundred people in that little hamlet. All like him. Sebastien tended to their wounds and their hurts, purged diseases and colds, all for what? To be slaughtered at your hand? I lost Alicia. Timothy. Joshua. I can never have them back, but I will judge you, and send you and all your ilk to the Lord of Death.”

  Ser Elin’s knights moved away from the dark pile of the dead, stood behind him, shields up, swords pointed, death in their eyes. Rafael kneed the horse, leaping to a gallop, heading for the flat plains to the west of the encampment.

  “You cannot run from this! You cannot flee my wrath!”

  Rafael did not look back at his old friend, though Ashleigh and Ian were behind. He leaned forward, kept the forest on his left, past Talin, to the Northlands.

  The northern fortifications would have to be enough.

  For he feared what lay beyond the sea.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Storm Begins

  Aerona stared out her tower window, incredulous at what she just heard.

  “You are sure of this Tanya?” she asked without turning her head. She looked out at the black sea; only a handful of ships weathered the waters amid the cruel storm, but it was enough to bind her hands. “Should the Corsair catch wind of our intent, it would be the end of us all.”

  “Klara excised all discretion. What is more, she lay bear the sign for a gift.”

  That went north. How many lay hidden in the realm? “Where is it?”

  “Boxed within a crate of wine. It will be handled by the Brood once it leaves the cog.”

  Aerona sighed, back still turned. It was a necessary risk, though she liked it little. “Bury it in the southern caves. It cannot be near my consort, nor the cretins that gives him counsel.”

  “By your will.”

  Aerona turned from the window when she could no longer hear the patter of feet, and sat behind the long wooden desk. She buried her face in her hands, mulling affairs of the last month.

  The overlord’s hounds stalked her every step; a few secret meetings were all she risked. It made the tower chambers feel more like a cell, acquiescing to every whim of the overlord. The Crimson Swords were all around her, spying, listening; and she did not doubt that the Corsair would come for her head before long.

  All the while the realm crumbled.

  Isilia was eerily silent ever since Lord Commander Rafael Azail sailed westward. Informers loyal to Aerona were situated high—old, trusted friends of the imperator; though if the rumours of this Faceless Shadow were true, those influences meant little and less. Still, it was if the imperium was an island all on its own, and the savagery its sentinels inflicted on the west less than naught.

  Whether he acted of his own will or not, Argath will come to regret those actions.

  Aerona did not bear great love for the Dalians. Three years past, she stood behind her consort, demanding the young Voice’s subservience, looking down upon the vaunted White Walls of the Faith. No, there was a creeping darkness that lay beneath the politic and war, as if some great game was unfolding.

  I do not wish this on Ser Elin, but Klara must succeed.

  There were many ends to the war, but to Aerona’s mind only one that must surface: Dalia must remain strong, even amid the ruin of a broken imperium; and the fallen knight’s death was the only consideration that assured it.

  I suspect Damian wills this as well, but he does not yet know that I desire a far different result. A strong Dalia will demand peace, not another war.

  It felt like treachery. Damian was not just her consort, but her sovereign. What she saw as his lover, guided how she viewed his reign. The man changed over the long years since Lanan was raised above a smuggler’s haven.

  I will not let him be engulfed as Argath was. I must end this madness, even if it is too late for him.

  She heard pushing and shoving, and the scrape of steel against leather. Aerona grasped her blade, and stepped towards the tower door, cautiously, silently. She listened, and heard a muffled, high pitched voice—Sonia, she thought—and a deep, bellowing grunt came from another.

  “Sonia?” Aerona called out, mere feet from the door, sword held in both hands. “Sonia!”

  The door burst open. Sonia was thrown like a rag doll, her long curls dishevelled. Anger marred her face, and her wounded pride. Amid the shadows of the door frame was the swirling black cloak of Lord Daniel Baccan, the Corsair. “We must have words, Aerona.”

  Aerona wanted no more than to meet steel with the Corsair, but thought better of it. There were rivers of blood that stood between the Crimson Swords and the Brood, though she was not foolish enough to seek vengeance surrounded by enemies seen and unseen. She sheathed her blade and nodded her head.

  Sonia pushed herself up, scowled, and stormed out.

  “Do you trust her to stay quiet?” Lord Daniel asked bluntly.

  Aerona did not know what the man intended, but she would not willingly assuage his fears. “Damian would feign approve of you in my chambers so late at night, Corsair. I will not warm your sheets.”

  “Do not try my patience!” Lord Daniel bellowed. His voice was a thunderous echo. “I will not be at the mercy of that man on account of you.”

  She listened for a flood of feet, and when moments passed in silence, she nodded towards a chair that fronted the desk, which the Corsair took. She sat across, fingers entwined beneath her chin.

  Whatever he means to say, he risks much by coming. This may be of use. “You may speak your words in confidence and trust, provided you are not prone to any further outbursts.”

  The man was still as stone. “Do you know what your consort means to do—truly?” he asked ruefully, placing an elbow upon the desk, scowling. “How much has he told you?”

  You must think me a fool, Corsair. “I will not make it a simple matter for him to remove my head from my shoulders. I do not trust you.”

  “I am no fool, Harpy. I trust you little more than a stone throw. Yet if we do not trust each other, it will be more th
an our loyal swords who will rot beneath the dirt,” he fidgeted and his face was twisted. “That howsoever requires trust. Even in the face of ruin, I will not act unless I know your consort’s mind.”

  The overlord rarely revealed a scrap. Yet Aerona knew her consort conspired with cloaked men. Once or twice she saw the men herself, and when need pressed her to ask after them, Damian scowled and threatened her life. He would always take her roughly afterward, and though she knew the man would never make good on it, she did not want to push him so far.

  The rest Aerona pieced together. If her consort allowed the Isilians to pass westward, and if he wanted to make it seem like Rafael butchered Serenity, it lead to one conclusion: Damian wanted the theocracy and imperium to break themselves against each other. At first, it made little sense to her—for the taxes and levies placed upon the countries would be less than what it was. Yet it would entice Trecht to return.

  It was madness. Is that why the Corsair stands before me?

  “Shall we drown in blood, Harpy?” Lord Daniel demanded. “Shall we sit and watch as Damian throws all our swords to the Deep Below? I do not intend to die, not yet; but I need you, and you need me.”

  “Why do I need you?” Aerona asked, leaning forward, curiosity piqued. “You are my consort’s loyal right hand. Your loyalties have been unquestioned, and now you mean to act against him. I am not some slip of a girl. Why should I trust you?”

  Lord Daniel’s face was contorted, disgusted. “And you are his mistress. You could reveal my mind beneath the sheets, and it is I who would be headless.” He shook his head despondently. “I no longer trust him as I once did.”

  “And I should take you for your word? I know what he has asked of you. I know you would take great pleasure in the act. I have half a mind to bear steel ‘gainst you now, and prove my loyalty to the overlord.”

  “Then you curse us all,” Lord Daniel declared, face unmoved. “I believe that your consort will deliver to this Faceless Shadow what Lord Commander Rafael Azail was tasked with. Those cursed relics that wakened the nightmare in Lakarn and Serenity, but to all the realm, if we remain idle.”