“Word is that Durovia to the east, aided by forces from Sira and Mashad, has invaded Magnus and Shammed is hard-pressed,” Jag replied. He shrugged. “Means nothing to me, but most folks, from all that I hear, would be happy to see the end of that black-hearted bastard.” He studied Murlet. “Magnus is your homeland?”
Kristo, sitting his mount next to Murlet, had remained silent. Now, he spoke. “Johan is the rightful heir to the throne of Magnus,” he said, causing Jag’s eyes to widen further. “If Shammed is indeed in distress, it will make our intent easier.”
Jag stared at Murlet. “You’re the prince of Magnus?”
“My father was Jasiel, the blood prince of Magnus,” Murlet answered. “He was betrayed by Councilor Shammed at the urging of the darkings when my father resisted them.”
“And you are going to depose him in his hour of weakness?” Jag wondered, and then he shook his head. “Not that I wouldn’t go and help you if I could, you know.”
Murlet shrugged. “I knew nothing of his troubles, but I will gladly see him gone.”
Jag nodded. “As will the people of Magnus.” He didn’t move aside but stood in the roadway, blocking Murlet from moving on. He seemed abruptly hesitant.
“Is there a problem?” Murlet asked.
Jag glanced back over the column and then looked again at Murlet. “I wanted to ask you about the darking slayer – is it true? One of your men slew a darking? – for the whole of the countryside talks of it.”
Murlet smiled and shook his head. “Not one – three. He slew three, and one of them was a red darking.”
Once more, Jag’s eyes widened. “Who did this? – may I ask?”
Murlet turned in the saddle and looked at Brenyn, meeting his gaze in silence and waiting until Brenyn nodded slightly before turning back to answer Jag. “Brenyn Vagus is the darking slayer,” he said.
“Truly?” Jag stared at Brenyn for a long moment and an odd hunger came into his eyes. “Could you teach me? – how to slay darkings? I will gladly help you rid the world of the foul creatures.”
It was Murlet that answered this. “It is magic, Jag – magic that Brenyn alone possesses – and it is not transferable, sadly. All the rest of us may do is aid him in any way we can.”
Jag yet stared at Brenyn. At last he nodded. “If ever I may be of service,” he stated solemnly, “you need only speak it.”
Brenyn inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said simply.
Jag stood aside. “I wish you all the best, captain – and you as well, Brenyn, as you go.” He indicated the road leading into the village. “The inn is quiet tonight and there are beds aplenty.”
“Thank you, Jag.” As the column moved on into the hamlet, Jag watched Brenyn go by with an odd sort of wistfulness etched upon his broad and bearded face.
When they dismounted in front of the inn, Murlet turned to Brenyn and smiled a wry smile. “Introduce yourself, and you can likely drink for free – and have the best room in the house.”
Brenyn shook his head. “I’ll sleep with Noris in the barn.” He held out his hand for the reins of Murlet’s horse. “I’ll put your horse away for you.”
Murlet hesitated, frowning. “Truly, Brenyn? You don’t wish to trade on your notoriety?”
“No.”
Murlet reluctantly handed over the reins as Brenyn reached out toward the reins of Kristo’s mount as well. The big sergeant hesitated. “Do you mind, Brenyn? – if we tell the tale of how you slew the darkings?”
Brenyn smiled. “I care not.”
“And you won’t come inside and have a drink with us?”
“Nay,” Brenyn replied. “I prefer the quiet.”
“Alright, lad.” Kristo handed over the reins to his mount and Brenyn turned toward the barns at the rear of the inn.
Morning dawned crisp and cool, a suggestion that the balmy days of summer would soon begin to wane. The column was on the move ere the sun rose and began to filter through the dense leaves of the forest. By the end of that day, they came to the edge of the wooded hills and the plains of Morilund lay ahead. The band made camp. Later, as they sat by the fire, Kristo frowned over at Murlet.
“Will we find trouble crossing Morilund, do you think?” He asked. “We have no business with Prince Pelterez and this road bypasses the frontier. What will they think of armed men riding through uninvited?”
Murlet glanced over at Brenyn. “Didn’t you hear Jag? The whole countryside knows of Brenyn. We will simply tell them that we are escorting the darking slayer on his way into the east. None will prevent us, I think.”
Murlet was correct in his assumption. The next day, as they journeyed, they were challenged but once, when they came near to the walls of Inverlin, where a small group of guards a mile from the city gates halted them upon the road and demanded their reasons for traveling in Morilund.
Murlet fixed them with hardened eyes. “We accompany the darking slayer as he journeys into the east, into the lands beyond Morilund,” he told them.
The officer stared and then blanched. “The darking slayer rides with you?”
“You know of him?”
The man nodded. “All the world knows of him,” he declared expansively.
Murlet turned and indicated Brenyn. “He goes even now to hunt darkings. Are there any abroad in Morilund? – for he means to slay all that he finds.”
The officer stared at Brenyn. After a moment, he shook his head. “We have not seen a darking in some weeks.”
Murlet nodded. “Then if you will stand aside, we will go and seek them elsewhere.”
The officer hesitated but a moment and then he ushered his men off the road, staring at Brenyn as the column moved on. “Go ahead, captain – and Heaven bless you, slayer.”
Brenyn acknowledged this with a nod but said nothing.
After leaving Inverlin behind the column rode to the east, across the plains and toward a line of hills that were turning tan and brown beneath the sun of late summer. They camped near the base of these hills and ascended into the higher country the next day. Near the crest of these hills, as the sun slid into the afternoon sky, they came to the border between Morilund and the land of Fralun where the road was intersected by another road that came out of the south and formed a junction with the main road in the neutral zone between the barriers of the two lands.
Though the soldiers guarding the barrier of Morilund did not detain them as they were leaving that land, the guards at the edge of Fralun blocked the road.
“Mercenaries, are you? What business in Fralun?” A thick-bodied sergeant demanded.
“None in Fralun,” Murlet replied. “We seek passage into the land of Magnus, upon the east of the mountains.”
The dour sergeant considered this. “And you intend no mischief in Fralun?”
Murlet smiled. “Mischief? – nay, not to the people of Fralun. Only to any darkings we may find,” he answered.
The sergeant stiffened. “What? What do you mean?”
Murlet’s smile grew cold. “The darking slayer travels in our company. Do you know of him?”
The sergeant’s eyes grew wide and he glanced back along the column. “We have heard of him,” he affirmed. He went silent for a long moment and then swallowed. “There is a darking in Fralun even now, at the palace in Ogalla – or nearing the palace, at least, for it passed the frontier just before midday.” He pointed at the intersecting road. “It came from the south, out of Worgunia.”
At this, Brenyn moved Noris forward. “There is a darking upon the road to our front?”
The sergeant returned his gaze and then took a half-step backward before the fierce intensity in Brenyn’s eyes. He nodded. “As I said, the darking passed the border before midday and went toward Ogalla. I assume it is going to the palace.”
Brenyn looked up and gazed along the roadway that wound down through the hills toward a distant lowland. Then he looked back at the sergeant. “Stand aside,” he told the man. “I must catch that darking.”
Rather than taking offense at Brenyn’s harsh tone, the man simply stood aside and motioned his men off the pavement where they watched in wide-eyed silence as Brenyn moved to the front and led the column through the barrier and down the road. Murlet and the others followed Brenyn as he set a brisk pace down along the winding road.
At the base of the hills, more plains stretched toward the east where the distant horizon was defined by a range of high mountains. They passed through several towns as Brenyn hurried eastward. After two hours, the walls of a sizeable city rose up before them, topping the crest of a low hill. A mile from the walls, they were halted once more by soldiers.
An officer, backed by a cadre of eight soldiers, moved to the center of the roadway and held up his hand.
“State your business –” He demanded, but Brenyn, leading the column, cut him off sharply.
“Stand aside,” Brenyn replied in harsh tones. “I have come to slay the darking that passed along this road. Do you know where it may be found?”
The officer stared in stunned silence, and then gulped and nodded. “It has gone into the city to meet with Prince Garren,” he replied, and then he hesitated, staring. “Are you the slayer?”
“I am,” Brenyn replied impatiently. “And I mean to catch the darking. Will you let us into the city?”
The officer hesitated for only a moment longer and then he quickly moved out of the way, speaking to a young soldier upon his left. “Let this man into the city, Liston, quickly.”
Following the young soldier as he hastened toward the city gates, Brenyn led the column forward. The young soldier, Liston, called up to the guards atop the gates. “Let this man in at once – on order of Captain Pulter. He is the darking slayer.”
When the gates swung open, Brenyn indicated Murlet and Kristo to the soldiers. “These men will accompany me,” he said, in a voice that brooked no disagreement.
The men, wide-eyed and staring, simply nodded.
Brenyn hastened into the city, along a broad street between stone buildings that rose upon either side, followed by Murlet and Kristo. The street curved to the left and they could see the palace, sitting upon the height of the low hill at the city’s center.
At the broad paved area that fronted the palace, they were challenged again by soldiers wearing armor and capes of purple.
“What business have you here?” A gray-headed officer with epaulettes of gold demanded.
Brenyn dismounted and handed Noris’ reins to a soldier standing nearby who, surprised, nonetheless took them. Another horse, black, with a small black leather saddle, stood motionless off to the side. As he walked near that horse, Brenyn became aware that a slight tingle of magic emanated from it. Ignoring the huffing of the indignant officer, he went close and examined the beast. It did not move; indeed, it seemed unaware of his attention as it stood with its head lowered. Examining its glassy eyes, Brenyn became convinced that the horse was, in fact, alive, but under some sort of spell. He turned away and looked at the officer.
“I have come to slay the darking,” Brenyn informed the man, “And I will not be prevented. It is here. This creature is its mount.”
The officer stiffened and stared. “You are he that slew the darking in the west of Morilund?”
Brenyn nodded shortly. “And two in the south of Merkland,” he affirmed. “Is the darking inside?”
“Y-yes,” the officer stammered. “You truly mean to slay it?”
“And anyone that attempts to prevent me,” Brenyn replied harshly. “Let me into the palace at once.”
“Do-do you mean harm to the prince?”
“Nay,” Brenyn answered. “I mean to save him.”
The officer stared for one moment longer and then pivoted and hastened across the square to the great doors of the palace. He spoke to the guards there. “Let this man in at once,” he told them.
“And these two men,” Brenyn added.
“Yes,” the officer agreed, “and these two men.”
The doors swung wide and Brenyn and the others went in.
Just inside, there was a broad hallway with arched openings upon the other side. From the large room just beyond this arched opening came the sound of a voice. The voice was quiet, low, filled with authority and malice.
“– and you will gather your strength and do so at once,” the soft and sinister voice stated. “The Prince of Merkland means to exalt himself as a king over all these lands and must be stopped. Or would you be a willing slave to that villain?”
“Nay, my lord,” a hesitant voice responded, “nor would I go against anything your lordship desires. But… but our strength of arms – all our strength – is even now in the south, watching the borders with Worgunia – our sworn enemy – for mischief.”
“Worgunia will not threaten you,” the quiet voice answered. “Indeed, Prince Palator has been made to understand the necessity of moving against the threat of Merkland at once. Worgunia, rather than an enemy, will now be an ally.”
“And Morilund?” The hesitant voice wondered.
“I go even now to speak with Pelterez,” the sinister voice replied, “and he will also be made to understand the need to resist the threat of the high-minded criminal, Taumus of Merkland.”
Brenyn stepped into the great hall, which contained a group of perhaps twenty people, but none took notice of him. Every eye in the place was fixed upon a figure in black that stood a few paces from the throne, clad in flowing black robes and a cape that swept down over its slender frame nearly to the floor, with the distinctive tall, flat-brimmed hat atop its head. Despite being slightly built and of medium height, the figure seemed to impose itself on the room.
Facing that sinister dark figure, a short, rotund man dressed in robes of purple sat upon the throne.
Brenyn moved his shield around and into position and then drew his sword.
“Darking,” he stated loudly and clearly, “attend me.”
Silence fell in the room.
Prince Garren started, jerked his head up, and stared at the entrance. His gaze fell upon Brenyn at once – a stranger standing in his hall, brandishing a sword. The prince of Fralun stiffened and stared and then his gaze flicked toward the darking standing a few paces to his front.
“Darking,” Brenyn stated again, louder, “attend me.”
The darking pivoted slowly and looked at him. Gleaming eyes of utter black stared at him from out of the cloth or mask that covered the darking’s features.
“Who dares interrupt me?” It demanded.
Brenyn stepped forward. “I do,” he replied. Then he turned and looked back at Murlet and Kristo. “Stand not behind me,” he told them. “Move to the side, out of the way of harm.”
Turning back to the darking, he took another step. “Have you journeyed to the land of Vicundium?” He asked the creature.
The darking studied him in silence and then – it might have been Brenyn’s imagination – it seemed to become suddenly afraid.
“You,” it said.
“Me,” Brenyn agreed. “Have you journeyed to Vicundium?”
The darking gave no response for a long moment, and then; “Do you dare to interfere,” it stated, “you risk the wrath of the one that can destroy all life – even yours.”
“And who is this ‘one’?” Brenyn asked.
The darking again went silent, watching Brenyn.
Then; “Go away from this place, human,” it stated, “and I will let you live.”
Brenyn laughed, low and harsh. “I am not the one in danger here,” he taunted. He took another step and held his sword at the ready. “Have you journeyed to the land of Vicundium?” He asked yet again. “Answer me.”
Silence.
Then, in a flash, the darking lifted its weapon. Black vapor spewed forth, lightning-quick and dark, aimed at Brenyn.
Confident now that his mother’s magic would save him from harm, Brenyn stepped forward to meet the attack, lifting his shield to guard his face as he held his
sword at the ready.
The black assault struck him hard, rocking him backward. The dark, cold, vapor – or smoke, whatever vile magic composed it – surged around the edges of the shield and found his flesh.
This time, there was no hesitation to his inner power.
At the very first sensation of pain, the brightness and heat erupted from deep inside him and immediately threw the darking’s assault back upon it.
A piercing shriek of agony sounded in the hall, making those that witnessed it cringe and cover their ears.
Brenyn lowered his shield and looked.
The darking writhed upon the floor a few paces from him, screaming in terrible pain as it was consumed by the blackness of its own magic.
Within a few moments, the creature’s body grew still. The black vapor continued to eat at its flesh, bones, and clothing until there was nothing that remained of it but a smoking stain upon the floor, as if something caustic had been poured out there and had left a residue, a blemish, upon the marble.
Those gathered in the hall stared in horror and then, almost as one, turned to gaze at Brenyn. Stark terror defined every face.
Upon the throne on the dais at the front of the hall, Prince Garren, who had cowered into the depths of his throne, sat up and stared at Brenyn. “You are the darking slayer,” he gasped out.
“I am,” Brenyn affirmed. “I am Brenyn Vagus.”
Garren glanced down at the stain left by the darking’s death throes, dissipating upon the floor of his hall, and then looked back at Brenyn with fear darkening his blue eyes.
“What do you want of me?”
Brenyn considered and decided to use the moment to begin the altering of the world, wracked by war and death and ruin, into which he had been born, into something better.
“Only this,” he told the prince. “You will not go to war with Merkland. You will instead send an emissary to Prince Taumus, pledging peace and begging an alliance with him. You will do the same with the prince of Worgunia to the south and Pelterez to the west.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice, causing the prince to blanch and shrink back. “And you will tell them both that Brenyn Vagus, the darking slayer, insisted you do this. Do you understand?”
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 37
