The Darkness of Dawn

by Braden Michael

  Black Eyes looked backwards and down at the trailing Sapphire Prince. “To give you fair warning: if you trip at any point, I will let you ride on the horse with me! But I will break every one of your limbs first!” He chuckled menacingly as he turned to face forward yet again.

  Black Eyes steered the horse back onto the road. “HYAH!” he shouted. The horse began a steady gallop, forcing the Sapphire Prince to run. Just before he passed the building, he saw Sato lugging a wheelbarrow away from it. Sato dropped it and gazed over to Black Eyes, looking at the horse and prisoner uncomfortably.

  “Sato! Good luck with the inn, pal!” Black Eyes called, waving goodbye. Sato returned a stiff wave, and Black Eyes continued down the road to Ashguard.

  On the eighth day of travel, Black Eyes spotted a carriage accompanied by multiple horsemen several hundred feet down the road. He could scarcely make out the black outfits they wore. Armor? Simple clothes? Those could be traders, or mercenaries hired to find me, he thought.

  Black Eyes yanked the rope, pulling the Sapphire Prince beside his horse. The prisoner seemed incredibly exhausted but determined to remain on his feet. The convoy continued to approach. One hundred feet, Black Eyes noticed.

  “If ever there was time for you to behave, Sapphire-boy, it is now,” Black Eyes muttered.

  Seventy-five feet. The sounds of laughter and cheerful singing could be faintly heard from the black-clad convoy. Black Eyes gently wrapped the rope around the handle of his sword. Don’t draw any attention to yourself.

  Fifty feet. Once the convoy was closer, Black Eyes could see that the horsemen wore black armor. There was only one group on the planet that work black armor, the Deadland Bargemen. What are they doing here? Bargemen were not the type of people Black Eyes wanted to be spotted by. They were either trafficking Deadland Exiles on behalf of some lord or seeking out people to capture for themselves. Whatever made them the most gold was the option they pursued.

  Ten feet. Their words were easy to hear now. “Fiskman does pay a great deal of coin, let me tell you that!” one of the horsemen claimed. “I wish he’d take us on indefinitely!” another replied. “No, you don’t! You want to keep your contracts flexible, unless you want to be on Fiskman’s leash.”

  Black Eyes began to pass the convoy, and they seemed to be ignoring him. The hood over his head seemed to suit his needs just fine until one the Bargemen shouted.

  “Hey you!”

  Black Eyes immediately stopped his horse, but continued to face forward, only tilting his head under the cover of his hood.

  “Are you talking to me?” Black Eyes replied.

  “You’re perceptive,” the man replied. His accent was unlike any Black Eyes had heard before. “What’s your business here?”

  “Transporting a prisoner,” Black Eyes replied, purposely vague.

  “You mind turnin’ around, so I don’t gotta talk into your horse’s asshole?”

  The other Bargemen laughed, and Black Eyes slowly steered his horse’s reins, turning the animal around all while pulling the Sapphire Prince behind him. Once he faced the convoy, he carefully studied it in its entirety. A carriage twice the size of the one he left the Furakuhold with, covered in black paint and pulled by four black horses. The four black-armored horsemen carried spears or longswords. They studied Black Eyes as intensely as he studied them. They squinted to try and get a look at his face, but his hood disguised everything above his mouth.

  “I think you are the first Deadland Bargemen I’ve seen in person. Doesn’t it get hot in all that black?” Black Eyes teased.

  “Oh, don’t you know? Us Bargemen got a sack full of ice shoved up our bungholes, so we don’t get the privilege of warmth!” The other Bargemen guffawed.

  Black Eyes motioned his head at the carriage beside them. “Are you transporting any cargo right now?”

  “Some.” The Bargeman looked down at the bag-headed prisoner beside Black Eyes. “We got room for one more, if you got the money.”

  “I’m transporting this one myself.” Black Eyes scanned the Bargemen’s dissatisfied faces, then spoke up. “But, what would your price be if I were interested, hypothetically?”

  “Ten silvers, and you never need see your prisoner again.”

  “Would you fine gentlemen be interested in, say, 10,000 gold pieces instead?”

  “What’re you on about?” the Bargeman responded, almost frustrated. He glanced around at his men.

  Black Eyes unfurled his hood to reveal his trademark eye color. The Bargemen looked at him with mild shock, then began to listen intently as he spoke. “If you see me and my prisoner to Ashguard, you will make more than you ever would transporting any Exile. Do we have a deal?”

  “Only to Ashguard? For 10,000 gold pieces? You bet your ass you got a deal,” the Bargeman proclaimed emphatically. The others laughed out of their smug and satisfied faces.

  “Throw your man in the carriage and ride along on horseback with us. You’re welcome to our wine,” said one of the men.

  “You hear that?” Black Eyes said to his prisoner. “You get to sit down on your ass again.” He led the Sapphire Prince toward the carriage, then tossed the rope to the nearest Bargeman.

  “I think it’s safe to say that you’re the one they call Black Eyes, yes?” the leader asked.

  “I’m impressed you can recognize colors,” Black Eyes replied sarcastically.

  The leader laughed boisterously. “I like this guy,” he said to his men, then turned back to Black Eyes. “I’m Korgo, by the way. Korgo Danoff.”

  “Jax.” The dark-skinned Bargeman had a deep voice smooth as butter.

  “William.” The Bargeman’s look was as generic as his name.

  “Fable.” Pale blue eyes and even paler skin with a certain sharpness to his voice. He held the Sapphire Prince’s rope, not yet stowing the prisoner in the carriage.

  “Korgo, Jax, William, and Fable. Tell me, what will you do once you are rich men?” Black Eyes asked, staring them down one at a time.

  “Retire,” Korgo said, somewhat unserious.

  “Buy some mercenaries, a castle, I don’t know,” said Jax.

  “Same, I guess.” William concurred.

  “Purchase a brothel,” said Fable.

  Black Eyes chuckled. “Fable is the only one with business sense, I see.” The Bargemen laughed, then he continued, “Once the prisoner is in that carriage, let’s hit the road, shall we?”

  “Of course,” Korgo reassured, nodding at Fable.

  “C’mon ya bastard!” Fable shouted. He dismounted from his horse, grabbed the Sapphire Prince by the neck and guided him into the carriage.

  “What news have you heard of the East?” Black Eyes asked.

  “The Firelord has been on the march for quite some time now. And it’s been quite difficult to track their whereabouts, apparently.”

  “Difficult to track?” Black Eyes hoped to clarify.

  Jax stepped in, “A few hundred miles past the Black Hills, they started to drop off the map. For what reason, I couldn’t tell ya true.”

  “How can over 100,000 men drop off the map?” Black Eyes inquired, almost dumbfounded.

  “This Firelord is cleverer than he lets on,” Korgo suggested.

  “Not likely,” Black Eyes scoffed. “Someone else told him how to do that, and he’s just gonna take the credit for it.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Korgo. Fable came climbing out of the carriage, and as he hopped back atop his horse, Korgo spoke to him. “We good?”

  “We definitely good,” Fable chuckled. “I grabbed one of his ribs and he squealed like a retarded pig.” Everyone laughed.

  “He didn’t behave. Breaking those ribs did correct that,” said Black Eyes.

  “Well, no use wasting any daylight,” said Korgo. He turned his horse around, trotted to the horses tied to the carriage, and grabbed the reins. He began to pull the horses, which started to turn the carriage around.

  “Tell me—" Korgo grunted a
s he guided the horses to turn, “last we heard, the Emberland party went into the Furakuhold. How’d ya escape?”

  Black Eyes sat silent for a moment, recalling the events that had brought him where he was. His mind was stuck on his father clutching at his open throat. He clenched his fists and wanted to scream but worked hard to maintain his composure.

  “I disguised myself as Hideki Yamamoto and told everyone I was him.”

  Korgo guffawed incredulously. “You just can’t retire that wit, eh?”

  “What? You don’t believe me?”

  The carriage now fully turned around, Korgo stopped and gaped at Black Eyes for a moment. “Are you seriously telling me that’s what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  Korgo darted his eyes between the carriage and Black Eyes while pointing his finger wherever he looked. “You switched yourself with Hideki? That’s who is in my carriage right now?”

  Black Eyes subtly rested his hand on the handle of his sheathed sword. “And how do you feel about that?”

  Korgo’s eyes darted from the carriage, to Black Eyes, and to his awestruck men several times before he settled on Black Eyes. “That’s the craziest shit I’ve ever seen or heard of!” He laughed hysterically, clutching his core while his face turned red. “I’m a Lieutenant for the Deadland Bargemen, so that says something!”

  The Bargemen looked at Black Eyes with a mix of terror and admiration. Korgo’s intense cackles began to die down as he began moving forward, pulling the carriage horses along with him. When the Bargemen saw the carriage move, they moved with it, and Black Eyes caught up to Korgo at the front.

  “Just remember this, mercenary,” Black Eyes said as he leaned in so only Korgo could hear. “Honoring your word and seeing me to Ashguard is the only path you can take where I don’t kill you.”

  Korgo’s smile evaporated and transferred itself to Black Eyes. As he smirked at Korgo, he pulled his hood back up and covered his face. Now on to Ashguard, Black Eyes thought as the convoy continued down the road.

  CH 30 – Asher VIII

  Asher led the 3,000 raiders into the Headlands under the cover of night, hiding them under the cover of forest. He met with each Lieutenant and Captain to discuss their strategy. Twenty-nine officers sat with Asher on the floor of a large tent that had been set up inside a patch of forest.

  “I want to give you men a recap.” Asher crossed his arms, standing above the seated officers. “Our main host has been split into two. We have 52,000 men to fall back to, should we encounter the Headland Army. Our goal is to pillage and plunder their country, draw them to the location of our raiders, then lead them into the jaws of our true army. Any questions?”

  “What are the rules of engagement for the raids?” one man asked.

  “If anyone fights, kill them. If they are wise enough to run, let them. If you see any Headland soldier, kill them. The civilians will scurry to the lords, so follow them discreetly and capture any lords or ladies you can,” Asher answered.

  “How will the raiding parties be organized?” a different officer inquired.

  “You will each be the commander of a one-hundred-man unit. Each unit will pillage in its own area within ten miles of the next unit. And if any unit encounters the main Headland Army, lead them to our own army so they can be ambushed and destroyed.”

  The rest of the meeting involved highly technical and specific questions, numerous debates, and hours of lecture. One officer would make a proposition, and a different officer would reject it entirely. After hours of debate, Asher managed to get each officer in agreement.

  “Each unit may approach its specific tasks however it can. Just don’t forget the strategy or the rules of engagement. If you capture someone valuable, abandon the raids and bring them back to the Emberlands.”

  “Understood,” said multiple officers with hushed voices.

  After the meeting, Asher moved to his personal tent, which was modest in comparison to his tent when he traveled with the main host. The new tent had only a modestly sized cot, and an armor stand. Damon and Andy were both summoned by Asher into the tent. The three of them sat near or around the cot.

  “For our strategy to work, we will need to be plundering the countryside, so taking their gold and silver, killing their livestock, and burning their land is a necessary evil.”

  “I still don’t like it, Asher,” said Damon.

  “Nor do I, but nobody came up with a better strategic plan, so we have to use what we’ve got.”

  “Who came up with it anyway?” Damon prodded.

  “Lord Fiskman.” When Damon scoffed, Asher squinted and furrowed his brow. “You don’t like him?”

  “Of course, it was Fiskman. Who else would’ve thought up some shit like that?”

  Asher clenched his fist, rage beginning to fester beneath his skin. He glared at Damon, but calmly closed his eyes and exhaled. Unleashing anger is unbecoming of an Emperor, he thought. “We have just over 110,000 men. The combined armies of the Headlands and Midlands outnumber us by a great deal. What would you do differently?”

  Damon sat silently, deep in contemplation. He appeared as if his mind had run through countless scenarios, trying to find one that could qualify as valid, but none seemed to stand out.

  “Tough to come up with a good plan, isn’t it?” Asher said matter-of-factly. “Like him or not, Fiskman was the only one that came up with one, so this was the only choice.”

  “Yeah,” Damon resigned, looking down.

  “Can I ask you guys something?” Andy asked meekly.

  “Of course,” said Damon.

  “What is it?” Asher spoke with a subtle impatience.

  “I’ve never seen real combat before, but you guys have, so how’d you handle it?”

  Damon began to answer, and Asher tuned out. Damon’s voice faded into distant and indecipherable mumbles as Asher reflected upon the haunting hum of the Artifact and the madness that followed. Feral faces had descended upon him, tearing at him, trying to kill him in the most brutal imaginable ways. He killed all but the last of his attackers and was just about to have his throat ripped out when he was saved by the same pair of eyes that had haunted him for the past decade. Asher reflected upon how Black Eyes had mutilated the village’s prisoner, and the haunting smugness in his face after the fact. And lastly, he remembered the sea of bodies that had bloodied the dirt around him.

  “Asher?”

  Asher snapped back into the moment. Damon and Andy looked at him confusedly, expecting him to speak.

  “What?” Asher asked.

  “Was the village your first combat experience?” Andy inquired innocently.

  “Yes.”

  “If you don’t mind, could you share what it was like? The only thing I heard from the guys were rumors. Nothing was confirmed.”

  “Yeah, I can tell you. No problem,” Asher lied.

  “So,” Asher said and cleared his throat, “the Artifact that the village had found activated, sending some weird type of signal that—uh—affected the villagers.”

  “Affected?” Andy asked.

  “It made them—” Asher stuttered and hesitated. “It made them inhuman. They attacked each other, and they attacked us. I got tackled by four of them. I don’t know how, but a dagger found itself in my hand, and I stabbed at the attackers the best I could. I don’t know how long I was down, but the last attacker pinned my arms down, and flashed his teeth like he was gonna tear out my throat.” Asher gulped nervously, sweat beginning to gather by his brow as Damon and Andy looked on with horror. “Before he could, Black Eyes shoved my sword in the back of his head. He and I were the only two living souls, and we were—” Asher’s throat tightened before he could speak about the sea of bodies, or blood that painted the dirt ground and marble foundation alike. “Your first fight won’t be anything like that,” Asher said to Andy.

  “I hope not.”

  Asher sighed. “You’re both dismissed. We begin tomorrow, so rest up, seeing as tonight is the
last chance you’ll have to do so for a while.”

  Damon and Andy both nodded then exited the tent. Asher lay down on his cot and stared up at the ceiling, alone in his thoughts. The noises outside were sparse, unlike when he was still with the main host—his 3,000-strong raiding party was now in hostile territory and given explicit orders to remain silent and inconspicuous. With few noises to distract him, he found space to think for the first time since he departed Steeltower.

  The only thoughts that plagued Asher’s mind were images of death: death at the village massacre, death in the Artifact vision, and the death that would happen in the future. Do I want to be a part of this? Did I ever even have a choice? His uncertainty evaporated when he remembered his enthrallment. A united Dawnlands is what I’m fighting for, he reflected. Blood would inevitably be shed in pursuit of his goals, but that was unavoidable. If he wanted unity, then sacrifices would have to be made.

  Asher woke up at sunrise to a messenger who had been going from tent to tent, silently waking up the entire camp. “I was ordered to wake you up, your Majesty,” the messenger told him.

  Asher quickly thrust himself out of bed and went to his armor stand. He attached and strapped in every single component of his armor as quickly as he could without an attendant. Lastly, he strapped his sword and sheath to his waist then exited the tent.

  The light of the sunrise had barely begun to creep into the sky and down through the forest trees. The air was chilled, still with hints of night, but the darkness was starting to fade. Emberland men were filing out of their tents quickly and quietly, readying their gear and horses.

  “Your Majesty!” An Emberlander came running from the crowd of men towards Asher. “I’m Lieutenant Francis. I’ll be the navigator of your unit.”

  “You’ll be guiding us in the right direction?” Asher asked.

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “I don’t think you have yet been informed, but I want our unit to cover the ground that leads towards the Furakuhold.”

  “That ground is quite dangerous, your Majesty.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Asher turned to face the men who were still moving their supplies in and out of tents or readying their horses. “These are our men?”