Taumus’ hard gaze softened, and he spoke quietly. “But if the world could be as it should, then I would be as diligent in the keeping of peace, as I must be ruthless now in the waging of war.”
He unclenched his fists and placed his hands upon the back of his chair once more. “I will detain you and your friends no longer now, Brenyn. It is left to me to hope that I yet live, and yet sit upon the throne of my homeland, when you discover the source of your mysterious power and how it may be employed.”
He stepped back and folded his hands behind him. “I thank you for coming. Teset will see you out of the city.”
And with that, they were dismissed.
Brenyn stood and met the prince’s gaze, inclining his head silently. Then he turned and followed Murlet and the others out. When they entered the square once more, it became clear that the meeting with Prince Taumus of Merkland had not lasted for as long as it had seemed. Brenyn was surprised to find that the sun was yet climbing the morning sky.
Teset bade them a curt farewell at the city gates, and they rode toward the west and home. Before the sun found the top of the firmament, they were miles to the west of Marius, far along the western road, and by late afternoon, they drew near the small town where they had stayed on the journey east.
None of his companions spoke to him as they traveled. That evening, at the inn, supper was consumed in near silence and then Kristo sat back and looked around. “I need a mug of good brew,” he said, and looked at the others. “How about you, cap’n? Beran? Brenyn, you want one?”
Beran declined, begging the need for a good rest. Captain Murlet thought for a moment and then nodded. “I could use a drink as well,” he said, and he looked over at Brenyn. “What do you say, Brenyn?”
“I’ll have a drink,” Brenyn answered.
Kristo gained the attention of the innkeeper and ordered three tankards while Beran bade them a polite goodnight and went to find his room.
When the drinks arrived, Kristo drew a deep draught and looked at Brenyn. “Now that was an interesting morning, eh, lad?”
“Indeed,” Brenyn agreed quietly.
“That Prince Taumus is an unusual sort,” Kristo continued. “I know not what to make of him exactly. What did you think of ‘im, cap’n?”
Murlet glanced at Brenyn and then tipped up his mug and set it down again. “I think the world needs more like him,” he said. “If every prince that sat every throne simply refused the impetus of the darkings to make war upon their neighbors – what would the darkings then do? – slay every one of them?”
Kristo’s broad face darkened at this. “Actually, cap’n, that is precisely what those foul bastards would do, and you know it. They will have death and murder and misery – or nothing.”
Murlet nodded at this, his own brow furrowing. “At least it would be harder for them, if more men like Prince Taumus ruled the lands of the earth.”
Kristo turned and gazed at Murlet for a long moment. “And men like you, my friend,” he stated.
Murlet shrugged. “I am content with my lot, Max.”
Kristo shook his head. “You should be living as he does, my friend – with finery and luxury all around.”
“Which he will find difficult to keep,” Murlet replied darkly.
“True,” Kristo agreed. “Still, it would be nice, for a time, to live in such surroundings. And that Alayna is a beautiful creature, is she not?”
The rest of the evening passed in a similar vein, with Kristo alternately raving over the opulence of Prince Taumus’ palace and the beauty of his princess. Captain Murlet remained thoughtful and quiet, though Brenyn often caught the captain looking at him with a contemplative expression in his eyes and upon his face.
At last, Murlet drained the dregs from his second tankard and stood. “I’m off to bed,” he said. “I want to be on the road early on the morrow.”
Brenyn stood as well, as did Kristo, albeit reluctantly.
Both men bade Brenyn a grave and pensive goodnight, and Murlet’s demeanor was decidedly deferential as he nodded and said, “Sleep well, Brenyn; I will see you at breakfast.”
“Good night, captain. Goodnight, sergeant.”
Kristo’s response was also somewhat subdued. “Goodnight, lad.”
Later, as he lay on his bed, Brenyn discovered that the hour spent with the prince of Merkland had affected him profoundly. As the prince had suggested, he had also wondered if, when he faced the darking upon the road, the magic that caused the death of the creature had arisen from the shield and sword that his mother had crafted for his father, or if it had come from within him. For there had been a mysterious and potent heat and brightness that had erupted within him and infused his being in the instant before the darking’s assault redounded upon it, reducing it to vapor.
Was Prince Taumus right when he suggested that what his mother had bequeathed to him did not come through the agency of steel, but of blood?
Or, more likely, was it a combination of both?
As he lay there, pondering these mysteries, Brenyn realized that the only way he would ever know the truth was to face, yet again, one of those creatures of darkness that oppressed humanity. He must seek out and confront another darking. Only then could he begin to comprehend the truth of himself.
Eventually, he slept.
The company spent the next night, once again, in the town of Restun, where the work of restoring Prince Taumus’ principality continued apace.
The next day, the company of four hastened toward home, turning north through Hanfurd, through the wild hills, and thence into their own valley. As they crossed the river that ran through the heart of the valley, Murlet abruptly reined in his horse, bringing the company to a halt and looked back at Brenyn.
“Are you certain,” the captain asked him, “of your decision about the gold? For, truly, Brenyn, it was meant for you.”
Brenyn shook his head. “I have no need of it, captain. It may all go to the welfare of the band.”
Murlet watched him for a moment; then nodded. “Alright,” he answered, and he urged his mount onward.
And so, the two hundred gold was divided among the band, giving each member two more gold coins and placing an additional twenty into the “box” for their ongoing needs.
Summer ended, autumn came and passed. The mercenary band settled in to wait out another winter in peace, here in this remote valley, this haven where the darkings – as yet – did not come.
Aron did not return to share quarters with Brenyn, for as he recovered from his wounds, he and Glora decided to make their relationship permanent and Captain Murlet officiated.
Though all the men continued to treat Brenyn with respect, and everyone had been informed – against Brenyn’s wishes – of his relinquishing of the gold paid him by Prince Taumus of Merkland, none of them were quite comfortable in his presence, for he had become an enigma. Many thought him a wizard or sorcerer – but all of them knew that there was something strange and inexplicable about the gray-eyed, solemn man that rode with them.
As summer faded into autumn, Brenyn considered going out into the world on his own to find a darking against whom he could test himself and perhaps learn more about the strange power that inhabited either his weaponry, his own being, or both. Finally, as autumn began to give way to the coming winter, he decided to ask Murlet’s advice.
Murlet heard him out one night in a booth in the tavern.
After Brenyn stated his scheme of leaving the valley and hunting a darking somewhere out in the world, Murlet gazed down upon the table for a long moment in silence. When he looked up again, his normally sharp gaze held an expression of concern.
“I would not presume to sanction anything you wish to do, Brenyn,” he said. “But cannot this wait until the spring? It may be that if you ponder upon that thing which is in you, then you might discover more of your mysterious powers without putting your life at risk.” He hesitated. “I heard what Prince Taumus told you, but I think this – you can
not be certain that what happened with the darking on the road to Inverlin can be made to happen again.”
He shook his head. “As I stated, it is not for me to approve or disapprove anything you set yourself to do, but I would rather that you be more certain of your… magic, of whatever sort it is, ere you place your life at risk.”
He raised his hand and indicated the street outside. “There will be snow here soon, and travel upon the roads in this part of the world will diminish. You may not find a darking against whom you may test yourself without the need to travel far. Worse, you might encounter two of them together, or even three – and they likely saw you, Brenyn, when you caused the death of one of their own. Do you not suppose that those creatures will know you at once?”
“You asked my advice,” he went on, “and it is this – wait out the winter, take your ease, rest and do as Prince Taumus suggested. Look inside yourself and try to understand this thing that you can do. Spring will come, and Beran will find us another assignment. There are darkings aplenty out there in the world, and I have no doubt but that we will encounter one soon enough. These are my thoughts.”
Brenyn sipped at his mug and slowly nodded. “It is true that I have grown content here, captain, and that… there is nothing that requires my presence elsewhere. I will wait until the spring.”
Murlet did not try to hide the expression of profound relief that crossed his countenance. “I am glad, Brenyn. I have grown fond of you, as has all the band.”
He finished his drink and stood. Looking down, he smiled. “Should you ever want to talk, I can often be found at my thinking place.” He chuckled. “And I doubt not that I may just as often find you there as well.”
“Thank you, captain.”
As Murlet moved away, Brenyn considered his own words, that he had “grown content”, and discovered that it was true. The band gave him a sense of belonging, even of home. Johan Murlet had become a trusted advisor. Aron and Jed, though he now saw them seldom, were good and true friends. For the first time in many months, Brenyn sat back, sipped at his drink, and allowed himself to truly relax. For the moment, there was nothing on his horizons in any direction that required anything of him.
Autumn passed, winter arrived, and Brenyn was content to remain in the valley and ignore the wider world beyond the hills.
Part Two:
The Darking Slayer
33.
He stood upon a lonely, cold, dark, and windswept road that led toward a jagged line of distant mountains. How he knew, he could not be certain, but he looked eastward. And he knew this stretch of road, though, again, he knew not how he recognized it. Snow blew from the north, from his left – small, hard bits of ice, driven by a stiff and relentless wind through the gloom of a winter evening. His shield was in position upon his left arm and his sword was drawn, held in his right hand, at the ready, even though, for the moment, he could discern no threat.
He pivoted and looked, but there was no one about him, to the right, the left, or behind; no farms, no houses, no animals.
The region wherein he stood was wild and abandoned, and utterly deserted, except;
Except for one lone figure.
Standing upon the road, facing him, her thin cloak hanging slack despite the efforts of the bitter, snow-laden wind was…
Emi.
Brenyn, shocked into mute astonishment, stared at her.
Then, his astonishment gave way to a rushing flood of joyful wonder.
He had found her, and she was alive.
Sheathing the sword, he started to run to her, to go and hold her in his arms, but found himself inexplicably frozen in place.
Strangely, though he could discern no reason for his failure, he could not move. He looked down. His boots were not bound; they stood upon the icy pavement of the road, free of impediment.
He looked up again.
Emi yet stood where she had, several paces from him, silent, gazing at him with her sapphire eyes.
He tried once again to move toward her, but the muscle and sinew of his legs would not respond.
Desperate, he reached out his hand toward her.
“Come to me, Emi. Come, please.”
For a long moment, she gave no answer.
Then, slowly, sorrowfully, she shook her head.
“No, Brenyn,” she said, and her voice – that same quiet and gentle voice that he remembered, was underlain with sadness.
“No, Brenyn,” she said, “you must come to me.”
Again, Brenyn struggled to make his feet move, to rush to her and take her in his arms. And again, his body failed him.
Desperation threatened to overwhelm his senses. “Please, Emi, I cannot move. Why? – I do not know, but I cannot. Come to me. Walk to me. Please.”
The sadness in her lovely eyes deepened. “I cannot come to you, Brenyn,” she answered. “You must come and find me.”
“Find you?” He said. “But you are there – right there.”
She ignored this. “You must find me, Brenyn. You must find me and save me else I will die.”
At this, his heart nearly stopped. “No, Emi – do not die,” he pleaded. He looked beyond her, to try and see whence she had come, but there was only a seemingly limitless expanse of snowy, cold pavement, stretching away toward the distant mountains.
He brought his gaze back to her face. “If you are not here, Emi – then, where are you? Tell me, please, and I will come at once.”
At this, she moved her head and looked around, peering into the icy gray of the evening. Then, after a few moments, she looked back.
“I know not this place, Brenyn,” she told him. “It is dark here and I cannot see beyond these walls.” Her eyes filled and tears ran down her cheeks. “I am so lonely.”
Brenyn, her words causing his heart to ache, strained to go to her, exerting all his strength and will, until his muscles and sinew popped and twanged.
But it was hopeless.
He could not move.
Some unknown power held him in place.
“Tell me where you are, Emi,” he pleaded, “and I will come.”
She shook her head. “I know not. You must find me.”
Then, while Brenyn stared at her, stricken, confused by his inability to move, a large black shadow, an immense winged shape, as of an enormous bird, appeared behind her.
Rising up from the cold horizon of the winter landscape, it gained altitude, soaring high into the icy gray firmament, and then it dove, swooping down upon Emi where she stood in the road.
Horror took Brenyn as he watched the great black shadow plunge down upon her.
“Run, Emi!” He shouted to her. “Run to me! – quickly – it is behind you.”
But other than a frown of confusion that appeared upon her brow, she gave no response to his frenzied warning.
The black thing dove lower, encompassing the whole of the horizon, seeming to spread its loathsome mass across the entirety of the earth. The distant mountains disappeared behind its black enormity.
“Emi,” Brenyn cried out. “Please, run.”
The great black shadow swooped down and enveloped her. She vanished inside its hideous darkness.
Brenyn could do nothing but watch in horror as the great black thing took Emi from his sight.
And then it rushed toward him, moving with awful speed along the darkened roadway.
Brenyn drew his sword and raised his shield as terrible fury erupted within him, replacing the horror.
“Come then, demon,” he roared at the onrushing blackness. “Come and taste my steel.”
It came.
The world went utterly dark.
The earth went quiet and still.
And then he was alone.
Brenyn stared about him, into the night.
Where had the thing gone?
His sword was also gone, as was his shield.
And Emi.
She had vanished as well.
Then, slowly, awareness came to him.
He was standing in his room.
And there was nothing but silence.
34.
Brenyn did not remember rising from his bed.
Even so, he had, and now he stood in his room staring out through the window at the dark world beyond the glass. Night yet held sway over the earth, and his heart pounded wildly against the walls of his chest as the last remnants of the dream faded.
It had all been a dream.
Only a dream.
And yet it had been so real, so potent, that it had roused him not only from his slumber but from his bed as well.
Emi, in the dream, had been so real.
He could still see her, with his waking eye, standing upon the cold, lonely stretch of roadway – and he could yet hear her soft voice.
“I am so lonely,” she had said.
With a start, Brenyn realized that he was weeping, for those words of hers, spoken in a dream, described his existence.
Yes, he had found companionship, even friendship, with the mercenaries with whom he rode and fought and who he had come to care for and respect.
But, in the end, without Emi, he was alone.
And lonely.
He went to the window and gazed into the night. Beyond the glass, flakes of snow fell from a black sky, but they were not the hard, wind-driven bits of sleet like those in the dream. These were large, feather-like clumps, wafting slowly to earth from the womb of a slow-moving, unhurried mass of cloud.
It was only a dream, he reminded himself yet again.
Only a dream. A night-time cry of his heart from which the hope of love had been stolen.
He went back and lay down upon the bed, but sleep did not return. The dream of Emi, and of the things she had said, intruded into his thoughts, making his heart lurch and his blood to run cold.
I know not this place, she had stated.
It is dark here and I cannot see through these walls.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 31
