Eventually, when the coals in the fireplace lost their glow and turned gray, he arose and stirred the fire into life once more – not for himself, but for the beloved old woman lying in the next room. Sometime, deep in the night, he dozed in her chair.
Morning, and the cold, awakened him.
Stirring himself, he went to check on his grandmother one more time, to verify that she was gone, and that he hadn’t dreamed her departure from life. She yet lay quiet and still upon her bed, wrapped in her blanket.
Brenyn did not disturb her again but went out and down the slope to the dead tree beneath which his mother lay. There, his father had placed a simple wooden marker, held in place by stones. The inscription upon that marker, however, showed the labors of love and loss, for it was not simple at all.
It read; Argentia, Beloved Wife of Fynn. Lost to me now, but never forgotten. Her spirit calls to mine to join hers in eternity. Soon, my beloved, soon.
Brenyn had read that forlorn message once or twice before.
Now, knowing how his father had died, and knowing how his own heart longed for Emi’s company, he better understood the man who had sired him.
There was space for his Gran here, beside the woman from a mysterious far land that had been her only daughter.
The ground was frozen and hard; it might have been wiser to wait for warmer weather. Brenyn determined instead to make himself labor over her grave, despite the cold and the difficulty, just as his father had once done for his mother.
Retrieving a pick and shovel from the barn, he began to dig. The sun rose high while he worked but brought little warmth with it, and the wind continued to blow strong out of the north.
By the time the sun sank below the hills, he had managed to remove the frozen topsoil and exposed the softer earth beneath.
That night, he shut the door to Mirae’s room when he built the fire. He forced himself to eat, for he knew that he would require the energy upon the morrow. Again, that night, he slept in her chair before the fireplace.
The next day dawned like so many before, cold, windy, with a wan and timid sun. Brenyn resumed work on his grandmother’s grave. By noon, he had dug to within perhaps a foot of the desired depth. He was resting, leaning on his shovel handle when a voice hailed him.
He pivoted and looked up.
Graig Graden sat in his oxcart upon the road, with his plump wife, Lerna, next to him.
“How goes it this very cold and miserable day, Bren?” Graig asked. “What do you do there?”
Brenyn did not attempt a smile of greeting, knowing that his friend would understand. “My Gran passed,” he told Graig. “I am digging a grave for her.”
Graig’s face fell. “Ah, I am sorry. I will gladly help you, my friend. That ground must be hard.”
Brenyn shook his head. “I thank you, but I am nearly there. I will finish before evening.”
“What can I do for you?” Graig asked.
Brenyn noticed that Graig’s oxcart was aimed toward town. “Where do you go?” He asked.
“Into Pierum,” Graig answered. “My mam has suffered this winter, been sick a lot. I am going to acquire some tincture from the physic, Myrun.”
Brenyn nodded. “Bring me news of town, will you?”
Graig frowned. “What sort of news?”
Brenyn shrugged. “Anything of note – anything that folk are speaking about.”
“Ah, alright, Bren; I will keep my ears open.”
“Thanks, Graig.”
“Again, Bren,” Graig said, “I am sorry.”
“Thank you,” Brenyn replied.
Nodding in sympathy, Graig clucked to his ox and they went on toward town.
By evening of that day, Brenyn had excavated sufficient soil to place his grandmother into the earth. Going up to the barn, he selected a clean, square, smooth board from the pile that he used for repairs and took it into the house.
Retrieving the dagger that his father had sent him, he began to carve her name into the wood, heating the tip of the blade of the dagger from time to time to aid him in his work.
He wrote her name, Mirae.
Below that, he carved, Beloved Gran of Brenyn.
He slept very little that night, even though, outside, the wind had died, and the fire seemed to have an easier time of heating the small house.
When morning came, he gently carried his grandmother down to the grave and placed her into the earth. Unwilling to spade the soil directly upon her blanket, he returned to the house and found his own blanket that she had made for him years before, when he was small. This, he placed upon her, to shield her own favorite blanket from the earth.
By mid-day, his work was complete. The grave was filled, and the marker placed at the head.
He stood for a while, gazing down upon the mound of earth.
Then; “Farewell, Gran,” he told her. “Give my regards to my mother and my father. I love you, Gran.”
As he was going back up to the house, Graig came striding over the hill. The sturdy man held up a bottle. “I brought whisky,” he told Brenyn. “Thought you might like a bit.”
Brenyn greeted him. “Come in, and we’ll have a glass.”
When they were seated by the fire, Graig looked over. “You wanted to hear the news from town?”
Brenyn nodded. “If there be any.”
“Oh, yes, there is news,” Graig replied.
Brenyn frowned. “Good? Bad?”
“Just news,” Graig answered. “It seems that there has been a bit of a bother up at the castle.”
“The castle?”
Graig nodded. “Word is that Prince Cole wants his daughter to marry young Corun, from Partha, but she won’t have him. The Chief Counselor, Lord Benfry, is in an uproar, apparently.”
“Indeed?”
Graig nodded again. “Some of the folk as work in the great house say that Princess Emilene is a virtual prisoner in her room.” He frowned. “She must be nigh onto being a woman, now.”
Brenyn nodded. “She will be eighteen in the fall.”
“Truly?” Graig looked over at him quizzically. “You know?”
Brenyn hesitated. “Before she passed, my Gran had met the princess once or twice.”
Graig’s eyes widened. “Well, what about that!”
Brenyn smiled. “She even came to tea here once.”
“Lerna will be astonished to hear it,” Graig exclaimed.
Brenyn steered the topic back to Emi. “The princess holds fast? She will not marry Prince Corun?”
Graig shook his head. “She will not. One of the maids told the physic’s wife that Prince Cole seemed close to relenting, and negating the betrothal, but old Lord Benfry will not budge.” Graig frowned at his own words. “Why that old buzzard would think it his business, I wonder.”
“Perhaps Benfry wants an alliance with Partha because he fears a war,” Brenyn suggested.
Graig furrowed his brows and nodded solemnly. “From all I hear of the south, the whole of the world is on fire, with every king or prince on every throne at war with every other king and prince on every other throne. I reckon it’s bound to find its way here.”
“A darking came here four years ago this autumn,” Brenyn told him. “And I hear that where they go, war soon follows.”
Graig nodded. “Hurndun Blent told me he saw the thing.” He looked at Brenyn. “You saw it, too?”
“I saw it,” Brenyn acknowledged. “Gran and I were in town at the farmer’s market that day.”
Graig studied the flames of the fire for a time, and then he tipped up his glass. Setting it down, he poured another portion from the bottle. “I suppose, then,” he said, “that it might be best for all of us if Princess Emilene married young Corun Uell, and that is the reason old Benfry is insistent.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Brenyn. “Though Partha and Vicundium are natural allies. I wonder that Benfry insists upon a marriage.”
Graig grinned. “Well, it be none of our business.” He turned sym
pathetic eyes upon Brenyn. “Your Gran? – she is…?” He trailed off.
“I buried her this afternoon, just before you came,” Brenyn told him.
Graig nodded. “I am very sorry, my friend.” Then he looked around the house. “This is a fine house, Bren.” He looked over. “I am not that much older than you. Perhaps it is time for a wife? – someone to help warm the hearth?”
Brenyn nodded. “Perhaps.”
“Lerna has a younger sister,” Graig suggested. “She is very pretty… so they say.”
Brenyn managed a smile. “I will seek a wife when I feel the time is right.” Then he also looked around. “It will be lonely here with Gran gone away,” he admitted.
“That’s all that I’m saying,” Graig replied, and he stood and emptied the last from his glass. Then he indicated the bottle. “I will leave you the dregs, Bren. It will ease a bit of the pain, at least for a time.”
He held out his hand and Brenyn rose and shook it. “Thank you, Graig.”
The next day, at mid-day, Brenyn went again to the bottom of the slope and examined his grandmother’s grave and marker, to satisfy himself that the work he’d done was of sufficient quality.
While he stood there, he suddenly felt a thrumming in his bones and muscle, like that which he had felt when the darking had come to Pierum on the day of the farmer’s market. An instant later, he heard the sound of a horse’s hooves upon the road, coming from the south and west, from the direction of Partha, approaching along the roadway below the Graden farm. As the pang grew sharper, he stiffened, raised his gaze, and stared at the road until the traveler came into view. Then he froze and sucked in a sharp breath.
Captain Grizeo had described a darking lord to him once.
And that was what travelled that road now, coming toward him. A broad, flat-brimmed, crimson hat rose above a white mask or cloth that covered the creature’s long face, and a crimson cloak billowed about him, catching the breeze.
Involuntarily, Brenyn eased back up the slope, away from the edge of the road, putting distance between him and the path of the strange creature. Then, he retreated even further, climbing backward up the slope toward the house as yet another creature hove into view.
The second traveler, a darking dressed in black, with a tall black hat, was not mounted upon a horse, but rode upon a strange conveyance.
Brenyn watched them come while a strange coldness cooled the flow of his blood.
These creatures of magic were advancing purposefully into Vicundium, the darking dressed in black and riding upon the oddly shaped conveyance following his crimson-clad lord.
12.
The conveyance that the second darking rode upon was an odd sort of cart or wagon, pulled by a single horse. It resembled a box, perhaps four feet square and five or six feet high, mounted on two wheels with a seat attached to the front where the darking sat.
Brenyn stood transfixed upon the slope by the house, above the road, and watched the darkings round the bend and progress up the road toward the bridge. As they came opposite, the darking dressed in crimson, the lord, turned its head and looked at him. From two holes in the mask or facecloth below the brim of the high hat, a pair of darkly gleaming eyes stared out at him.
Brenyn felt his breath catch at that malevolent gaze.
For one small moment, it seemed to Brenyn as if the darking lord slowed the pace of its mount while it stared at him. But then, the darking turned its head and proceeded up the road, followed by the second darking driving the odd box-like cart. They went around the second bend and turned across the bridge toward town.
Brenyn watched until he could see them no more.
Why were they here, in Vicundium, he wondered?
Why was a darking lord here?
And what was in the box?
Wherever darkings go, Captain Grizeo had stated, war soon follows.
So, then, war was very likely coming to Vicundium, and the advent of conflict would alter many things. Despite the dread in his soul caused by the sight of the two darkings, however, Brenyn’s spirit was strangely lifted, for, with war upon the horizon, the idea of Emi’s marriage to Corun would wither before more profoundly serious matters. Prince Cole would be concerned with protecting his daughter rather than marrying her off.
When the darkings disappeared from view, Brenyn turned away and went up toward the house to retrieve the weapons his father had sent to him.
With two darkings – one, a darking lord – prowling the roads of his homeland, he preferred to be armed. A thought came then that gave him pause – should he go into town and try to learn what the darkings did there? – but then he discarded it. Likely, he realized, the creatures would go to the castle, so news of what they wanted in Vicundium – and what they had transported here within the box – would not be known until they departed.
Thinking about it, Brenyn was glad that Emi was ensconced in her room and would be spared the sight and sound of whatever the darking lord demanded of her father – war, probably. But upon whom would the darking lord insist that they make war? Partha, or, in alliance with Partha, upon another principality?
Again, he wondered – what was in the box?
A captive of some sort?
A hostage?
Weaponry?
He paced back and forth in front of his house for the rest of that afternoon, agonizing over what he should do, if anything, and watching the road for the return of the darkings. The sun seemed to hesitate as it crawled slowly down the western sky. And still the road out of Pierum remained empty.
The darkings did not reappear.
As the afternoon waned, Brenyn grew ever more concerned. If the darkings stayed at the castle, the possibility of them coming into contact with Emi increased. At last, anxious and restless, he went out onto the road and up to the bridge until he could see the road as it went toward town.
It was empty.
He turned and looked up at the sun.
It was yet three or four hours in the sky.
The day had warmed, and the breeze had calmed, even so, it was cool. Brenyn glanced up the road to the east once more and then returned to his yard, where he continued pacing and watching the road. As the sun sank in the west – and now it seemed to be in a veritable rush to find the horizon – his anxiety over the darkings being in the castle all night with Emi increased beyond bearing.
Then, as the sun declined within two hours of the horizon and the breeze picked up again, he heard the sound of horses upon the road. Moving away from the gate to stand near his front door, he turned and watched the roadway. The darking lord appeared first, coming across the bridge, and turning southward, followed within a few moments by the darking driving the box-like cart.
Once again, when the darking lord passed by his house, the creature turned its head to stare at Brenyn and slowed the pace of its horse slightly, as if something about the young human intrigued it – or at least caught its interest in some small way. Once more, Brenyn felt a chill in his blood as that cold black gaze found his.
Then the two darkings and their odd conveyance continued down around the corner and disappeared toward the west, moving briskly though not hurriedly.
Brenyn breathed a sigh of relief that they would not stay in the castle near Emi that night. Whatever their business with Prince Cole, it had apparently been completed in one afternoon. And once more, Brenyn pondered what that business would mean for him and the people of Vicundium – but mostly for him and Emi. How would their future be impacted by whatever wickedness had been brought into Vicundium by the strange creatures called darkings?
Brenyn did not sleep well that night for wondering about what might result from the visitation of the creatures that Captain Grizeo often described as bringers of war. As a consequence, he decided that he would go into town on the following morning and see what could be learned, if anything. He might even encounter Captain Grizeo and discover when he would be allowed to see Emi again. The night passed slowly and Brenyn, in his
grandmother’s chair before the fire, slept fitfully.
When dawn broke, he went out to the barn, fed the ox and then hitched the animal to the cart. But then, after further thought, he unhitched the ox and put him back into his stall. The town was but three miles off; Brenyn was filled with nervous energy and felt the need to release it.
He would walk.
He set out at once, hiking his collar up against the chill wind that yet blew out of the north. In less than an hour, he turned the corner where the farmer’s market was held after every harvest and entered the main street of the town.
At once, he felt the pervasive sense of wrongness in the air. People were abroad in the streets, but they hastened as they went on their way about the town with their heads down, casting furtive, frightened glances along the streets, and appeared anxious to avoid open areas, slinking hurriedly from one place to another. There were soldiers about as well, but they seemed disorganized, bereft of order. Most hung about in front of the various public houses, as if waiting for the establishments to open for the day. Some even beat upon the doors, demanding service.
Brenyn halted, and stared about him in confusion and rising concern, for the whole of Pierum seemed disheveled and in uproar.
Spying a captain of the castle guard standing off to one side with a small group of soldiers, Brenyn approached.
“What happens here, captain?” He demanded. “What has occurred to make the citizens anxious?”
The captain turned and looked at him, but without focus, as if, for a moment, he could not see Brenyn standing in front of him.
Then the man blinked, and his gaze settled upon Brenyn’s face. “What’s that you say?”
“Why is the town in such uproar?” Brenyn asked him. Then, when the man still gave no answer, Brenyn pressed him. “Where is Captain Grizeo? Can you summon him for me? Tell him my name is Brenyn.”
The man blinked again. “You know Captain Grizeo?”
“I do – where is he? At the castle?”
The man’s head shook, rapidly, almost as if in convulsion. “No,” he replied. “Captain Grizeo is dead – as is Prince Cole.”
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 11
