The Prelude to Darkness Read online

  He took the north-eastern hall. Deathsworn were knocking on chamber doors, and he overheard many disgruntled cries of the hour and the need for sleep. Ignoring the pleas, he pressed on towards a turret stair, ascending to the third floor, and pushed an iron-banded door inward.

  His chambers were plain and squat, with a large bed on the northern end, and a writing table near a narrow but tall window on the eastern wall; many leather-bound books were piled atop it—most that he had scribed himself. He breathed in the smell of fresh rushes and felt the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth.

  Once Leniel sauntered in, Amos barred the door. “What does Elder Reuven know?”

  Leniel walked over to the hearth. The glow of the fire shadowed his face; he looked grim and gaunt. Not even his long blonde hair could dispel the deathly visage. “Is it not enough that we have words in private? The elder does not know by name how many of us there are, but enough to sow doubt in his mind. Enough that he has sent a message: I awoke to my serving’s man severed head upon my doorstep.”

  “We knew the risks. It is too important, Leniel.”

  “Easy enough for you to say, elder.” Leniel shook his head to and fro. “I have not forgotten my debt to you—nor does any other who serves loyally, yet we will not suffer the end of our households for what we do not understand—what you do not understand.”

  In time, I will. In time, I must, Amos thought while walking to the other side of the hearth. He saw fear and sadness in Leniel’s eyes. “Who was this serving man? He means more to you than some scullion or doorman.”

  “That he does,” Leniel said solemnly. “As you well know, I was a travelling merchant in the eastern reaches for nigh on seven seasons before taking to your service. Many years past, I was in a village by the mountain slopes. The people were poor—poorer than you could e’er imagine. They haggled with the paltry pennies that they had—smiling through mud, dirt, and grime. It was a façade though—whilst some begged, others tried to steal. I had strong swords then; I paid them handsomely for their service.

  “My men chased down the thieves, all but one. We searched the village ten times over, or somewhere thereabouts. I had given up hope of justice that day, and chose to deliver a stern warning to the villagers: keep to yourselves and let me not hear wind of such thievery again, or I shall set the emperor’s wrath upon you. What they made of it, I know not, for I never returned to that village.

  “For two days my men and I were on the road west. We rested for the night, and I felt peckish after the evening meal, so I went back into the wagon. Heard a shuffling sound. I drew my dagger, not thinking to call upon the swords whom I paid. I found a boy stuffing his face with some of the finest oranges I bought some weeks back, though the juices could not hide the muck, dirt, and grime.

  “He was the thief that I could not find. He never fled, elder, but hid in the wagons—the last place we thought to look. No more than twelve seasons if he was a day. Clever boy, though, and he thought I could have a use for him. The boy did not want to return home. Turns out, I never had a more loyal lad, once he had food in his belly.”

  Leniel fell silent, staring at the burning logs.

  Amos did not know what to say. What was there to say? The lad would have been like a son to the man. “My condolences, Leniel.”

  “You do not mean a word o’ that,” Leniel said. “I have known you too long. I know better. Mayhap that is where I erred.”

  “To err is to waver now,” Amos said more sharply than he intended.

  “Seems to me that if I confess to some Deathsworn, even Reuven himself, you would err no longer.”

  Amos shook his head. He did not know if the emperor would believe a word of it, even if it did come from Reuven, but he did not want to risk that. “You would not.”

  “I do not wish to, but I do not want any more dead, me and mine. The nobles I rallied to your cause. Coins, favours. That is fine. None of us wanted blood.”

  “Blood is all there will be if you seek Reuven.”

  “Is that so, Elder Amos?” Leniel chuckled, though the smile died on his lips. “You do know a lot of us. Do you have some plot that will stay your brother’s blade?”

  “I do. Come.” Amos pointed towards his writing table, then leafed through one of his cartography tomes. “In council today, the emperor decreed—upon the insistence of many of my brothers, including Reuven—that the ancient vestiges of our people be taken to the northern mountain ranges, here.” He pointed with his right index finger to a swell of mountains at the centre of the range. “There are natural pathways that lead into its heart. They will be taken along the northern road. The escort will be large, and they will change often. No man or woman will be permitted sleep.”

  “No sleep?”

  “The emperor seems to believe that the vestiges bestows nightmares that none wake from. The next fortnight, Reuven will concern himself with little else, and though the Deathsworn will see the treasures themselves deep into the mountain, they cannot do it all themselves. None will be permitted assignments for long.”

  “If I understand you rightly,” Leniel began without looking up from the tome, “you wish for me and mine to be there when they are taken deep into the mountain. Then, somehow, retrieve them, mask ourselves as Deathsworn, or learn the path to where they are kept?”

  “You cannot be near them, but where they are kept, yes, I wish to learn that,” Amos said. He was not sure if he should reveal much to Leniel, but there seemed to be little recourse. “The vestiges are bastions of knowledge. They have given gifts beyond imagining. Our golden age flourishes by their divinity. I would not squander them. I would study them, learn what I could, and, if I must, turn them against the emperor.”

  “Me and mine will fall on the streets whilst you study!” Leniel roared. “I would not risk Elder Reuven’s ire whilst you probe their secrets in the mountain’s depths.”

  “The First Born are not affected by them. We can master their power of death, but not where the lord sovereign can see. He must be blind. Emperor Archelaus is many things, though I doubt he can see into the depths of the earth.”

  Leniel’s face slowly softened, and then he laughed. “Master death? Your goals are lofty as ever.” He shrugged, but the smile never left his face. “I have little choice, do I not? Elder Reuven knows of us, and I doubt he would be gentle, whatsoever I would say.”

  “My brother would see you dead, Leniel.”

  “Of all your words, that I doubt the least,” Leniel said slyly. “Very well, Elder Amos. I shall call our allies, share your words, and then see how many throats I must slit.”

  “I can ask for no more,” Amos said, smiling.

  Leniel left. Amos collapsed upon the bed, rubbing his eyes. Fates are left now to a merchant who I have given so much trust. He had so many worries and concerns, but they all seemed to dissipate as sleep took him.

  Amos stood amidst a busy street in the heart of a market square. Men and women passed to and fro carrying satchels of goods. Merchants hawked from their stalls, offering fruits and vegetables, toys and puzzles, textiles and fabrics, books and more. It was an endless stream of trade.

  He walked up to a nearby stall: the tomatoes were thick and juicy, close to bursting. A stocky man had bought a large pear, and the juices flooded out as he bit into it. Amos did not think there was any farm in the empire that had grown fruit so ripe.

  “Where do you acquire your stock?” he asked the merchant.

  The merchant smiled broadly; every crease in his face was shown, but he did not seem to care. “Oh, from all reaches of the empire, friend! West, south, east, north! It matters not. All that matters is price; and my coins will go for naught but the ripest of fruits and vegetables. Will you not gorge upon an apple, orange, or plum?”

  “A plum, if you would be so kind,” Amos said, handing over a few silver coins.

  “Mighty kind of you to give me your trade, friend,” the merchant said, handing over a plum that seemed to shine with th
e sun. “Do return when you have a taste. I shall not leave the city.”

  Amos took a bite. He had never tasted such ripeness and flavour. Greedily, he bit into it over and over, not caring that the juices would ruin his dark brown robes.

  There were extravagant goods at every stall: leather-bound books for children, histories of the empire, and some oddly named titles featuring men and women close together. Tales of love, no doubt. Literature cannot always be good. There were also carved wooden figures with vibrant colours, straw dolls that seemed so real, and little tops to spin.

  Amos forgot the wares and looked at the people walking about. Very few seemed to be alone, and none without a smile on their faces.

  Then something struck him: none had tried to steal, nor did any merchant have a guard. He looked about again and realized there were no Deathsworn either.

  “What is this place?!” he shouted out.

  Time seemed to halt. There was not a sound, nor did any of the people move about. He nudged a man of middling height, but the man did not budge. He pushed against the man, but it was like trying to move a boulder.

  He could not understand it.

  Then the people were gone. The sky slowly darkened, a deepening grey was cascading over the realm. Stalls still stood in the square, but they were broken down, the wood charred. A stone fountain was smashed, and it seemed water had not flowed in it for some time. Walking forward, Amos almost tripped—the cobblestone was broken down and decayed, giving way to the barren earth that he remembered so much.

  Taken by a sudden fear, he looked to northward and saw a towering, reflective structure. He thought it an obelisk, but much wider. He stepped towards it, and with each passing step he feared what to find. Feared to give word to his thoughts. Feared to even speak it.

  The towering structure came closer and closer to view. It seemed like it was sloughing away, like water against a sheer cliff. Shadows seemed to form, slithering and seeking.

  “What are you?!” Amos shouted at the black structure. “What is all this?! Where did they go?!”

  MY GIFT DESPOILED!

  The voice echoed in his skull; he collapsed in pain, holding his head. The agony rattled inside his body. Every inhalation of breath was painful. Yet he looked up towards the swarming shadows. He had to.

  The shadows stretched further, growing larger with every passing moment. They soon engulfed his sight. It was all that remained.

  “Your gift … despoiled?” he asked faintly.

  IT WAS NOT GIVEN TO ROT BENEATH EARTH AND STONE!

  He did not know what this was. A dream, surely? If he woke would he remember it? Would it have mattered? “I tried to stop it, but I …”

  LOOK UPON ME, HERALD!

  He did. He felt he could do naught else. Within those swarming, churning shadows loomed a darkened figure, emanating in strength. The figure seemed like a man, but much larger. Commanding.

  WHAT DO YOU SEE, HERALD?

  “Deliverance,” Amos said weakly, thinking little else would please this, whoever it was.

  THIS IS THE REALM OF RUIN, AMOS. A REALM WHERE BUT THE CRAVEN AND COWARDS HOLD COURT. DEFY THEM, AMOS! RETURN TO YOUR GOLDEN AGE.

  “I do not understand them,” Amos said, weeping. “I do not understand them!”

  LOOK UPON THE DARKNESS!

  Amos obeyed. The engravings upon the vestiges were illuminated within the swirling mass of shadows. Sovereignty, Sky, Pyre, Cognizance, Faith, Entropy, Dominion, Subversion, Plague, Lucidity, Salvation, Twilight, he read in his mind. Then images of power, of transcendence, of ages come and gone, of ages that will be, of creation itself flashed in front of his eyes.

  YOU UNDERSTAND, CHILD?

  “I do,” Amos said, rising. The pain and agony ceased, and he floated upwards, staring into the depths of the swirling shadows. “I would see more, if I am but worthy.”

  The swirling shadows swallowed him.

  The Summoning

  Falling Light

  20 July 137

  Amos stood atop the mountain passes, staring at the ornate gateway.

  The gateway was wrought of plain, grey stone, and it formed a flat arch no more than ten feet. Along the pillars on the left and right were old words of Mazain: Here stands strength to preserve. Here stands wisdom to sustain it. The words were a mantra that Emperor Archelaus repeated endlessly, and the First Born echoed it.

  Amos grinned dervishly and thought, A day will dawn soon when I will reveal the hypocrisy that it is.

  Two Deathsworn stood in the shadows of the arch, and they made their way towards him. The visors on their helmets were up, their eyes searching amid shadows. The man on the left wielded a halberd, while the other a war hammer.

  “Elder Amos,” the man on the right began, slamming the butt of his weapon into the ground. “By orders of the lord sovereign, none may pass into the Animus Chambers. This law you know. Turn away at once!”

  Animus Chambers, Amos thought, recoiling at the notion. I wonder who thought to name it such—Reuven or my father?

  He shifted his head to the side, measuring the Deathsworn. “Do you not obey the will of the First Born—both of you?”

  The Deathsworn on the left answered quickly and sternly. “It is to Elder Reuven and Emperor Archelaus that we serve. Begone, Elder Amos.”

  The rightmost man gripped his weapon hard, whilst the other flexed his fingers. For all the bravado, there was a palpable fear in their eyes. “My brother before the lord sovereign?” Amos asked. “Is arrogance a trait to which the Deathsworn are instilled?”

  The man on the left pointed the tip of his halberd at Amos. “Begone, elder.”

  “By the very laws that you oh so obediently serve, you have earned the executioner’s axe,” Amos said, smiling broadly. “Will you prostrate yourself upon my mercy? My silence alone is all that stands between you and the grave.”

  The man on the left did not flinch. The man on the right leaned forward and said, “Begone, elder.”

  “The grave it is, then.”

  The man on the right began to swing his hammer, though he crumbled to the ground before the strike landed; two arrows had gone straight through his eyes. The man on the left screamed, whilst the same fate befell him.

  “Needless,” Amos remarked, before turning and watching Leniel and his men saunter forth. Leniel looked sour as he always did, but the teak robes that he and the others wore suited them well. Amos wanted his disciples to all look alike. “Is that the word you would use, Leniel? Needless?”

  “Death comes for us all, elder,” Leniel said, shrugging his shoulders. “Needless, mayhap, that these men do not choose it as we do.”

  “It is so,” Amos said, smiling. He counted seven disciples. “The two tall ones in the back, Leniel, have them strip the Deathsworn. See how long they can fool my brother, should he come calling.”

  “They know their task, elder,” Leniel said, pointing to the two tall men. “The others?”

  “They shall accompany us. There may still be surprises within these Animus Chambers.” Disgusted, Amos walked towards the arch.

  “I assure you there are not,” Leniel said, catching up. The disciples followed close behind. “Your patience shall not go unrewarded. You will have as much time as you require.”

  “I do hope so, Leniel,” Amos said, shaking his head. In truth, he did not know how long their presence could be masked, even if all the arrangements had been made. The emperor had a way of knowing sometimes. “If not, we shall all have needless deaths.”

  Beige symbols from the ceiling lit the plain, mortared floor. Amos peered at the hard and smooth walls, shimmering in the pale light, unbroken by doors or adjoining halls. It all seemed to push forward, deeper into the mountain’s depths.

  The path felt endless, and much the same. Darkness and shadows lurked at the edge of sight. The absence of guards began to perturb Amos. “Is this hall not guarded, Leniel?”

  “The disciples profess that. When the stone was brought in and
worked by masons, Deathsworn were about day and night. Since then, no. There are guards at the end of the hall. No cause for concern, that I assure you.”

  “I have been assured before,” Amos hissed, not liking the news. “Much to my ruin.”

  “Much that we risk in this endeavour, elder. You know that more than most.”

  You have no idea, Leniel. “How long does this path go on for?”

  “A dozen spans, I reckon,” Leniel said flatly. “I walked it but once before, and that some time ago.”

  Amos knew that Leniel was looking toward him as he lead on. He knew, too, that the other disciples did the same: for they muttered quietly behind, but not so quiet that he did not hear them. Still, he did not want to say aught, and did not. Fear. We must master it ourselves in our own way.

  The path remained dark, though the gloom seemed to lift a little, and the voices of men called out in challenge.

  “Stand aside,” Leniel called out. The men shouted back before obeying.

  Behind the guards stood an ornate door. It looked dark and grey, but words in Maznach glowed piercingly white, growing along the outer circle with a single glyph in the centre.

  “Elder, do you…”

  Leniel’s words trailed off as Amos waved him to silence. The words read: To come this way is to nurture defiance to the First Born. By my will death is warded from the people. Death I grant to those who pass this gate. Then in the centre was an overlarge glyph, illuminated in red, but it was not Maznach. Amos grinned gleefully, before saying softly, “Lord Sovereign, does your arrogance know no end?”

  “Elder?”

  It seemed that Leniel heard him. “I recognize this glyph. I saw it before—I saw all the vestiges once. ‘Twas Sovereignty, lest I am a fool.”

  Leniel crossed his arms. “I do not know, elder. We have not been able to learn what it meant.”

  “Of course you have not,” Amos said curtly, placing a hand upon the glyph. “You are not the lord sovereign, nor do you understand the true nature of our realm.”

  He felt a sudden surge within his body; agony and pain overlapped every muscle, and it felt like his bones cracked. Then Darkness suffused his skin, stretching out towards the writing upon the door.