Cult of Shadows: Ch.1

Chapter 1

It was dark inside Lord Darreth Gervase’s chamber; the darkness of the outside world clawed its way in, uninvited. The cold and damp air always seemed to seep through the cracks in the windows and stones, which were formed over many years of neglect. The castle had been built in the old ages, it had weathered many storms. Its walls, though once strong and hard, had become soft and began weakening with every rain. Though it still stood tall and proud from the outside, its groans of displeasure and anguish could be heard from the inside.

The bed that was centered in the room never seemed quite dry enough to sleep in, and the chair against the far wall that once belonged to his beautiful wife had begun to sprout mold. Though he suspected the dingy thing to be the source of his burning throat and deep cough, he never touched it, never asked someone to get rid of it for him.

Lord Darreth stood at the foot of his bed, with one hand resting upon the frame and the other gliding through his silver hair. He had had every intention of falling into the sheets and letting the darkness of night take him. But as he stood, he could not move his eyes away from the window, and found himself slowly moving towards it, as though it were a beacon calling to him.

A storm was brewing out in the western sea. He peered out at the malevolent night. Black clouds thickened over raging, black waters. The wind was howling and getting louder every few moments. Darreth could feel the cold of the storm as it whirled around the castle. He shuddered, picturing himself stuck out there in the freezing clutches of the wrathful sea. There was always a chill that seemed to follow him at the dead of night. Even when safely inside his castle, he could feel it reaching up to him as the waves broke upon the edifice of the stone wall below. He almost backed away from the window as the tendrils of water and foam struck the castle. But he could not move. His eyes had become fixed upon something in the darkness; something floating towards him, undeterred by the raging swells and blowing gales.

“Is that…? It can’t be!” he said aloud, though there was no one there to hear him. Who could be insane enough to sail on this night, he wondered as he watched the skiff move towards him. Though it was jostled in the bubbling water, its course remained true and firm.

Darreth pushed himself away from the window and stood tall, ignoring the aches in his joints that always came with the cold. He kept his wary eyes upon the skiff as it pushed itself ahead and finally, disappeared beneath the rampart to dock in the bowels of the castle.

He moved back to the edge of his bed and grasped his boots with a sigh of pain. Slowly, he pulled them over his aching feet, annoyed that his day could not have ended in peace. He was at the door before his servant had made it all the way down the corridor.

“My Lord,” Robert said with a bow, “there is a messenger just arrived for you.”

“Yes, yes,” Darreth replied angrily. He pushed past Robert and hobbled his way down the drafty corridor, hoping the message was indeed important enough to bother him this late in the night. He could hear Robert’s soft footsteps as he followed his Lord into the great hall.

The room was circular, and though it was the largest room in the castle, it felt confined. Lord Darreth had, over the years, removed some of the gaudy furniture and nick-knacks his mother had loved. He was reluctant to do it, but they had taken up so much space. Even now, it seemed as though there was too much. The long table where he always sat was centered round the hearth, surrounded by many other, smaller tables; a room where they held feasts. There was an empty area of the room, off towards the east wall, where dancing was allowed, but it had been many years since anyone had danced in here. The air in the room felt old, and musty. The salt of the sea had crusted the inner walls.

He stepped up to his chair at the head of the table and eased himself into it, trying to keep the weight off his bad hip. He shut his eyes against the nagging pain as he seated himself- the pain just as bad as it had been all those years ago, when the arrow tip had embedded itself into his bone. The memories of that day came screaming back to his mind, as they always did when the pain was at its worst.

He could hear her scream again; that shrill, panicked yell that wrenched his heart and shattered it to pieces. He could hear the whizzing of the arrow as it flew through the air.

“My Lord!” Darreth’s thoughts were suddenly broken by the sound of someone calling to him.

Count Wylamay Driscole entered the room with his black cloak fluttering behind him, like that of the soft feathers of a raven. His mostly bald head glistened in the dim firelight and his arms were outstretched towards Darreth, as though he was going to embrace his Lord. When he stepped up to the table and took his seat, his emerald eyes sparkled with radiance; the corners of them turning upwards as his smile grew ever wider.

The Count did not wait for a servant to offer any drink. He reached forward and grasped the decanter that was always positioned in the center of the table next to a stack of empty cups. He filled a cup with a sweet red wine; imported from Lerous, and offered it to Darreth. He then filled his own cup and took a sip, moaning with pleasure as he swallowed. Lord Darreth sipped slowly. He usually enjoyed the warmth that accompanied the wine; it was as though he could actually taste the sun’s warm rays from the grapes that had sat basking on the vine, but on this dreary night, there was no enjoyment to be had in it, no warmth of the sun. The storm outside had washed the warmth away.

He was weary from the day; spending most of it in court, condemning the outlaws that had been brought to him. For years they had plagued the forests surrounding his beloved city, Icerun, attacking carriages and innocent travelers. They stole whatever goods the travelers had on them.

In recent months, the attacks had grown worse. It was nigh impossible to travel the road without being robbed. He had resolved to post guards along the roads to keep the travelers safe, but pulled them all back into the city after four of them had been found strung up in the trees by their necks.

Finally, the last feather had been plucked for Lord Darreth. A family of six was attacked by the bandits, the most heinous of crimes they had committed thus far. The husband and two sons had been stripped of their clothing and hung in the trees like his soldiers. But unlike his soldiers, whose bodies were otherwise unmolested, the father and sons had been burnt so badly, there was hardly anything left of them but charred bones. The whereabouts of the mother and daughters was still unknown.

Lord Darreth had listened to this account being told with a heavy heart. He had stood from his throne on shaky legs and in his anger, ordered his Captain to take the entire army of Icerun and search the forest. They had returned that morning with more than two-hundred outlaws.

Lord Darreth had hoped his men would sort out who was responsible for the attacks, but the outlaws refused to turn over names. Captain Demsey informed him that they operated all as one family and were thus all guilty.

Lord Darreth saw no other way but to sentence the men and women to hang in the morning. The children would be sent to the orphanage. He hated to do it, but without confessions from the outlaws, he had to assume them all guilty- with the exception of the children.

He was not looking forward to tomorrow, where he would have to watch nearly two hundred potentially innocent men and women hang from the scaffold, but this is the way the world is these days. He longed for the days when crime was not so rampant, when the King had not allowed so many refugees to take shelter in these lands. It seemed it was then that the population got out of control. And with not enough jobs for people to take, they had been forced to turn to thievery. Now they were living in the forests and populating. Lord Darreth had only captured a hand-full, he knew. There were far more outlaws living outside of Riverwall, terrorizing the King’s trading carriages. It would take ten armies to apprehend all of them!

With keen eyes, Count Wylamay watched Lord Darreth lost in his own thoughts. As always, the Count knew what was bothering his Lord. He cleared his throat, set down his wine glass, and asked; “my Lord, do you desire that I deal with the messenger from Kaena so you may get some much needed rest?”

Lord Darreth looked up at the Count’s words. “Kaena? That skiff came all the way from Kaena to deliver a message to me?” He could hardly believe it.

“Well, my Lord, no,” the Count replied with a half grin. “A ship came all the way from Kaena. The skiff came from the ship.”

Lord Darreth nodded in understanding, realizing how foolish he sounded. Gods, I am exhausted. I cannot even think straight!

Finally, he shook his head. “No, thank you, Wylamay. A message brought all the way from Kaena must be urgent. I should be here to receive it myself. Did it come from the King?” he asked.

The Count shrugged his shoulders and grabbed his cup. “The guard did not say. They are searching the man for any hidden weapons now and then they will bring him up.”

They did not have to wait long for the messenger to be brought to them. He was a tall man, with long, lanky arms and legs, a bushy beard that barely grazed his chest, and deep set eyes that looked almost black. Lord Darreth studied this man for a moment, wondering if he had ever seen him before. It became clear, as the man approached and he was able to see his face with more detail, that he was a stranger.

The messenger stopped suddenly and bowed to Lord Darreth and the Count.

“My Lord, I am Protector Wallis Bertol. I have come to you from Adona in Kaena.”

“Protector Wallis, welcome.” Lord Darreth gestured to an empty chair at the table. “Please sit.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” As Protector Wallis sat, Count Wylamay leaned forward for another cup and filled it with wine for their guest. Protector Wallis took it with gratitude and drank the wine in large gulps, licking the excess from his lips as he set the glass down.

“You have traveled a long way, Protector Wallis. I hope this message is not one of ill will.”

Protector Wallis smiled and shook his head. “Worry not, my Lord, I have nothing ill to bear. King Ivran simply wishes to make a visit to your continent. Of course, he will sail into Riverwall and spend most of his time there with your King, but he does desire to travel south through Icerun and on to Sandstone. He will require accommodations whilst visiting, which is my purpose here.”

Lord Darreth leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at the Protector from Adona, distrusting what the man was telling him.

“Why would King Ivran send a Protector to bear such trifling news? Why would he not send a messenger of his own?”

Protector Wallis’s smile vanished at this question. He shot a sideways glance at the Count, who seemed to be waiting for an explanation as well, before turning back to Lord Darreth.

“I volunteered to deliver the message. My Lord, Garrick Umfray, has been one of the King’s biggest supporters throughout the years. I wish to serve in any way I can.”

“I still do not see why they would send you, their Protector. Is it not a Protector’s job to stay and protect?” Lord Darreth was becoming very suspicious of the man sitting before him. It occurred to him that perhaps, in his overly tired state, he was being ornery, but as he waited for Wallis’s reply, he thought he detected a hint of panic in the Protector’s gaze.

Protector Wallis leaned forward and cleared his throat. “My Lord, if I may speak plainly with you, I would explain my reason for being here.”

“Of course,” Lord Darreth gave his permission.

“Over the last sixteen years, our land has been at peace. I remember a time when Kaena was wrought with war. Since the end of that war, my sword arm has grown weak and bored. Every day I walk around my village, carrying my sword but never having need of it. I actually desire a scuffle amongst the townsfolk, or a crime that needs to be solved, just to break up the mundane routine I have found myself stuck in. I simply wished to take on this assignment for the sheer enjoyment of doing something different. I have been allowed to travel to a land I have never been to, meet new people I never would have met, and see with my own eyes the beauty of Ceysus. Adona has no need to fear whilst I am away.”

Lord Darreth nodded his head in understanding. He himself had been a soldier once, proud and strong and ready to defend against the enemy. How cruelly time can change a man’s heart, he thought as he looked upon the face of the only warrior in that room. But unlike Protector Wallis, Darreth did not crave the fight. He was rather content in his mundane life. If I never have to lift a sword again, I shall die a happy man.

“When should I expect King Ivran’s arrival?” Lord Darreth asked.

“He plans to arrive six months from now. If the plan changes, you will be informed.”

“And will his wife and daughter be traveling with him?”

“And all of his court, yes,” Protector Wallis said, gulping the last of his wine.

“Very well.” Lord Darreth knew that in six months’ time, over two-hundred guests would be arriving at his hall, and he suddenly got a feeling of foreboding as he looked over the drab, salt-stained walls, sagging tapestries, and molding furs. We have a lot of work to do if we are going to brighten this place up. It was not a task he was looking forward to.

Lord Darreth stood, groaning as the pain in his hip returned. Count Wylamay and Protector Wallis stood as well, waiting for Lord Darreth to be the first to leave the table.

“Gentlemen, the hour is late and these old bones need rest. Count Wylamay will show you to a room for the night, Protector Wallis.”

“Thank you, my Lord, but that won’t be necessary. I must return to my ship.”

“But the storm has worsened.” He could hear the howling winds through the walls now. “Your skiff barely made it here. I have doubts that you will make it back to your ship.”

Protector Wallis smiled. “I will make it to my ship. Do not worry for me, my Lord.”

Lord Darreth nodded. “Whatever you wish.” He turned to Wylamay; “will you be so kind as to show our guest out?”

The Count bowed to his Lord and said; “of course.”

Lord Darreth turned and retreated back into the dark corridor. His pace was slow and his gait unsteady. He kept an open palm placed upon the pain in his hipbone and held onto the wall with his other hand for support.

Suddenly, Robert was there to help. He held to Lord Darreth’s arm and guided him back to his room, helping him into the bed and pulling the sheets up to his chin. Lord Darreth whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ and was fast asleep even before Robert left the room.

Count Wylamay accompanied the man from Adona down the long, winding steps of the castle to the cavern below. It had once been a dungeon, but Lord Darreth’s father had refused to live where horrifying tortures had taken place, so he cleared out the room and hired stone masons and architects to carve a hole in the wall for easy access to sailors. A jail had been built several miles away in the heart of the city to make up for the loss of the dungeons, and Lord Darreth had seemed content to leave things as they were.

The skiff was tied to the small, wooden dock, lopping against the post with each incoming swell. Two sentries stood on either wall, carefully watching the stranger with wary eyes.

“You are certain you want to travel back to your ship in this weather?” the Count asked as he stood in front of the skiff and watched Protector Wallis board.

“Oh yes. I must be on my way. I have other messages to deliver and time is precious.” He stepped forward and held out a friendly hand towards the Count.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” The Count took Protector Wallis’s hand and shook in a friendly gesture.

Protector Wallis sat in his skiff and took up the oars. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that Count Wylamay slipped the note they had carefully exchanged into his pocket, concealing it from the eyes of the sentries. He turned and quickly went to his room where he shut the door tight and made certain his maid was not present before shuffling to his drawing desk. Upon the desk sat a small candle, which was always lit, providing a bit of measly, flickering light.

The letter was written upon thick ash-parchment and sealed with a familiar sigil. The wax used to seal the letter was black and revealed the face of the bear. The letter had come from Hely.

Wylamay grinned as he ripped open the letter, feeling his hands begin to shake with excitement. This was a letter he had been anticipating for many years. He could not count the days he had sat in that dark pit called Icerun, waiting for word from his long-lost friends.

He often dreamt of them coming to him, beckoning him to come home, and now here was the letter that would change the course of, not only his future, but the future of the world.

He unfolded the thick parchment carefully, trying his best not to rip the dampened paper. On the face of the letter, he found beautifully scribed words- words that had been written by a delicate hand. But the words were anything but delicate. They were bold and seemed to scream off the page. And though Wylamay’s heart thudded in his ears, a slow smile began to spread across his face as he read. He pulled the parchment closer to the firelight and reread the words, wishing to fully comprehend their meaning. When he was finished, he held the parchment up to the candle and let the edge of it catch fire. He set it upon the desktop and watched the paper shrivel and turn black. It seemed to dissolve before his eyes and disappear altogether.

He leaned back in his chair and thought about what the future would hold. Over the idle years he had been preparing himself for this moment, but now that it was happening, the amount of work that was to be done began to bear down on him.

It matters not. I shall take my time and do things at a good, slow pace. Everything must be done correctly. His first course of action would begin in the morning. I have far to travel yes, but the miles are of little consequence.

Nearly an hour he sat, pondering the months ahead, watching the flame of the candle dance before him. It wasn’t until the candle had nearly burned itself out that he stood and climbed into his bed. And as he drifted off to sleep, the words of the letter played through his mind like a verse that refused to leave;

To the Raven,

You must now fly.

The tide of blood is rising.