The Prelude to Darkness Read online

  The Prelude to Darkness

  A story collection in the Ancient Vestiges series

  By

  Brenden Christopher Gardner

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, organizations, and events are a by-product of the author’s imagination for fictional purposes. Any resemblance to real persons or events are entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2019 Brenden Christopher Gardner

  Cover design and art copyright © 2018 BookCoverZone

  First Edition January 2019

  For all my friends and family.

  I will never forget all the meat and mead we shared.

  CONTENTS

  The Fall

  The Summoning

  The Sealing

  Honour and Steel

  Her Vows

  The Mother

  The Warrior Voice

  The Betrayer

  Amongst Wolves

  Holy Dalia

  Light Within Shadows

  The White Walls

  The Coming Tide

  Blood and Sea

  Torn Apart

  The Hammer

  Reign of the Overlord

  The Black Tide

  Dusk

  Vindication

  Shadows of Death

  Western Winds

  Sherin Forest

  Crimson Faith

  Zelen, City of Faith

  Blood of the Lion

  The Will of Darkness

  A Note on Chronology

  Readers,

  The book you hold in your hands is, for all intents and purposes, Book 0 of the Ancient Vestiges series. Every event detailed in this book takes place before the events of Darkness Rising. I have included times and dates for each chapter to assist you in placing events in the timeline of my work. To that end, I would also provide the year that The Coming Calamity—the prologue to Darkness Rising—occurs in: 15137.

  I do hope you enjoy The Prelude to Darkness.

  With regards from the great kingdoms,

  Brenden Christopher Gardner

  Book I

  The Dark God

  The Fall

  Early Gloom

  10 September 136

  Amos leaned forward, waiting for the emperor to speak.

  Emperor Archelaus wore a flowing robe of black trimmed with red vines and adorned with blood-red rubies. He sat upon the stone throne, unmoving, save for the tap of his fingers against the hilt of Vindication, though it was still sheathed in its plain leather scabbard. The emperor did not shift or turn, and at times Amos was not sure where the throne ended and the lord sovereign began. The frowning discontent upon Emperor Archelaus’ face did not make matters any clearer.

  To the left and right Amos’ brothers sat upon ringed balconies. Most bowed their heads slightly, looking down upon the emperor, but Talos and Reuven sat with broad, intent eyes. Amos suspected that they would speak for the vestiges to be sealed, and he would have to convince the emperor that path was folly.

  He looked to his closest brother, Jophiel, who was dressed in plain brown robes that looked more like mud than earth. He sat with hands clasped upon his knees, staring down upon the emperor with cold, dead eyes. In privacy, Jophiel had admitted the death the vestiges wrought perturbed him, but Amos thought he had convinced his brother otherwise. If he did not, Jophiel would not speak—not in open defiance of the emperor, if it should come to pass.

  I need your voice, Jophiel, Amos thought, staring daggers into his brother. It seemed to do little: Jophiel was as solemn and grim as a moment before. We stand upon a new age—you know this to be true! I cannot stem this tide alone.

  Emperor Archelaus shifted in his seat, eyes scathing and searching. Then, with a heavy sigh, he rose to his feet, as if it took a great effort of will. The shuffle of cloth sounded like a loud, grating echo. The emperor’s eyes were dark but intent, brimming with resolve. “I will not stand for this black death for a moment longer!” he cried out. “Edren is rife with the passing of men, women, and children—writhing in agony before all the blood is fades from their faces. The people lose faith in us. I cannot—I will not—allow that.

  “And yet, for all that …” Emperor Archelaus sighed once more, sitting back down upon the throne and peering outward. “We do not understand these vestiges. I will not condemn my people to a worse fate by hastily acting upon ignorance.”

  “Lord Sovereign,” Talos spoke from his balcony, near the north-east corner of the chamber. He was dressed in a long robe of a dark green studded with emeralds. His face was long and drawn, as if he had slept little the night before. “Long years have I spent studying the engravings upon the vestiges, and though I have come to no conclusions as to their intent, it is clear to me that the closer a man is to them, the graver the nightmares, and more gruesome their deaths.

  “Some may say there is still much to learn,” Talos paused, and Amos felt his glare, “yet to them I would say: is not the sanctity of life worth more than the knowledge death would yield?”

  Fidgeting, Amos decided not to speak—not yet.

  “That is in accordance to what the Deathsworn report,” Reuven declared from his balcony, the last upon the western rim. The elder was fully clad in plate, as if he wanted to suggest that he was more Deathsworn than First Born. His long white hair was pulled tight, making him look gaunt as death. “Lord Sovereign, you know full well of the death within Edren’s walls, but not the extent in the outlying villages. Men and women who neared the vestige black as the night call it Entropy—for very little remains of those who fell victim to its curse.”

  Amos bolted to his feet. He did not care that the emperor and his brothers looked unkindly towards him. This was naught but madness. “Reuven, I thought you above the wailing of widows and maledictions of the poor and stupid.”

  Reuven did not stand; he simply turned his head and looked at Amos with sharp, judgmental eyes. “The Deathsworn do not make light of their duties, Elder Amos. See that you do not either.”

  “I am but the only of our number who does not make light of my duty,” Amos insisted, still standing. He felt every eye upon him, but the emperor’s most of all. Still, he continued. He had to. “For one hundred years we learned from the vestiges, and the boons have been plentiful. Edren herself is more veritable than we had ever imagined. What wants do the people have—what do you have, my brothers? A few wayward souls perish and we would throw away the hand that feeds?”

  “’Tis more than a few, Amos,” Talos insisted while shaking his head. “Hundreds are dead in the city alone. The number nears half a thousand if the Deathsworn tell it true. If this were to continue, we would not live longer than the hundred years the vestiges have given us. We must think of more than the gifts the vestiges have provided—indeed, towards their curse.”

  “Talos, my brothers!” Amos urged. “Do not be so foolish as to think that aught must not be done. I call for a further understanding. Talos, you have spent long in studying them, and by your own admission your study is not yet complete—nor is mine own. The gifts we have been given should not be squandered so.”

  “If we took your advice, Amos,” Talos said flatly, “then there will be no men and women left to reap the bounty. I do not rightly deny that the vestiges have offered much, but in death, it means little.

  “Elder Amos!” Emperor Archelaus said, stirring from his seat. His voice seemed to out boom the echoes in the chamber—it was as if mountains moved. “Have you inclined aught from their nature that would aid my children? Have you discovered what would ward against the death they bring?”

  There was little that Amos could present to the emperor and the First Bo
rn in council. “Little of use,” he admitted, “but we will learn naught if they are sealed away, as my brothers would suggest.”

  “We cannot sit on our hands while the people die,” the emperor replied flatly. “Do not forget that, Amos.”

  The imperturbable gaze of the emperor was stern and severe. “I have not,” Amos replied weakly.

  No other First Born said a word. Amos did not know what more he could, or should, say. He looked again to Jophiel, hoping that his brother would offer support. Jophiel simply looked down at the emperor, waiting for a command.

  As did all the rest.

  “I see no other course,” Emperor Archelaus declared. “The vestiges must be sealed away—but where?”

  Letting out a sigh, Amos dropped to his knees. He looked once more to Jophiel, who met his eyes before dropping them. You should have spoken, brother. The emperor has always heeded your counsel. Mine is but a cacophony that he would rather do without.

  Emperor Archelaus spoke at length, and Reuven and Talos offered their own opinions. Amos ignored near all of it. The decision was wrong—he knew it beyond any doubt: there was so much more to be learned from the vestiges. Yet this fool council means to seal its secrets away!

  He gripped the stone rail hard. The vestiges taught us how to plant and harvest crops in this hard, barren land. Our healers discovered cures for sickness and disease that near ravaged us. Beasts that once plagued our towns do so no longer for the advent of fashioning weapons from ore. The vestiges taught it to us all, and then …

  “You have aught to say about the northern mountain ranges, Elder Amos?” the emperor asked indifferently. “Is there a better site where we could bury them beyond chance of discovery?”

  Amos realized that he had slammed his fists against the stone rail. Every eye leered towards him. “No, Lord Sovereign,” he replied quickly. “There is no better site.”

  “It is decided, then,” Emperor Archelaus declared. “Elder Reuven, I would have a First Born dispatched with Deathsworn to each outlying town and village. I want the vestiges beneath rock and earth within a fortnight. This death shall end.”

  “By your will,” Reuven intoned.

  The emperor sat in sullen silence. One by one the elders rose and left. Amos refused to stir, and he noticed that Jophiel did not either.

  “Have you aught to say of your brother’s madness, Elder Jophiel?” Emperor Archelaus asked.

  “’Tis not madness, my emperor,” Jophiel said, softly and faintly. “There is aught that you should—”

  “I shall not hear it, Jophiel,” the emperor said curtly. “Nor whatever stirs in your mind, Amos.”

  Jophiel rose to his feet and inclined his head slightly before leaving. Amos shook his head, wondering what matter his brother wanted to broach, but he rose and left in turn.

  The outer chamber was dank and dark. At the foot of the spiralling stone stairway were two Deathsworn armed with halberds, and two others at the entrance to the throne. As Amos descended the steps, they gave him no regard. Looking ahead, he saw Jophiel in the shadows of the main hall, shuffling his feet.

  “Amos, I—”

  “Not here, not now,” Amos said brusquely. “These walls have ears.”

  Jophiel nodded his head and took the western hall. Amos followed.

  The halls were lit by a thin beige glow, cascading down from ceiling. Small and large antechambers appeared to the left and right of the straight, narrow halls, but none occupied them; only the pale glow of late afternoon light flittered through the narrow windows in the rock.

  The hall lead to a narrow turret stair. Ascending, Amos looked out thin windows and saw that the twinkle of stars could not penetrate the hanging gloom of night. Shadows stir, he thought, upon the realm at large and within our councils.

  He followed Jophiel to the fourth-floor hall; it was smooth and straight, with but a single wooden door banded with iron at the end. Jophiel pushed it inwards, and Amos entered his brother’s chambers.

  The walls were covered with shelves housing fossils, gem stones, ores, and thick, leather-bound tomes. Against the northern wall stood a small bed between a set of shelves, and a small writing table with scattered parchments on the southern end.

  Jophiel stood near a large window at the western wall. After a moment he sighed, and put a hand through his thick but short brown hair. “Need pressed me to keep silent. Forgive me, Amos.”

  “Forgive you?! Forgive you?!” Amos stormed to Jophiel. He wanted to strike him, but held his hand, realizing the little good that it would do. “Do you not see all that you have thrown away? Our dullard brothers—Reuven and Talos and all the rest—they do not understand the vestiges as we do, and now the people will suffer on account of your cowardice.”

  Jophiel turned to face him, quaking in fear. “Forgive me, Amos, but the emperor knows far more than you and I. We must trust to him.”

  Amos knew those words were little more than wind. Emperor Archelaus was a valiant warrior, but better judgment always seemed to slip from his fingers. A simple creed defined him: if it could be cut down, the resolution was a sword stroke away.

  Amos knew that was not a fitting end for the vestiges that gave so much. “Where would we be without them, Jophiel, tell me that?”

  “Them brother?”

  “The vestiges! You cannot be as dull as the rest of them.”

  Jophiel frowned, balling his fists as if in anger, but when Amos caught his eyes, the frown seemed to fade. You are no warrior. You do not have the stomach for it.

  “Trust to the emperor.”

  Amos slapped Jophiel across the face. “Coward. Craven.”

  “People are dying, Amos!” Jophiel blurted out while rubbing his cheek. “I will not say that the vestiges have not given us boons. I am no fool. The people are scared, Amos. Our brothers are scared. The emperor is scared.”

  “So they will bury our font of knowledge beneath rock and earth, removing its influence? You will remain idle and let that come to pass?”

  “I desire it no more than you do,” Jophiel replied, dropping down into a wooden chair. He put his head in his hands. “I do not know what to do anymore.”

  Time seemed to pass so slowly. Amos looked at his brother: so weak, so helplessly lost. If only you had trusted to me Jophiel. If only. “What did you try to say to the emperor? Tell me that, at least.”

  Jophiel shifted in his seat and raised his eyes. “A small matter. It means little now, and it will not sway him.”

  “I would hear it anyway,” Amos insisted. “You thought it of import.”

  Silence hung in the air. Amos did not think his brother would broach the topic, not freely, but then Jophiel put voice to words. “I slept near one. I saw much Amos—much that I do not understand or hope to. It was like a child’s jigsaw puzzle, the pieces lost and scattered. I woke up aware of it, and the people who were near, dead. All of them. Dead.”

  Amos lunged forward, grasping Jophiel’s slumping shoulders. “You should have spoken, brother! We can find a ward ‘gainst the death if it proves true. You must seek an audience and tell this to him. You must.”

  “What good would it do?” Jophiel said, sighing. “We have some ward ‘gainst it, yes. Should the empire be reduced to the First Born? The lord sovereign has not forgotten his vows. He would not hear it.”

  “We must try! We must make him see that—”

  “No, Amos,” Jophiel said, pushing him away. “I will not admit to it. Accept the emperor’s judgment, for both our sakes. ‘Tis better this way.”

  “It is the path of cravens and cowards,” Amos said, looking down at his bewildered brother. “I will not accede to such wishes. I cannot.”

  Jophiel stared into his hands. Amos shook his head and walked to the chamber door.

  “Wait,” Jophiel cried out as Amos had his hand on the handle. “Do not be a fool, whatever you are plotting.”

  “Like you, brother? I am not daft, whatever you think.”

  Amos slammed the
chamber door behind and slumped against the near wall. He pounded the stone with his fists, frustrated beyond measure. The result from the audience was expected, but Jophiel’s cowardice was salt in the wound. It may not have moved the emperor, but silence did less.

  “All of them,” Amos muttered under his breath. “Talos breathes lies into the emperor’s ears. Reuven stands boldly behind his Deathsworn, thinking he can excise his will by threat of steel. Then Jophiel. Dear, oh my dear brother Jophiel, he thinks silence can keep the dragons at bay. Each plays their part to our ruin.”

  He sat in the shadows, uncaring who would come. Even if it were the emperor himself, or worse, Reuven and his Deathsworn.

  None of it mattered.

  The beige runes above started to fade. Amos knew the hour was growing late. How long had he sat there? He did not know.

  “That is not a place for you, elder—not fitting for even the meekest of children, which you certainly are not.

  Amos swiveled his head to and fro. Amidst the shadows near the stair, a figure flitted in and out of sight. Moving swiftly towards the figure, he saw a tall man from the city, craggy faced and sour. “How long have you stood there, Leniel?”

  “Not as long as I should have liked,” Leniel said, raising his hands. “The palace has been like a dislodged hornet’s nest for the past half hour. It took little time to learn that matters did not favour you. If you did not seek me out, I reasoned you would seek Jophiel.”

  “You overstep yourself,” Amos hissed, half relieved and half angered. “You should have waited for me, as I instructed you.”

  “Alas, I could not,” Leniel said as he leaned close and whispered into Amos’ ear. “I wished to seek you out before the council was called. Elder Reuven is on to us, he—”

  “Hold your tongue,” Amos interrupted. “Come with me but stay in the shadows.”

  He descended the stairs and returned to the main hall. Deathsworn passed to and fro, not uttering a word, but their faces were grave and severe. Reuven has wasted no time at all.