The Darkness of Dawn

by Braden Michael

  Casmir looked at Poznan fearfully, sinking his chest slightly. All the recruits nearby looked at the scene filled with nervous anticipation.

  Poznan turned back to face Viktor. “You—"

  “If you two are going to make out, go into a tent where no one else can see,” Anton said, smirking.

  The dense tension that filled the air instantly evaporated as all the men in earshot began laughing. Viktor and Poznan looked at Anton with frustration gathering at their brows. The two contenders stepped back from one another, agreeing not to prolong the confrontation.

  Once the laughter died down, the recruits began to prepare the Abomination meat over the various fires spread throughout the camp. Alexey and Viktor both agreed to occupy the opposite end of camp from Poznan: Anton and Casmir joined them. They started their own fire somewhat isolated from the others, and set up a tent for themselves nearby as well. They sat around their fire, roasting the meat on skewers they fashioned from whatever materials were available, and feasted on the food whilst chatting amongst themselves.

  “Doesn’t taste great, but,” Anton took a bite from his skewer, “Abomination meat is better than people.”

  “I’m not sure that sick fuck Poznan agrees,” Casmir said bitterly.

  “If he gets on your nerves just use your bow and shoot an arrow into his dick hole,” Viktor said, matter-of-factly.

  “That image is not very appetizing,” Anton chuckled boisterously.

  “I beg to differ.” Viktor took another bite from his skewer.

  “Now that you mention it,” Casmir looked up at Viktor with a subtle smirk on his face, “I think I would prefer Poznan to a straw-man for target practice.”

  Anton guffawed almost obnoxiously. “Finally, someone else that makes jokes! I thought I was the only person whose sense of humor hadn’t frozen!”

  Anton continued to laugh fiercely, and Casmir chuckled while Viktor and Alexey smirked. Once the laughter died down, Casmir looked up at Alexey humbly.

  “Thank you, Alexey,” Casmir said appreciatively.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Alexey replied.

  “But you’ll be thanking me,” Anton said, leaning in and gesturing the others to lean as well. “I have a treat for us, but you have to keep quiet.”

  Alexey, Casmir, and Viktor looked at Anton expectantly as he pulled out a large flagon from his pouch.

  “Water?” Alexey asked.

  Anton sniggered. “No, not water.” He offered a shit-eating grin as he loosened the flagon’s cap and took a deep gulp, then handed the container to Viktor.

  Viktor sniffed the inside of the flagon and mimicked Anton’s grin. “Is that wine?”

  “You bet your perceptive-little-ass it is!” Anton celebrated in a hushed voice. “Only the four of us get to drink from it.”

  “Deal,” Casmir, Viktor, and Alexey said in unison.

  One by one, each of them took a healthy sip from the flagon. “Damn good stuff,” said Viktor.

  “This is the first time I’ve ever had wine, and I’m already a fan,” Casmir said gleefully.

  “Oh wow.” Alexey finished his gulp. The wine massaged his taste buds euphorically.

  “Where’d you find this?” Alexey questioned.

  Anton’s shit-eating grin grew even fiercer. “I stole it from Petrenko.”

  Viktor’s entire body twitched as he coughed violently in utter shock. His eyes were impossibly wide, and he exhaled in quick successive breaths. “Petrenko?” he exclaimed.

  “I knew you’d like that bit,” Anton said, continuing to chuckle.

  “You had wine the entire time we’ve been in the forest?” Casmir inquired.

  “Since a couple weeks before that even,” Anton remarked.

  “And you just showed us now?” Alexey asked.

  Viktor continued to stare at Anton in awe.

  “Wanted to share the least amount of it possible,” Anton said.

  The other three were all at a loss for words. They simply laughed hysterically while doing their best to muffle their voices, preventing the nearby recruits from listening in.

  Once the laughter had died down, Casmir looked down into the fire, and his smile evaporated as he sat in contemplation.

  “I wish my brothers could have been here for this,” Casmir muttered.

  The others gazed at him empathetically, then their eyes met each other’s. They looked at one another in silence, but their faces spoke volumes. Should we say something? Anton’s eyes communicated. What do you want to be said? Viktor’s face retorted. We need to say something, Alexey thought.

  “I’m sorry they couldn’t be here with us,” Alexey began. “But the three of us are brothers, and you can be the fourth.”

  “You guys are brothers?” Casmir said, taking Alexey’s words literally.

  “Figure-of-speech, Casmir,” said Anton. “What Alexey means is that we have a get-each-other’s-backs type of arrangement.”

  Casmir pondered their words before speaking. “We’ll stick together?”

  “Of course,” Alexey promised.

  Casmir smiled, appearing to be filled with hope and joy. The others mimicked his expression, sitting around the fire in a contented silence.

  CH 20 – Asher VI

  Sending word to the Emperor or the Rocklands in time was impossible, as the Conduit had decided to activate at a horribly inconvenient time. The Headland Fleet would have reached their target long before a conventional messenger would ever arrive at Kaiyotan to warn the Emperor of the Yamamotos’ true intent, and even if a message could get to him, what then? Would the Emperor simply pack up everything the Emberland party had brought to the city and tell the Yamamotos he had changed his mind?

  General Miles and Magister Pyros both agreed that the likeliest target for the Headland Navy was the Rockland city of Robinsport, given that it controlled the largest portion of the Empire’s maritime trade and was close enough to the Robinsfort, which was currently left defended by only 20,000 soldiers since the front against the Midlands was occupied by a far greater number of Rockmen.

  After receiving the pertinent information from his counselors, Asher decided that the next step ought to be to summon all the Emberland vassals, along with the full might of the Emberland Army, just over 100,000 men.

  Asher had sent messengers to each holdfast in the Emberland domain. Many of the vassals closer to Steeltower were able to arrive within weeks, whereas the farther ones were either asked to sail for Miller’s Port or meet the main host on the westward road for efficiency’s sake.

  Six weeks after summoning the Emberland forces, 62,000 Emberland soldiers were camped just outside the walls of the Steeltower fortress. The camp extended endlessly towards the horizon with a vast sea of several hundreds of tents. Tens of thousands of armored horses were saddled among the soldiers, and countless merchants and prostitutes sulked about the camp offering their goods and services.

  Asher looked upon the camp from the window of his quarters alongside General Miles, Damon, and Andy. Each of the men had donned his Emberland armor, and the afternoon sun glimmered pleasantly off the steel. They admired the red and gray and tents that occupied the fields outside the walls, and Asher momentarily remembered how the blood of the villagers had joined with the gray marble statue. He quickly redirected his thoughts.

  Are these men here for me, the Emperor, or the Emberlands? Many vassals viewed the Miller Family and the Emberlands as one entity, while others viewed the Millers as servants of the Emberland flag. If they were willing to make the journey to Steeltower, whether it be for him or the country, they had to be loyal to something worth being loyal to, Asher figured.

  “The rest of our forces will meet with our host along the westward road. Once we’ve regrouped with them, our host will effectively double in size,” said General Miles.

  “Thousands of soldiers are no good in war if they do not have proper training,” said Damon.

  “They can be trained well enough. If they ge
t a fraction of the combat training that we got, then they will useful enough in a fight,” said Andy.

  “Useful in pretend sparring matches maybe,” Damon replied snidely. “But much more goes into fighting in an army than skill with a sword.”

  “Knowing how to follow orders is the gist of it,” General Miles interceded. “Having intelligent commanders, tacticians, and a valid strategy are more important than raw fighting talent.”

  “Fair point, sir,” Andy admitted.

  Asher stood in silence with his arms half-crossed and his chin contemplatively resting on his right hand. He dwelled on the overwhelming number of possibilities the looming war entailed. I don’t know if I will be fighting the Midlands, Headlands, or both, or if the battle will be on land or water. So many unknowns…

  “If this is the sum of the forces that will arrive at Steeltower, then it’s time for a war council.” Asher uncrossed his arms and stood at the window valiantly. “We’ll travel down to the camp.” He turned to Miles. “You will summon the vassals and the pertinent commanders.”

  “Of course, Asher.”

  “Andy and Damon, you will attend to this with the General and help him however he needs.”

  “At once,” the men replied synchronously.

  “But first, I’d like a word with Miles. Damon, Andy, can you wait outside the door for a minute?”

  “We can,” Damon answered on his and Andy’s behalf.

  When the door shut behind the two men, Asher gazed blankly down at the view from the window. Miles studied him carefully.

  “Asher, your hands are shaking,” said Miles.

  Asher glanced at his hands, and surely enough, Miles was not wrong. He looked back at the view while chuckling nervously. “I’ve never led an army into battle. I’ve only led a small group into a slaughterhouse.”

  “Asher…” Miles slowly walked over with a sympathetic expression.

  Asher looked up and grimaced awkwardly, forcing away his tears. “How the fuck can I possibly handle this? One minute I’m going on those useless fucking patrols that my asshole father wants me to do, and the next I learn about all the shit he’s kept secret from me, I learn that he’s going to fucking die, and I have no choice but to fight a war on two fronts because of it!”

  “It’s okay, son,” said Miles. He gently turned Asher towards him and gave him a hug.

  Asher began to cry softly. My father never cries. An Emperor should never cry. He held onto Miles a few more seconds before violently pushing himself away. “No! It’s—it’s—”

  “It will be okay! You will have the best counselors available, and I tutored you in warfare myself! I know that you’ll rise to the challenge, and you’ll have the best possible help!” Miles pleaded.

  “You weren’t there.” Asher became overwhelmed with the images of death from the village massacre. The red marble, Black Eyes’ victim, and his own pitiful attempts to protect Danny and Garret.

  “I… I know, Asher. I’ve read the reports of what happened, but I know that they can’t possibly do it justice. But listen…” Miles walked up and rested his hand on Asher’s shoulder. “You are a highly capable young man, and you are not alone in this. I’m here for you, Damon and Andy are here for you, and those tens of thousands of hardened warriors are here for you. Cooler heads will prevail, and we won’t let our enemies defeat us.”

  Asher nodded, stifling his tears. “You’re right.”

  Miles smiled endearingly. “Good, now let’s have that war council, shall we?”

  They marched out of the room and towards the tower’s center ferry, Damon and Andy shortly behind. Their armor and steel-toed boots clanked as they passed between the grand Emberland Guard statues, which reflected the torchlight off the gilded sword blades with beauty. Down the ferry they went, and at the outdoor landing of the tower they arrived. Dozens of Emberland Guardsmen were in formation just outside, and they quickly saluted and stood to attention as Asher, Miles, Damon, and Andy passed them.

  “Your Majesty!” the Lieutenant among the landing party announced as soon as the men were in posture.

  “At ease, Lieutenant,” Asher saluted then quickly lowered his hand. The guardsmen returned to their duties once the four men had passed them.

  The two guardsmen posted at the end of the bridge had the gate opened already, and they saluted Asher once he passed through. “At ease,” he told them.

  The market was strangely sparsely populated. There were a few townspeople working at their respective stands or shops, and a few in the market’s road, but most of those were Emberland soldiers. They all turned to salute or nod once they laid eyes on Asher. “At ease,” he told all them as they greeted him.

  “Your Majesty!” Marcy called out to him from her shop.

  “You three go on ahead, I need a moment here,” he told Miles, Damon, and Andy. They all nodded and proceeded towards the market’s end and the gate that led to the outside camp.

  “Marcy.” Asher somberly stepped to the counter and sat in front of her. “I’m afraid I won’t be eating any bacon today.”

  Marcy chuckled with a hint of melancholy. “I take it you are going off to war?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes. Me and the full might of the Emberlands against the Howells and the Yamamotos. The Chief Naturalist and the Magister will be overseeing Steeltower.”

  “If your father is in the Headlands right now, and you are off to fight them in a war, what’s become of him?”

  Asher sighed and spared a moment to look down with sadness. He looked back up at Marcy. “It means that he’s almost certainly dead.”

  A small stream of tears flowed from Marcy’s eyes, and she tried to stop herself from sobbing aloud. She appeared as if she wanted to speak, but words never came to her. Asher stood up and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Take care Marcy. If the Stars favor me, you will see me alive again, if not our Emperor.”

  Marcy looked back at Asher and softly smiled, then her watery eyes shifted behind Asher to his right. Following suit, Asher turned to where she looked and saw a girl standing behind him. Becky? She had looked at him with great concern, but the tears had yet to form in her eyes.

  “Duncan’s there too,” she said as if dread started to overcome her.

  Duncan? For a moment, Asher had forgotten that was Black Eyes’ true name. He had not actually heard anyone call him Duncan since the day his father had adopted him. Then, he started to notice the look of grief and devastation that was plastered over Becky’s face, and he did not know what to say.

  “Becky—” Asher stuttered. He searched for more words to say but failed.

  “If the Emperor is dead, then—”

  “I’m sure that Black Eyes—”

  “His name is Duncan!” Becky cried as her open hand struck Asher across the face. He was much taller than her, but her hand reached just high enough to hit his face. She began to sob as she went running off.

  All the Emberland Guardsmen looked at Becky then Asher, startled by the scene. They had never seen anyone strike royalty and get away with it. The men looked at him with anxious anticipation, wondering what would become of her. Asher chose to do nothing, however. What am I to do? Behead a whiny fourteen-year-old girl? He chose to stand in silence momentarily until he calmly made his way through the market towards the armory gate.

  Hundreds of men stood in the training yard and throughout the armory, while dozens more manned the gate and the parapet above it. The men all stood at attention when one of them called out Asher’s presence to the others, but he was only focused on the open gate and the camp just outside. “At ease,” he muttered, quickly exiting through the gate.

  The tents appeared just outside the walls. They were bright red with a single gray stripe down the middle, and each one could fit dozens of men.

  “Asher!” Damon called, running from one of the tents. “General Miles has summoned the war council in the main tent. Everyone is currently gathering there. I
’ll show you the way.”

  Damon began towards a grassy walkway that ran directly through the camp, and Asher followed closely behind. Based on the width of the path, Asher surmised it was the established main walkway within the camp. Several side paths split off that seemed to lead towards more tents, stables, and field armories. They passed thousands of Emberland soldiers, all of whom saluted or addressed Asher with “your Majesty.”

  Many of the soldiers were accompanied by young attendants who helped the men with their armor, weapons, or horses, in the case of the cavalry. Many horses were undressed, but quite a large number were having their armor put on by a half-dozen people each. The sight of an armored horse was quite intimidating, and Asher could only imagine how terrifying several tens of thousands of them were going to be in battle. The armor of an Emberland horse had steel twice as thick as a man’s armor, and it quite nearly encased the entire body, neck, and head of the horse while chainmail was neatly wrapped around the horse’s legs. A thin layer of steel was fashioned into a helm that only sacrificed protection on the horse’s ears, eyes, and snout. The armored horses were slower than traditional cavalry, but still much faster than any infantryman could ever hope to be.

  “Here we are.” Damon pointed at the tent in front of them.

  The War Council tent was twice as tall and thrice as wide as any other in the compound. It was encircled by a grass patch that separated the other tents by at least thirty feet. Stakes taller than Asher were placed around the tent spaced ten feet apart from one another, with large transparent metal goblets atop them filled with charcoal, firewood, and different combustibles.

  “Wait outside, Damon,” Asher commanded.

  Damon stood guard just outside a velvet archway that protruded from the side of the tent and allowed entry. Inside, a thick wooden table sat on top of a wool rug in the tent’s center, and twelve matching chairs had been placed evenly around the table, eleven of which were occupied by various men and women. Among them sat General Miles and Colonel Schafer, but Asher did not recognize the other nine people.