The Prelude to Darkness Read online

  “He is branded, much like all the others, no more than cattle,” Irwin mused before sheathing his dagger. “I did ask the gaoler what the father’s crime was, and the mean little man mumbled some nonsense that it was not his affair. Ah, so true, he is but a turnkey in command of turnkeys. I, however, do make this my affair, and for my part, I think the father is no more than a street preacher. Do I have the right of it, Father Curtis?”

  The priest upon the stage walked forth timidly, averting his eyes from the branded preacher. “I did not know Father Frederick well, but he often spread Her word to the poor of the city.”

  “Is this what you would stand for?” Lord Theodore said, now standing beside Father Curtis. “Would you serve a king who does such to his subjects? Father Frederick is near dead, and for what? Preaching the word of the Mother to the poor of the city? It is true that we must take the word of the merchant that others have met out a like fate, but I say that one is enough! We must take action, all of us, or you and yours are next. I choose to protect my family. What say all of you?”

  Justine did not know what to think, even as the cacophony erupted all around her. No longer caring what the men at her table thought, she glared at Amerie, who after a brief time, met her eyes. The knight had the good grace to blush. The risk that she took had no consequences, but it was foolish.

  Relinquishing Amerie from her gaze, Justine stared at the table, wondering what Lord Arthur truly knew. Did he know the name of this faceless councillor to the king? Did he know that the men and women bound in chains were brutally beaten and branded? No, he cannot know, she reasoned. Lord Arthur, he is not a knight, but he has honour. He is the most honourable man I know and yet—

  Then it struck her: whether Lord Arthur knew of it or not, he sent her here to take these leaders to the gaols, where they would await trial. Yet no trial would come. She looked at the three men at the stage, smiling as if they won a great victory, but then their clothes were torn to shreds, blood seeped from their arms and legs, their faces battered and bruised. King Adrian Marcanas’ justice.

  Is this what they deserve? They do not speak of usurping the king, but fleeing the kingdom. Is a life of humiliation and depravity due penance for that?

  Suddenly a silence fell in the hall. Justine looked to the eastern door and saw the helmetless face of Knight-Captain Ser Gerold Kaern. His black eyes were dark as coals, and his whole face seemed to be chiseled from stone. Big and broad, few warriors possessed his strength and ferocity.

  Why is he here? Then she looked beyond the knight-captain and saw ten other knights with swords bared, dripping with crimson. She pulled her hood tighter, and hoped that Amerie and the others would do the same.

  “Lord Theodore Rusels,” Ser Gerold bellowed. “I expected to see traitors to the crown, but your lordship is most surprising. Do tell me that I did not hear your rallying cries?”

  Lord Theodore stepped in front of his two companions, who frowned, wanting to speak, but the lord silenced them. “Knight-Captain Ser Gerold Kaern,” he intoned with a bow. “You have stumbled upon a meeting of friends. No more.”

  “It is a crime to lie to men in the king’s service, or did you forget that?”

  “I did not,” the lord replied curtly. “Were you remiss in your service to the king’s subjects?”

  Ser Gerold turned slightly to the knights behind him, and Justine saw a smile spread across his lips as he took in the crimson dripping from the steel. “They were no subjects, simply traitors.”

  “When and where were they tried, Knight-Captain?”

  Justine sat still, for the voice came from the cloaked man at her table, who now stood tall and proud.

  “King’s justice,” Ser Gerold said sharply.

  “King’s justice.” The cloaked man spat as he walked towards the knight-captain. “The king himself is not excused from justice, nor the swords who meted out such accursed judgment.”

  “Tall talk for a cloaked man.”

  Cloaked no longer, the man turned and threw it to the table. Justine saw long brown locks resting upon his shoulders, and his face was long with bright blue eyes. “I have heard enough,” he said. “I am not afraid to declare for the cause of Lord Theodore Rusels.”

  “Lord Terrence Garter,” the knight-captain said with revulsion. “The king will be wroth to learn that so many of his trusted lords have turned traitor, but perhaps he will be pleased with heads on pikes. No matter.”

  “Is this what you would do, in a kingdom blessed by Her will?” Father Curtis plead, shouldering past Lord Theodore. “You may be forgiven yet, Ser Gerold, for the blood that already stains your sword.”

  “The Mother?” the knight-captain sneered. “Do not jest, priest. Delude yourself in those fantasies, but save me from it.”

  “Were you not blessed by Her Light upon raising to knighthood, ser?”

  “I said some words,” Ser Gerold exclaimed, laughing. “As do we all. Heh, I was ne’er taken to faith, and the king is the only god I need.”

  “How far we have fallen,” the priest intoned.

  “We may yet rise, Father Curtis,” Lord Terrence declared. “I carry no steel, not even a dagger, Knight-Captain. This need not be bloody.”

  “Come to me, then,” Ser Gerold said sharply. “Kneel like these pious fools and beg me to spare the treason charge.”

  Lord Terrence seemed to tense, but he slowly moved forward. Ser Gerold smiled broadly.

  He is toying with them, Justine thought, staring at the two men. King Adrian, Lord Arthur, I cannot stand by this. She stood and called out: “Do not lower yourself before this false knight.”

  Every eye turned to her, and she felt their impenetrable gaze. The priest at her table smiled and nodded his head, as if he knew what he should not.

  “Who are you?” Lord Terrence asked.

  “It does not matter,” Ser Gerold scoffed. “You will not kneel, so you will face steel.”

  “Knight-Captain—”

  There was no other sound. Drawing her long sword, Resolution, she parried the blade of a knight. Hatred stared back as the knight could not move her blade. She kicked at Lord Terrence, causing him to trip, then ducked low and as the knight stumbled in a heavy, desperate swing. The wayward knight stumbled upon the ground, but she rose to her feet and skewered his throat.

  “Are you so arrogant, Ser Gerold, that you would not have your men wear gorgets?” Justine asked.

  “Sellsword swine,” the knight-captain said gruffly. “You will rue the day that you took coin from a traitor lord.”

  She ignored him and looked across the hall. Amerie stood against the wall, stone-faced. Confusion seemed to roil within the knight, and Justine hoped that her loyalty would not waver. Justine simply raised her eyes towards the roof, then turned back to the knight-captain and said, “What profit is there in coin from such a king?”

  “Bring me her head.”

  Three knights fanned out and pulled their visors down. The man in the centre held a shield, but the others gripped their steel with two hands. Justine reminded herself that, for whatever else, these men were warriors.

  The knight in the centre bulled towards her; she ducked to the side, meeting the blade of another before pushing him away and seeing to the steel of the first foe.

  She pushed against him hard, but he stood his ground. She knew the knight who she knocked down would be up soon, and the other was beyond sight.

  “Behind you!” a voice called out

  She trusted it, rolling to the side. The knight she could not see had lodged his steel into the oaken shield of the first knight. Taking a chance, she speared her sword forward and heard the steel cutting through flesh.

  “Fucking whore!” the man with the shield screamed as he discarded shield and knight both as he barreled towards her.

  Justine stood and parried the blow. The man was strong, and try as she might, he was pushing her back. Rolling aside would be foolhardy, not when she did not know where the other knight was.r />
  Then in a fleeting moment, blood splattered on the knight’s plate and he screamed out.

  She knew what had happened. Amerie had made her move, so Justine pushed forth with all her strength, sending her foe crashing into the table. Standing above the knight, she crushed her boot into his wrist and sliced through his collarbone.

  “So the sellsword is not alone,” Ser Gerold rasped, drawing his own steel. “My knights will find them soon enough. This has been amusing, but the game is up, my dear.”

  There were six knights with steel drawn, but she could only see three and the knight-captain. The hall seemed empty, but the men and women likely hid beneath tables; and although the three leaders were on the stage, they were backed up to the wall. She found Amerie, who had her steel out, close to the stage. Justine nodded her head to the left. Whatever came of the bloodshed, she wanted to know more of these men.

  “You are no knights,” Justine said coldly. “Knights do not prey upon defenseless men and women who simply air their grievances. Whatever the king’s justice may be, they deserve to hear the judgment from the Lion Throne.”

  “Such pretty words from a sellsword,” Ser Gerold near shouted. “Still, I will not instruct a filthy sellsword on matters she could not understand.”

  Smiling, Justine pulled down the hood of her cloak. “Do I not understand it, Ser Gerold?”

  The knight-captain’s hard demeanour shifted to shock and confusion, and his eyes bulged. “Lady Justine? You slew your brothers!”

  “I slew men, but not my brothers, no. I admired you once in the yard. I would have taken an arrow for you once. You have shamed the Lion Throne.”

  “Then you are with these traitors!” Ser Gerold screamed, charging at her.

  She parried the initial blow, and rolled away before meeting a blow from another. Pushing the false knight aside, she turned about clashing steel countlessly. Then, one struck her low along the leg, and another her arm; she felt the pressure beneath her layers of plate, but kept each at a distance.

  Another false knight charged at her; she parried the blow, but another struck her from behind. Ser Gerold advanced; she blocked the blow and tried to roll into him, but a sudden cut to her calf halted her.

  I cannot win this, she thought stumbling, waving her sword at the attackers. Amerie, where are you? Where?

  “So, this is how Lady Justine Duvan metes out her fate,” Ser Gerold cackled. “She comes to this run-down tavern, listens to the words of traitors, and murders her brothers in cold blood. Or so I shall recount that to Lord Arthur and King Adrian. Oh, what they will think of you.”

  “I told you,” she protested stubbornly, refusing to give in to despair. “They are not my brothers. They are not knights.”

  “Not knights? We are not knights, boys, do you hear that?”

  The false knights held their sword arms strong, but laughed cruelly. Justine waved her sword at them, though the sick pleasure in their eyes did not diminish. Amerie…

  “Do you have last words, Lady Justine Duvan?” Ser Gerold asked. “I will afford you that much.”

  Justine held her sword up, staring at the knight-captain. At the very least she would slice his throat. She thought to charge, but then spotted movement from the corner of her eye. She decided to offer words, leaving chance to fate’s cruel hand. “Why did you come here? I did not see you when Lord Arthur gave the command, but each captain was sent to a gathering. Why was I not trusted? I would know that, then let us make an end of this.”

  The knight-captain smiled widely. “There is little harm in you knowing that. Did it not occur to you who led this little meeting? Father Curtis Lakin, Irwin Kole, and Lord Theodore Rusels. They are no insurgents of small worth. You did not think that such a young knight would be given such a grave responsibility? I was sent to watch over you, to see that you did your solemn duty. I grew impatient, so I began what you were commanded to do.”

  Justine could not believe those words. Lord Arthur was always like a father to her. He trusted her. The king may not have, but the lord did. Yet, if this was the king’s will—

  No, it does not matter, not any more. “Come at me, Ser Gerold. I will die with honour.”

  “There is no honour in death, only disgrace.”

  The knight-captain signaled to his men. Justine saw the hunger in their eyes. They were worse than false knights, little more than men. The kingdom was a husk and a lie—the king harboured the worst of men.

  Mayhap it was better to die.

  Justine met Ser Gerold’s sword in parry. The other three would be on her flank in a moment; she could not hold the knight-captain for long. She had to roll to the side.

  But she did not have to.

  The three knights no longer charged; they fell to the ground in a dead heap. Justine pushed Ser Gerold away with all her strength, and he tripped and fell over the dead bodies.

  “Wh-what is this?!” he exclaimed stumbling to his feet.

  Justine never looked to the knight-captain. Amerie looked back with her smooth face, smiling. She wielded a bow, as did two others. They had taken the other knights in the neck.

  “Do you have any last words?” Justine asked, shoving Ser Gerold to the ground and kicking away his steel. He did not fight back.

  “You do this, and you will be looking over your shoulder ‘til you are old and grey.”

  “I already made that decision,” she said as she crushed his skull in with her plate boot. “Should have worn your helm.”

  Amerie rushed towards her, breathless. “Tricia is wounded, but we are whole and hale besides. We are confused, Justine, though we do trust you. We would appreciate an explanation, when you can.”

  “We all would.”

  Lord Theodore approached, flanked by Father Curtis and Irwin Kole. The priests, nobles, and traders emerged from underneath tables and benches. They trembled still, but looked onward, confused and scared.

  “Is anyone hurt?” Justine asked. “Are you ready to move?”

  “None at first glance,” Father Curtis replied. “We can walk, Mother bless us.”

  “So about that explanation,” Irwin Kole said, looking at her cock-eyed. “Thought I’d saw everything, then your little act unfolded.”

  “It is not an act, it is—”

  Justine cut herself off and beckoned the others to silence. Muffled whispers lingered above, and soft footfalls. “Ser Gerold did not come alone. Do you trust me, all of you?”

  “We owe you our lives,” Lord Theodore intoned. “We trust you.”

  “Irwin,” she turned to the trader. “Do you have a ship in dock? I do not suppose you planned to stay long after this night?”

  “A fair maiden with a sharpened mind,” he replied smiling. “Dinner, perhaps? Yes, I had a galleon fitted for this night. I would have to abandon my holds, but for you, I will make that allowance.”

  Justine shouldered through the leaders and spoke to the crowd. “We leave, tonight, all of us. If you have weapons, wield them. If not, stay close to those that do.”

  “We are men and women of faith,” Father Curtis implored, gripping her arm. “We cannot fight.”

  “Then you may fall, Father. Ser Gerold and his knights are not alone. We fight, or we die.”

  The priest nodded and called the people forth.

  Justine walked up to Amerie who stood by the door; the knights had their swords drawn, even Tricia who breathed heavily. “How many?”

  “It is hard to say, Justine. Too many for us.”

  “I regret you may never hear that explanation.”

  “Oh, we will,” Amerie said smiling. “I believe in you.”

  Mother protect us, she thought before bursting through the door.

  Her Vows

  Gloom

  17 September 14810

  Justine discovered the stairwell was wreathed in darkness.

  “Torch!” she called back. The candelabras and braziers from the hall provided little light, but amidst the darkness she feared wha
t lay beneath the black puddles and shadowy mounds.

  Irwin Kole handed her a torch. “If I may, my lady knight, if you—”

  “You may not,” she said strongly, and the trader was taken aback: his beringed hands covered his chest as if he took a blow.

  Ignoring the trader, Justine knelt, waving the torch to and fro. The shadows curled away, and she stared in disbelief at the sight: the landing was covered with puddles of blood and severed limbs; and further up entrails draped over the stone steps. They are no knights; they are not men, she thought, forcing herself to gaze upon the horror, and affirming why she slew her sworn brothers. Lord Arthur, what have you watched unfold? Has your counsel not reached our king’s ears, or have you, too, succumbed to dark words?

  Muffled voices above broke her thought. She brushed past severed arms and lit ensconced torches in turn, before handing them to her knights. Others came out, heads up, grasping long daggers and sword breakers. Against those sworn to the royal guard, she did not know how long they would last, but choices were few.

  Justine ascended the stairs slowly with Lady Amerie and Ser Marcus to her left and right. The band of armed nobles and traders fell in behind, with her other four knights taking up the rear.

  None spoke during the ascent, and with every step Justine pushed the remains of men and women off to the side. Sadness rifled through her, though she dared not let it consume her. Nearing the upper door, the muffled voices became clear as day.

  “Ser Gerold is taking his time down there,” one voice laughed blissfully. “Think he is making sport of the lot?”

  “The captain has the favour of the king,” another voice said strongly. “He will take his spoils.”

  “While we wait?” the first voice asked, seemingly no longer amused. “Do not know why we must stand about while he strings the traitors out.”

  “That was his order,” a third voice said sharply. “Or would you question the captain?”

  “Heh, do not take such offense, Jeri,” the first voice said plaintively. “I know how to obey orders, much the same as you.”