Breaking the Gloaming (25 page)

“I have many questions,” he began, “but we must set actions in motion now. We need to send a message to Tryst, in hopes that he is alive and has some control down there.”

“I will go,” Ulysses volunteered. “He knows me, and he will heed my words.”

“We cannot afford to lose you.” Andor was shaking his head. “And what about your son? Would you not fight by his side tomorrow?”

“My son has grown and my wife has passed on. You can afford to lose me for a day. I will return, or you will come and get me. Jon understands our strategy and our resources, and the men love him. Put him in my place tomorrow. Based on what you have said about the Gloaming, I believe the men down there will fight whoever is in their path as they flee out of the cliff. You need someone like me to guide them toward the Sunans. We will form an eastern flank, while Jon leads a western charge.”

Andor clasped Ulysses’s shoulder and nodded. He turned to one of the knights. “Go to Jon now. Bring him here.”

“Yes, my prince.” The man bowed and hurried out the door.

“Find Sebastian,” Andor commanded to the other knight.
 

“Yes, my prince.” He followed the first knight out the door.

“Ulysses, we must talk of what you should say to Tryst, if he lives, and of what you might find down there.”

The old knight nodded.

Andor smiled at Ravien for the first time. “I should have guessed something like this from you. You have a unique way of pulling men into action, into extremes.”

“It is good to see you again, too,” Ravien answered. “You are more right than you know.”

“Your timing is impressive,” Andor said. He put his hand gently on Lorien’s swollen belly. “In the midst of war and death, you’ll see our child born soon.”

“From pain may come new life,” Lorien said, tears in her eyes again as she squeezed Ravien’s hand.

Chapter 25

BREAKING OUT

“It is true that the ones who
 

come out on top are the ones
 

who have been trained
 

in the hardest school.” 

This was what I had always craved, to be worshiped. These men, these criminals and exiles, they praised me. They believed I summoned bountiful food from above. They believed I conjured a divine blade as a source of power and order. They believed I would someday lead them out. I was like a god of the underworld.
 

None of them seemed to see I was just a man, a fallen and broken man. I accepted their faith for their sakes. The worship I had craved did not give me what I had expected. I now carried the mantle of authority as a duty. The sword Zarathus was heavy in my hand, like a burden. There was no pleasure in their praise because it stopped mattering once I had it. Pleasure would be a good death, a release from this hell. 

Mersault had died a good death. Or maybe it was bad. The Icarian’s death was bad. But at least they had found it. I was still searching.

It felt like an eternity since I had killed Cain and lost Mersault. I did not track time as Andor had, with crude scars on my arm. Time was meaningless to me. Everything was meaningless to me, except the duty I owed to these men.

However long it had been, two changes had made the Gloaming a different place. The city had the same abandoned buildings, smooth walls, and constant grayness, but it now it felt more like a funeral than an arena. First, no new men were falling. I had not noticed when they first stopped, but it was probably sometime while I fought the fever from my infected hand. The end of newcomers meant diminishing competition. Men still died, but no longer did dozens arrive and die every day. The second change was that real food had begun to fall. It seemed to come at the same intervals, and while it was still not enough to make us all full, it was far better than the previous rotten scraps. There were whole loaves of bread, dried meat, and even an occasional skin of wine.

I guessed that Andor had ordered the changes. I had felt mocked, angry at first, but quickly I had grown thankful. I told my followers I had brought the changes, and it seemed the word spread. Maybe those who knew the truth were dead, or maybe they just wanted to believe me. Whatever the cause, within twenty fallings of food under my authority, my followers had grown to over a hundred. After twenty more fallings, all but a few men had sworn faith in me. An occasional holdout, like the Icarian, would try to kill me, but that only meant another holdout would die. 

My kingdom now had three hundred twenty-seven men. I knew most of them by name. 

In the beginning of my reign, I had ordered them to form into groups of twelve, which I called pockets. The pockets stayed close together, and I assigned them each a building to occupy. I divided the city into six segments and appointed a leader for each segment. The segment leaders oversaw the pockets.

Before each falling, we all gathered in the central square. My men had built me a throne there. It was made of bones held together by rags and mud. From my throne I judged the competitions. The men had come up with many games, and the segments competed against each other. Most of the games involved battle of some form. There were melees, wrestling matches, and races. Fights still broke out, but we quelled them quickly. 

Once the food fell, I divided it evenly among the segments. I delegated to the segment leaders how to divide it from there. I kept complete control over the wine, which I gave to the winners of the competitions. They were given the honor of feasting with me. We even sang together as feasts ended.

My power was the cornerstone of our system. I offered to face any challenger, any time, for a duel to the death. Seventeen men had tried and died by my hand, while men gathered around and watched. The challenges were much rarer now. Most men would not challenge a god.

Now, as I sat in the throne awaiting another falling, I almost could have been at peace with this fate. What was life but a grasping for the wind? Down here, where there was no wind, where there were no women, we could not live much better this. My men bonded and they competed. They ate and drank together. We could make our funerals worth having.

The long pipe stretching above began its now-familiar rumble. The flaps suddenly fell open and snapped shut an instant later. Baskets of food fell to the ground as always. Segment leaders moved to gather them.
 

Then, out of the midst of the food, a man stood. I recognized him instantly as Ulysses.

The grizzled knight had not crossed my mind in ages. Memories arose of him joining Andor, turning against me, helping depose me. Once those memories might have stirred something within me, but now I hardly cared. Those old emotions were gone, worthless. 

Unexpected words came to my lips. “A prophet!” I shouted and stood from my throne. “We have a prophet in our midst,” I announced to the men as I walked to Ulysses.

He looked like one, with his heavy dark cloak and long gray hair. His stance was defensive, wary. He had probably expected some sort of challenge or fight. He had always been gifted with the sword.

My men were a picture of decorum and order, despite their ragged clothes and dirty bodies. They formed a circle around Ulysses and lined the space between us. Their bodies were straight and hard, battle-ready. I kept my sword in its hilt as I approached.

Ulysses moved forward a step, trying to keep his eyes on all the men around him as if they were threats. He held out his hand as I neared his reach. 

I stepped past it and embraced him.

“Kneel,” I commanded as I released the embrace. He obeyed. 

“Our prophet has come with important news.” I looked around at the men surrounding us. Excitement shone in their faces.

“Andor sent me,” Ulysses said in a low voice as he stood again.

“I know, because I desired it.” I lied. I did not want anything from Andor, and I had no idea why he would send Ulysses. “What message do you have for us?”
 

He hesitated, glancing around uneasily. “Part of the wall will be blown open soon. You must back away from that area, and you must prepare for battle. Camped outside are—”

His words went unheard as a murmur rose up among the men. They yelled and cheered. Some of them began to bow at my feet. It seemed only I had heard Ulysses’s words about battle, and only I had heard his anxiety. So we would have a battle.

I drew my sword and raised it overhead. The men’s rapture sounded out, but it did not touch me. We leave the Gloaming. We stay in the Gloaming. We live, we die. None of it mattered, but I did have a duty to my followers.

I stepped onto a crate of food and motioned for the men to quiet. The crowd went silent. 

“Our prophet has spoken,” my voice filled the central square. “Segment leaders, distribute this food and organize the pockets. My fine men,” I spoke louder, “bathe yourselves in fountains, smooth your hair, and gather your best arms. This day will be your opportunity for redemption. We will fight side-by-side, we will leave this home and charge out into the unknown. We battle until the good death takes us. For Lord Tryst!”

I lifted Zarathus into the air and the men shouted back, “For Lord Tryst!”

The men sprang into action. The segment leaders and pocket captains were issuing commands and leading their men out to prepare. 

I put my arm around Ulysses and walked with him toward my tall building. I had never seen the veteran knight look so stunned. He was speechless as we climbed the stairs to my home on the top floor.

We sat across from each other on the polished floor, like two pawns on a giant black chessboard. 

I began to ask him questions, and he grew more comfortable, or at least he pretended to.

He told me about the Sunan invasion, about Sebastian’s plan to blow open the cliff so that we could escape. He told me about my sisters. Lorien expected Andor’s child any day now. Ravien had manipulated the Sunans into this trap.

I listened to it all with detachment. I understood his words, but they were diffused as if he was speaking to me underwater. 

None of it mattered. I would charge out with my men and we would kill Sunans. I would search for my death, and maybe I’d find Andor along the way.

Chapter 26

UNEXPECTED UNITY

“
Great men, like great epochs,
 

are explosive material in whom
 

tremendous energy has been accumulated;
 

their prerequisite has always been,
 

historically and physiologically,
 

that a protracted assembling,
 

accumulating, economizing and
 

preserving has preceded them –
 

that there has been
 

no explosion for a long time
.”

Wren was awake before dawn, as he had been every day serving Ball. A thin layer of snow covered the ship’s deck. The wooden planks were slick as ice. He would have pulled his cloak closer to ward off the cold, but his arms were loaded full of dried, salted meat. 
Because no one wants to battle on an empty stomach
, Ball had said the night before, rubbing his giant belly.

After this was over, Wren would let Ball serve him. He owed the man enough not to kill him, for he had saved him from the Sunan prison cell. But he could return the favor by being a good master. He would send Ball scurrying to do his errands. He would help the fat merchant trim down his belly. He would do many things if he managed to survive this battle.

A full moon’s light guided Wren away from the ship and through the perfect rows of tents. The sentries did not spare him a glance as he laid down portions of meat. Here, at the far end of the army, there were only six tent rows pressed between the water and the immense cliff face. The rows ran in parallel lines up the beach, with more and more rows added as the beach grew wider. With four men to a tent, it meant there were thousands upon thousands of Sunans just out of arrow range of Valemidas. Wren shivered at the thought, and the cold. He bit off a piece of meat and chewed. Horse meat, he guessed.

He finished distributing the first armload and turned back to the ship to retrieve another. By the time he stepped off the ship with his arms full again, a grey dawn touched the sky to his right, out across the sea. The water and the sky were nearly the same color where they met. He remembered setting sail with Ravien to a horizon like that months ago. The memory brought both hurt and hope as he walked toward the cliff to deliver more meat.

BOOM.
Reality shattered as if hit by the fist of god.

Wren was on his back. His ears were muffled and ringing. Dust and debris clouded his vision. Rocks and meat lay scattered all around him. Shards of stone were impaled in the sand. 

He glanced toward the river. The ships near him had gaping holes. They were sinking into the river, in the only channel deep enough for the fleet to sail through.

Pain flared on his brow. He reached up and touched the spot. Blood was on his fingers. He tried to stand but stumbled. He tried again and gained his feet.

Soldiers were in chaos around him. Some were clambering out of their tents. Some were dragging motionless bodies. Many men’s mouths were open like they were shouting. Wren could not hear them. 

Then, through the dust, he saw figures emerging out of the cliff. A slice of cliff face the size of a ship was gone. Wren saw something like a city deep inside.

Fighting broke out before him. The attackers streaming from the newly-created cavern looked like a horde of war prisoners. They were rail thin with scraps for clothing. They carved into the stunned and wounded Sunans as if possessed. The Sunans were trying to organize, but these other men had surprise on their side. Wren began to stumble away, half-running along the beach.

His head was spinning. He felt like another step would make him collapse. He stopped and looked back. More and more Sunans were charging into the fight, their ranks tight together. Wren saw a man at the center of the relentless attackers. He was rallying them, issuing commands. He was one of the only ones wielding a sword.