Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1)

by Matt Howerter

  Banlor cut him off once more. “Absurd? No, I think not. We are both aware, are we not, that your investment in the mining expedition along the Pelosian border has yielded nothing but dirt and fractured stone fit for naught.”

  The blood drained from Popin’s face most satisfactorily. Walina, who had been listening to the interchange looked truly surprised. Ah, he hadn’t told her, and most likely none of his other kin either, Banlor thought.

  Lord Popin tried to recover, shaking his head and looking surreptitiously at his daughter. “No... No, that’s not so. We have promising samples of ore that should lead us to the vein we are seeking.”

  Banlor laughed and took a step to his desk, removing a slim key from his coat pocket. Pulling open one of the drawers, he took out a small box and lifted the lid. Inside were a dozen compartments, filled with various sorts of rock and rubble. The case was a twin to the one that had been delivered to Popin over a month ago. “Samples such as these, perhaps?” He turned the box so Popin and Walina could see. “Yes, I’ve seen the ‘promise.’”

  “Where did…? How did you?” Popin trailed off and wrung the hat with both hands again.

  Walina stepped forward and touched the box. “What is this, father?”

  Banlor did not give Popin a chance to speak. “What it is, my dear, is a catastrophe dressed in colors of stone.”

  Her liquid brown eyes met his gaze with apprehension, but more comprehension than he originally thought her capable of.

  “Your father has invested heavily in this venture. Very heavily. I would say that it is perhaps a matter of weeks, maybe even days, before the”

  Popin stepped to the table’s edge and cut in hastily. “What is it that you want?”

  No “Lord” this time, eh? Banlor let a mirthless smile twitch his lips and stepped back from the desk to gaze out the window. He looked across the city toward the balcony of his home, and a flicker of black wings caught his eye. Not a rare bird by any means, but intelligent and reliable. He watched it disappear into one of his many cotes. He breathed a sigh of relief, releasing tension he had not been aware of, only to have it replaced by a sense of urgency.

  “What I want,” Banlor said, “is simple.” He stepped back to the desk and reached into the same drawer from which he had pulled the samples, extracting a piece of paper. “I will take on the burden of your fiasco and arrange for you to receive the monies from the land you have so artfully acquired.” Banlor set the document on his desk and turned it so the royal emblem and signature line faced Lord Popin.

  The nobleman flinched back from it, as if it were a thing alive.

  “In return for my gracious leniency as Presiding Justice, and my willingness to take on your foolish debt, I will require your complete support with regard to the relationship and trade agreements dealing with Pelos. I will also require your support in any other ruling in which your voting weight will be of consequence.”

  Lord Popin’s eyes had been on the parchment, but at the mention of Pelos, they snapped up to Banlor, wide as tangerines. “What could you possibly want with—”

  Banlor tsked with exasperation and began to draw the paper back to himself. “I had thought we understood each other, but perhaps Harrelfol’s case was the more complete, and I was in error. I shall have the royal surveyor make another—”

  Popin lunged for the paper as if it were the last tuft of grass on a crumbling cliff. He scribbled with the quill, spilling more than a little ink in his haste to sign at the indicated line.

  Extracting the now slightly crumpled document from the more-than-crumpled Lord Popin, Banlor calmly poured fine sand over the signature, then examined it for legibility in the light streaming through the window. Once satisfied, he placed the document in his desk drawer and locked it.

  Banlor straightened from the desk and began to make his way around it, but then paused and said, almost as if though were an afterthought, “Of course, it will also please me to take Walina into my service. I have been in need of a new personal assistant.” He turned his eyes from the bowed countenance of Popin, who had not risen from his position before the desk, to Walina, who seemed to be made of stronger material. “Arrange for your personal things to be sent to my home. Alicia, my head maid, will see that you understand your new position and responsibilities. You will begin immediately.”

  “As you will, My Lord,” the young woman said with a curtsy.

  Excellent. Banlor crossed the room and opened the door to the hall, calling out to the guard. “Milliken, please see that the Lord and Lady are escorted to their carriage. I am certain they are ready to relax before they celebrate their victorious day in court.”

  Milliken appeared quickly, and if the guard found it odd that Lord Popin still knelt before the desk, he gave no indication. “Lord,” he said, “Lady. If you will come with me.” With his broad arm, swathed in a blend of light mail and sleeves of layered emerald green and gold, he gestured to the open door and hall.

  Popin’s legs trembled as he got to his feet, supported by Walina, and the pair made their way to the door. As they did, Banlor gathered his cloak, satchel, and walking staff. In the hall, he gave them a slight bow and a true smile. Locking the door to his office, he headed out of the building to see what news awaited him at his home.

  The shadows of the forest had begun to clothe the streets of Waterfall Citadel in deep shadows by the time Banlor had made his way home. Several times, he had been forced to stop and speak to people along the way. Each interruption resulted in a progressively ruder and more hasty response, until finally, he simply glared at anyone foolhardy enough to be in his path. One look was enough to motivate all but the most obtuse to clear his path, and those who did not move quickly enough became the next object lesson for those further along the way.

  Banlor veritably stormed the few steps to his front door, which was standing open beside the guard who had witnessed his coming. Rigidly at attention, spear clasped before him in both hands, the guard said not a word but maintained his gaze on the passersby. In his haste, Banlor disregarded the sentry’s presence as he would have a piece of furniture. The open door was simply one less distraction between himself and the news that awaited him.

  Alicia met him at the stair that led to his private study. She was a stately woman who had had a hard time learning her place in Banlor’s household, but now was amongst his most valued and, if he could use the word “trust,” trusted servants. Her dark eyes were carefully held downward, avoiding Banlor’s direct gaze, and she held a silver tray for his review. Upon the polished surface were a number of fine, folded parchments. He swept them up, barely pausing, and spoke loudly over one shoulder as he ascended the stairs. “Walina Popin will be joining the household as my personal assistant. When she gets here, help her understand her role. I will require her to be ready for her first duties by tonight.”

  “Aye, M’lord,” came Alicia’s reply as Banlor rounded a landing and briefly glanced at his servant. Her eyes were still fixed on a point that would have been his chin level, but she had lowered the tray.

  Gaining the second floor, he entered a short hall that branched in two different directions. There was a finely crafted door at the end of each. One door would lead to his private study where his message awaited. The other door would open to his bedchambers.

  His thoughts lingered on Walina as he looked down the hall to his bedroom. Of the things that were once yours, Popin, I will enjoy your daughter the most. With a shake of his head, Banlor wrenched himself from thoughts of pleasurable diversions and turned to his private study. Enough, there is work to be done. He fished out the key from a hidden pocket inside his cloak that had been specifically fashioned for the purpose. Taking the ornately wrought piece of bronze, he opened the door to his private sanctum.

  The room was simple, but in its own way, much finer than that of his study at the trade ministry. As with his other office, the framing, floor, walls, and ceiling were all crafted of locally harvested winewood. The room at
the ministry spoke of duty, service, and a hint of power. This room spoke only of power.

  The rug was small and fitting for the room, but finely made of a blend of silk and wool with thousands of small patterns that indicated the many hours of artisan labor. It had come from an estate belonging to one of Banlor’s first rivals. Only a few pieces of the finest artwork available were displayed, and each of them represented adversaries that had fallen before him.

  No sculpture adorned the room, but one piece of what looked to be rubble sat upon the carved desk under a blown glass dome and caught one’s eye almost by virtue of its plainness. A closer inspection of the chunk of stone would show the fine script chiseled into the face. The letters and symbols were laced with blue veins of colored rock inside of the marble surface. The language was known to but few, and its significance to even fewer.

  One wall was dedicated almost entirely to the doors leading to the balcony, which was visible from his vantage point at the ministry, and the many bird cotes. A faint rustle of a bird cleaning its plumage was audible through the pierced screen that concealed the cages from view.

  Slipping the key back into his inner pocket, Banlor shut the door softly behind him and crossed to the avian enclosure. Sliding the screen back into a pocket fashioned into the wall, Banlor regarded the bird, which ceased its poking through its feathers and calmly eyed him back. One leg was held slightly up with a small, bronze tube affixed to the horny flesh.

  A small pot of prepared seed balls sat on a stand just by the door of the cage, and Banlor fished one out for the bird. Though this particular variety of bird preferred meat, it had an omnivorous appetite and was not shy about taking what was offered. The bird had been through the process of message binding and retrieval many times and did not struggle or avoid Banlor’s reach as he extracted the tube from its leg.

  Banlor settled into his chair to open the note. The cramped text was filled with writing in a cypher that Banlor could read without tools.

  Duo in hand, travel rough but steady.

  Wildmen attacked beyond Cyster’s Glade,

  but all is well.

  Riverwood at half moon promises

  reunion with old acquaintance.

  Satisfaction tingled Banlor’s fingertips as he read the note, and it did not ebb as he folded the delicate paper and placed it in a small but thick bronze dish on his desk. Picking up a set of tongs with fine scrollwork along each side, he used them to extract a glowing coal from the small brazier next to his bureau. He placed the glowing ember on top of the note and watched as the paper began to blacken and twist under the smoking lump and the pair burst into a brief flame. The smell of burning parchment permeated the small chamber but seeped out of his open windows quickly.

  Pushing his chair back from the smoldering dish, he steepled his fingers and contemplated the information he had gathered over the past several weeks.

  The Wildmen’s presence on the return trip was not a surprise, since he had been informed of the events surrounding the envoy’s progress to Pelos. What was surprising was that the group was large enough, or bold enough, to attack a Pelosian column. Savages the Pelosian’s might be, but they did have a formidable presence on any field. A small band of the tribesmen could readily be explained away; some small presence of the wild tribes always roamed the borders. For them to be so far north, however, and in sufficient numbers to even consider attacking armed, prepared soldiers—well, it would provoke questions he needed to consider the answers to. At least the “duo” had not fallen. That had to be handled in a particular way.

  The last rays of daylight faded from the windows, leaving his study in gathering darkness except for the glowing piece of coal.

  He extended his hand to retrieve the tongs and then the dimming ember. Cupping his hand behind the wick of a nearby oil lamp, he gently touched the ember to it and blew softly to reveal its heart of fire. The wick caught and he set down the tongs to consider the dancing flame.

  The darkness did not retreat, and invisible tendrils of cold crawled across his skin.

  Recognition flooded his mind and he leapt to his feet, swiveling his head in vain for the source of the darkness.

  Chilled fingers gripped his heart as a voice cut into his mind with razors of agony.

  Banlor Graves, a rotting, crumbling, yet somehow feminine voice began, will you accept the offer I have lain before you, and reap the rewards only I can offer, or must I find another?

  Banlor threw himself to the ground. It seemed an eternity before the pain in his mind subsided, and when it did, small whorls of pleasure replaced them. A soft moan escaped his lips: “My Lady!”

  Choose, the voice commanded.

  Pain and pleasure assaulted his mind once more, but the delay before he could speak was shorter this time. Banlor looked up from his position on the subjective floor. No furniture of any sort could be seen. The desk was gone, the chair was gone, even the floor and the air around him seemed to exist only by the will of the dread voice that now appeared to emanate from the floating flame before him. His answer came out as a drunken slur: “I wish only to serve.”

  A pleased-sounding laugh tickled Banlor’s mind. That is good, my pet.

  He reeled from the pleasure that washed over his shaking body and sprawled on the floor once the spasms had settled. He lay useless, unknowing and uncaring of the time.

  You may have heard rumors of the tribes traveling farther north than you expected. That is my hand at work. The task I put before you now is to find access to Stone Mountain, so my forces may lay siege to their unbreakable walls and find victory. Once the Pelosian dogs have fallen, you will be my chosen. You will pick up the pieces and rule in my name over all that remain in both kingdoms. Absolute power, save for my word alone, shall be yours.

  Banlor shuddered again under the weight of these many words and all they implied. A short gasp issued when he opened his mouth to reply, and it took several attempts to get breath enough to speak. “As you will it, Mistress, so shall it be.” He licked his lips. “I swear.”

  The voice laughed in delight, raking fire and sweet pleasure across his raw mind. Prepare, my pet... and attend to your visitors.

  Light and physical pain hammered back into his head. He could feel the grain of the wood and the edges of the carpet beneath his fingers from where he lay on the floor. The chair rested on its back behind him and a pool of saliva mixed with blood was on the floor below his face. Trails of the mixture flowed from his mouth and nose as strong hands lifted him from his prostrate position.

  “My Lord!” Alicia’s voice nearly screeched as she clutched at him. “My Lord Graves! What has happened to you? Are you... Are you all right?” Her chest was heaving and she used her formerly spotless apron to mop at his streaming face. He hadn’t realized that he had been crying as well.

  Banlor swayed on his feet when the hands of his guard released his coat, but he managed to maintain his balance, if only by a fingernail. The chair was turned back on its feet and between Alicia and his own shaking limbs, he lowered himself into it.

  “Enough,” Banlor said.

  Alicia persisted in her hovering.

  He raised his voice and nearly shouted, “Enough, I said!” He batted at her hands irritably, knocking them away from his face. “Leave your ministrations, you great sow!”

  Alicia snapped back her hands as if he were suddenly covered in flames. “Yes, I’m, well, I’m sorry, M’lord, but you wouldn’t wake up,” she stammered as he looked up, “and I-I thought, but you were breathing and moaning, and then I called for Lamberth and he couldn’t wake you either, but you kept mumbling, My Lord, mumbling and moaning, you were...” Alicia’s voice trailed off as he stared at her coldly.

  “As you can see, I am fine now,” he said.

  The darkness outside was complete. He looked about the room and took note of the clock, one of his most prized possessions. Almost two full hours had passed since last he had been aware. He passed a hand over his face with a shudder
and realized he was still covered with the remnants of his fit. He held his hand out to Alicia. “Your apron. I might as well finish the job you began.”

  The woman twisted her hands behind her back and untied the strings so rapidly, it seemed like a twitch instead of a deliberate motion.

  “Why have you come to my study?” Banlor asked. It would never do to admit he may have needed help. An apology to her would do nothing but undermine his authority. It was truly unfortunate that Alicia had had sufficient cause to open the door and find him like that. She would be difficult to replace.

  “The girl.” Alicia resumed her usual pose. “She’s here, and awaiting you in her new quarters.” Her eyes flicked up briefly to touch his own and then darted back down.

  Memories of the recent fiery pain and pleasure danced in Banlor’s mind when he considered the young woman in her form-hugging silks, and his smile was hungry. “Excellent.” Motivated by need, he sat abruptly forward, snatched a piece of paper from a drawer, and began to scribble. If Alicia were to read the words, she wouldn’t know what they meant—only one man would. Hastily lighting a candle to melt impressing wax, he said as he worked, “I need you to deliver this to Micount Wartel, immediately. Take Lamberth with you; it is imperative that he receive this tonight.”

  “Tonight? But M’lord, I—”

  “Tonight. At once. Now!”

  “But, your dinner, M’lord, I—”

  Banlor rode over her words with his own: “Walina will be seeing to my needs tonight.” He thrust the paper at the stammering woman. “You must see this delivered. Micount may have a return message for me, so see that neither of you leaves him until he has given you everything that is required.”

  Alicia’s protestations melted away in the fierce heat of his glowering eyes, and she took the proffered paper with a small, “Yes, M’lord. I shall see it done.” Drawing herself up, she called to the guard, still inside the room. “Lamberth, let us see to it, and be done.”

  Banlor watched the two of them leave with hooded eyes. Then, with a last swipe at his face, he quenched the lamp and went to see about his new assistant.