The Coming Of Shadows (The Shadow Tide Book 1)

by Steven Moorer

They had learned from the same teachers, both taught the way of combat by Sir Jacob, learned medicinal from Nursemaid Lilly, learned diplomacy from his father, and how to impress ladies from Duchess Lianna, Dominic's mother.

  Father has reunited with mother now, he randomly thought.

  “Tell me, how are the wonders of the Capital?” Allan asked as he reached for his hand.

  “Not the glorious place of legend,” Dominic said as he took his friend’s hand.

  Allan had changed; he looked leaner, stronger and wiser since Dominic left seven years ago. “Aiden is waiting; we should be going.” He said as he gestured toward the town.

  He was ready, as ready as he could be. He found himself one more time looking toward Mariella and this time he noticed that she was looking back at them. Does she remember? Does she care? He wondered.

  “She asked about you often. Like me she wished that you would correspond more,” Allan said as their horses began to walk.

  “She was one reason I hated to leave,” Dominic responded as he watched her collect her things. “I was hoping she would come with father to the last King's court,” he added. His insides were in knots. He had hoped that one day her father would have betrothed her to him. It was the only thing that would have kept him Denoi.

  “I know you have business here with Aiden, and in the tombs,” Allan said cautiously. “Go see her; do not leave without doing it this time.” It was almost a command, and Dominic took it that way.

  They made their way along the road. The ride from the edge of town into town had been pleasant enough. They talked about old times, the relentless sparing from Jacob, the broken and bruised bones that Lilly had mended. It all seemed so long ago and in a different life, a different person.

  The looks were chilling. It was as if those who recognized him didn't want him back and others didn't know who he was. The town had grown. He had heard that it was growing at such a rate that now it was considered a city - the first city to be raised north of Anoch.

  Many things that were used in the south came from Denoi. Some of the finest and most sought after leather was tanned here and was considered to be the best for the noble use all throughout the kingdom.

  The city was all in all the same. Six large stone walls aged and broken with time surrounded the whole of the old city, each with its own gate. Outside of those walls there were many hundreds of other merchants, homes and businesses.

  Inside the walls there were even more. In here the shops carried finer things, even now as the old walls were breaking with time, the people living here carried more weight than those outside. Just as it had been when he left, the city itself was split into four districts, each controlled by a Baron appointed by the Dukes of old.

  They made their way along the cobblestone street from the southwest gate. The road ran through the Western District all the way straight to the Palace District, the only district not controlled by the Barons.

  He could see the Palace, just as it had been back then. In the center was the tallest of the three spires, the Watching Spire, the watch tower of the north. To its west was the Temple Spire, home of the Curates, and to its east the Seat of Carlye, the Family Spire. It was the only part of the city where the walls were still maintained and just as strong as they had been four thousand years ago when William the First built them.

  As they closed in on the Palace and the second set of walls, Dominic watched the adolescent boys train in the way of combat. Jacob still insists on early training, he said to himself as he watched some of the same teaching he had learned so many years ago. The walls were growing closer and now more soldiers made their way toward them. They were moving fast. “Lieutenant, His Grace is growing impatient,” the solider said as he brought his steed to a grinding halt.

  “These men will be in his council within the hour. Tell His Grace-”

  “His Grace commands it now,” the soldier said, cutting Allan off, “The Crimson Soldiers must stay outside.” Their tone said it all to Dominic. This was homecoming unlike any other, one that he had mentally prepared for. Now he must face those he abandoned seven years before.

  II

  Ash had been in Cerabeth City now for several weeks. He had wanted some dried Rockford weed for two days now, and finally the market he had been using in the last week had some. He welcomed having a full pipe even though the quality of the weed was poor at best.

  The better products were always found in the upper levels of the city where there were more coins and the upper class demanded top quality products. But this would do. This entire night had been the best of his stay here, a full belly of fresh boar, perfectly aged gutter wine (wine made with the barest of ingredients) and a full pipe of Rockford weed. But the relaxation of the night was now over; he had a job he must do.

  He had been tracking a certain overweight merchant named Faxon as he moved from shop to shop each night. Faxon was known in this district of town as “the collector” - in his own mind and through his money and group of thugs he used to intimidate the local business owners into paying undue taxes.

  But tonight it would stop. Earlier Ash had successfully neutralized four of his thugs by using the ladies of the streets to simply slip a small dissolvable tablet in there tankard of ale. Two others he killed himself after they assaulted a local merchant. Now he only needed to take the other two from the equation, and tonight he would have clear access to stop the undue taxes.

  He had watched the trio from his corner table most of the night. The longer they sat, the more and more they drank and ate. He had watched as they harassed the locals, pushed around drunks, and abused the street ladies. He had seen it all, and in just a few moments they would be ripe for the picking, and he would be there to make sure a perfect opportunity would not be missed.

  More ale, more roasted meat, how much gluttony could three men partake in? He wondered as he continued to watch them. And then he saw his opportunity.

  The back of the inn had a small room adjoining the common area which contained an oversized and elongated chamber pot similar to a trough. Across the small room a wooden bench with a series of holes bored into it sat over another one of the same type of chamber pots. The room stank and was barely tolerable to Ash, but he had a job to do and followed the big brute into the room.

  It would risky to do what needed to be done in the open room with only a thin sheet covering the entry way, but then Ash saw his moment and the time to strike was now. The big man fumbled with his breeches’ laces trying not to fall over into the long trough--a stumble, a slip on the wet floor. Maybe he needs some help, he joked with himself.

  It was now or never and he had to get this just right. If not, he would wake up too soon or he would die. Even though he was a highly trained assassin, this brute was not worth his time, plus a dead man in the privy would cause more of a stir than a passed out drunk.

  The brute then vomited and this was it. Ash gave him a nudge from the back and just like that he fell, his forehead glancing the edge of the trough just enough to knock him out. It was perfect. He was covered in vomit. Ash picked him up.

  He was heavy and a challenge, but within a minute Ash was able to drape him over the edge of the trough. “One more,” he said as he reached and grabbed the brute’s pistol and submerged it in the filth of trough, to saturate the powder, before putting it back in the holster.

  Any patrons entering the privy would see the brute, covered in vomit and huddled in the corner. It wasn't that uncommon, and anyone seeing him wouldn't think twice about it.

  He only had a few minutes - a few seconds - to get into place before the second of the two body guards made his way to the privy. The execution of his plan had to be flawless and without fault in order to work as he hoped.

  He moved fast, and just as he predicted, the second body guard stood from his perch and started to make his way toward the privy.

  He eyed the window and his target. Faxon's size would make this a challenge, but if he used all of his strength and force
, it would work. He found his line and then it was time. He pulled his dark black hood over his head and ran.

  The patrons started to move. It was like soldiers parting for their king and his path was clear. But something was wrong; the second guard was out of the privy. Shit

  It was like striking a stone wall, but it was a man. Ash had not wanted a fight tonight but it appeared that it would happen now. He rolled quickly to dodge the huge foot coming for his head and reached under his cloak to grab the hilt of his sword.

  The blade freed itself from the scabbard with ease, due to the sheen of oil he’d applied earlier in the night. The body guard was surprisingly fast and nimble considering his size. Did he drink? He asked himself. No, he never raised his cup. Ash knew he had made an error in judgment and now there was a chance Faxon would flee.

  He was unaware when it happened but it did. The unmistakable pop and boom of the flintlock pistol filled the room. He knew that he had been missed, but now he had the advantage, and he quickly reached for his own pistol, but the body guard’s rapier came down on him fast.

  Their swords collided in midair and the sound of steel echoed throughout the inn. His own lightweight blade, curved, single edged and narrow was made from folded steel of the Anzothi Empire.

  The bodyguard was fast and strong. Ash found himself moving faster and using more defense than offense. Even in his long cloak he was able to fend off the coming storm being applied by the oversized man.

  This is ridiculous, he thought as he jumped onto a nearby table, hoping to gain a higher advantage and maybe the upper hand in the fight. It didn't work. As he jumped to dodge a sweeping slash of his opponent’s sword, the table began to sway. He had no choice, back to the floor where the battle was largely out of his favor. Where is Faxon? He thought once again going on the defensive.

  If he lost his target tonight it would be a failed job and, worse, Faxon could go into hiding. Then, he saw it. The slightest of a slip, any seasoned swordsman might miss it but to his trained eye it was the opportunity he needed. He saw the man's foot just slightly twist as he stepped on a cup. His balance was temporarily interrupted, and in that moment Ash struck.

  He swung with a powerful overhead swing. His opponent’s balance was altered even more as he tried with one hand to balance and with the other to lift the rapier to guard his face.

  With another and another swing, his opponent staggered backward.

  This blow had to be quick and clean or else he might lose his advantage. His hand was on his pistol and within seconds the flint fell into the powder tray igniting the powder and sending the lead ball straight through the throat of the body guard.

  The inn was surprisingly still occupied, even after the mayhem, and Ash knew the city guard would be there any moment. He had to find Faxon fast and get out before he was compromised and his mission failed.

  He found the fat man attempting pathetically to hide in the crowd. He had made his way to the door, and Ash approached him from behind. A simple push to the back and Faxon went tumbling down the single step onto the hard drought-stricken ground.

  “I suggest that you find your footing. Tonight you will be judged for your crimes,” he told Faxon as he shoved his buttocks, once again sending him face first into the ground.

  Faxon was able to roll over onto his back, spitting the blood and dirt from his mouth. “You have made a fatal error, my friend. May I know your name?” Faxon asked with a look of rage on his face.

  “My name is Ash.” he said as he reached down and grabbed a fist full of the man's tunic. His adrenaline was rushing and he was able to lift the man enough for him to gain his footing. “Walk. We have business,” Ash told him as he shoved him, but not so hard to knock Faxon over again.

  In just a few seconds they had made their way into a dark alley between the wood frame buildings of the city's district. Ash didn't worry about the crowd following him; Faxon's reputation had made the need to follow them unworthy. The people knew that Faxon's fate had caught up with him and not seeing would be easier when and if the city guard came to investigate.

  “Stand,” he told Faxon as he turned him swiftly and shoved him into the wall of the alley. “Tell me, how much,” Ash asked.

  “How much what?” Faxon asked sarcastically.

  “You know!” Ash pulled a short, small dagger from his belt and stabbed it into the wall beside Faxon's Head. He stepped back and began to reload his pistol. “Tell me; who do you work for?” Faxon asked as he spit in Ash's face. He was outraged and he felt the anger boiling more and more inside him.

  “I work for the people of this district, the ones whose lives you steal by taking from those who honestly earn the money and wages needed to support families who have nothing else,” he said, reaching in his belt, pulling another dagger. “Tonight, your fate lies with your choices. Give back, take ninety percent of your accounts and give back to those you have stolen from, or I will take it for you.” Ash said palming the dagger.

  Faxon laughed. “Ash is it? You haven't the power to command me, and what is mine is mine. I will not give anything to those who owe me. When my body is found, hell will come down on you. Besides, you speak of family. Think of mine,” he said laughing.

  Anger flooded Ash and he found himself fighting the urge. “You took illegal taxes to line your pockets,” he yelled in his face.

  “I made these people,” Faxon said, spitting more saliva and blood in Ash's face.

  “No you didn't; I have watched you for weeks -- you have no family.” The dagger went into his chest with ease.

  Ash put both arms under Faxon's and slowly let him drop to the ground.

  “Why do you care?” Faxon asked. He was dying fast.

  “Because of honor, and of a code,” Ash said. He wiped Faxon's blood from the dagger back onto his own tunic.

  “What kind of honor and code?” Faxon asked as he started spitting up blood.

  “The code of my order, The Order of Righteous Blood,” Ash said as he watched Faxon's eyes begin to close.

  “You don't exist, The Righteous Blood is only, only...” and Faxon was gone.

  It had been a long day, and now it had come to an end. Within an hour Ash raided Faxon’s safe house and the money was returned to the merchants, and the body was gone. He was tired and the bed at the inn was soft. He closed his eyes, and he slept.

  III

  Darkness was beginning to fall over Denoi. The Great Hall was the same as it had always been. The only change was that the family banners hanging from each of the six columns had been changed to solid black, a sign of mourning. The high ceilings were taller than six grown men, standing on each other’s shoulders, with huge stone arches supported by the tall granite columns. The gray stone floors had not changed in years, and even the high seat was all the same.

  The room itself sat north and south with the high seat at the far north of the hall. Denoi housed the farthest northern Lord in Agantia. In light of this, the seat was built so that no other part of the city could be farther north.

  The fires in the great fireplace on the western wall had been stoked recently. The flames flickered and shimmered throughout the hall. It was warm day, early summer but the nights still held a slight chill, enough for the fires of the hall to remain built.

  Upon his arrival, he had been escorted to the third floor of the Family Spire to his overnight chambers. He had been there before but never in this fashion. The room was one of many used for emissaries and distinguished guests. His room was the finest of them.

  He looked back toward the High Seat. To the left he saw the bench that he had spent many hours sitting on with his brother and his mother in his father’s court. That was so long ago. Where the hell was Aiden? His patience was being more and more tested.

  He was stirring. This was ridiculous. He had been wandering about the hall for almost a half hour when he heard his brother’s voice behind him. “Do my eyes deceive me, or has the long lost son of Denoi returned to Frozen City?” Aiden
said as he entered the hall from the northwest entrance.

  He looked older, much older, wearing green trousers and high socks along with the black and green family tabard his father used to wear often. He was clean shaven, with short cropped dirty blonde hair. His body had grown. The white undershirt he wore was tight around the shoulders and Dominic could see the defined muscles of his little brother protruding through the thin material. When he’d left, Aiden had been eleven. He had seen him only once since then, in Derancross three years before, the last time his father had attended the King's Court.

  The transformation was astounding. Aiden had become a man, grown now, and with father's passing, his responsibilities were much more now than they had been during the early spring. “Welcome home, Brother,” he said gesturing for an embrace. “Good to see you,” he said as Dominic embraced him.

  It was comforting, the anxiety he had felt the entire journey was for nothing. The reunion was something he’d wanted for so many years, and now it was a reality. Even though his time here would be short, he had hoped for a peaceful reunion.

  “Is the Crimson Guard as glorious as they say, or is it like they truly say – a shit hole of duty bound to one man by blood?” Aiden asked as he gestured for Dominic to follow him.

  “Rewarding. Like Father said, to serve one's king outweighs all other duty,” Dominic said as he followed. “I want to visit the tombs,” he added bluntly.

  Aiden frowned. “The tomb itself is only a rock, the masons and craftsmen have not yet finished the sculpture upon the top.” Aiden’s cheerful tone quickly changed to a much darker and bleaker one.

  “That doesn't matter; I'm here to see him,” Dominic said as he walked.

  Aiden came to a halt. “So you are here to say goodbye to a stone?” he said with heightened emotion in his voice.

  “Aiden...”

  “No, No, NO! You have spent the last seven years of your life, eating from a silver spoon!” His anger was taking control of him now.