Grenson Dark
I shifted the pack on my shoulders; the servants had been generous enough considering the circumstances but it was becoming increasingly light. A few more days and I'd be out of food, stranded in a wooded highland I was only vaguely familiar with and facing the very real possibility of dying alone in the darkness.
It was this same darkness, this creeping black saturating the lands of Irradel that had led me not only to a confrontation with Lord Greanon Raventalon, but actions that lead to an exile.
Greanon was a father to me. As a “free” man after the Landhold Revolution, he had retained his title but lost a great deal of the power he'd held in the last decade. He had compensated for this loss in authority with a campaign to bed every free woman in the town near his estate; something he very nearly succeeded in. I was the result of one of those unions, and under new Law, Greanon was required to see to not only my education but my training as a man, something he took to with great enthusiasm.
For all that he had been named tyrant and tightfist he was remarkably indulgent of the crop of sons he had produced. Each of us received training in the martial and weaponed arts and each of us were granted a signature blade, hammer or bow by the time we reached our sixth Turn.
I paused. The road darkened ahead more that it should; more than it had any right to in the late afternoon sun. Once, this had been the way to Calhern, but recent events had seen changes in the land that even the Sayers could not predict. Though none of the wildlife seemed affected the road itself was twisted and warped and the air around me grew thicker the farther I went, as if trying to swallow me whole.
Taking a deep breath and fingering the stone in my pocket I strode forward. What little I'd learned about the darkness drove me forward but that didn't mean I was foolhardy. Rieth, my blade, had been stripped from me as I left the hall, and though that signaled a clean break from the life I'd known, it did give me pause here in the Highlands.
I'd tried my best to make Greanon understand; despite his advancing age and wandering eye he was as intelligent as any of the other former Lords and a sight more quick witted. He'd listened, at first, largely because I was the best of his sons, the most proficient with a blade, the quickest on horseback. True lineage died in the Revolution – no Lord could assume a son would take his place without a struggle – but if they could find a replacement, someone both knight and farmer could look up to, their position could remain far more secure. Revolts were no longer uncommon and the Lords were afraid, even Greanon.
Of course, he had stopped listening once the darkness came. Like the others, he chose to bury his head in sand and claim the wind didn't blow when he could feel it at his back. Day length grew varied; some were twice their duration and some days the sun rose but would never shine. The Sayers were struck dumb – something I found pleasing in more than a small measure. For decades, village Lords had reined in their people through the simple tool of the Sayers, who said enough and quickly that peasants were confused, humiliated and browbeaten into some of the lowest forms of work. The darkness robbed them of the power to speak, and to a man not one had uttered a word in four years.
They could still write, of course, and gesture, so their displeasure had been made clear.
Nonetheless, Greanon and my brothers insisted nothing was truly wrong, that the darkness was simply an unfortunate event, one that would pass as the stench on a waste pile at the burning; quickly and with little effort.
I knew better – of all of Greanon's sons I'd been the first to take to reading and the only one who still bothered. Even minor texts mentioned this darkness, put at is a precursor to something more foul than Irradel had ever known.
Of course, there was also the Ability. It seemed simple to me and after reading a number of texts on the subject I tried it, easily creating a floating image of Greanon's castle in my small room. Over the next year I refined my talents to the point that an illusion of anything or anyone I saw was easy to create – I could even give them motion and sound. Other aspects of the Ability eluded me, but from what I could glean that was standard – a specialization was common.
Those with skill were not so common and were often regarded as aberrations; I had heard them cursed a number of times from bringing the darkness itself, though no proof could be offered of such claims.
The road ahead twisted, seeming to double back on itself as I approached. Closing my eyes I moved forward; I had suspicions but could not confirm them while my eyes still saw what supposedly lay in front of me.
I had used every method I could think of to persuade Greanon to send messengers, to seek out any with the Ability that walked the land near his village, but he would hear none of it. I volunteered to go myself but was told my job was to learn the sword, the ways of rule, and further the line.
A storming illusion of the village wrapped in utter darkness, plunging Lord and low alike into gibbering fear had brought him to his feet and he had uttered the words that set me on this path.
“Young Grenson,” a new voice slid over my musings, “you have found what you seek. Tell me, does our darkness please you?”
- D
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