Rend the Dark (5 page)

He landed on its grotesque body, driving his weapon down
into the swollen, putrid flesh, and a thousand mouths shrieked in pain. The
other creatures fighting in the graveyard turned and answered the horrific,
despairing cry. Ferran raised the spear again and again, driving it into the
creature till the flesh beneath him gave way, allowing him to slip inside.

With a shuddering convulsion that shook the very earth
itself, the shokrul queen, a creature from the ancient time of legends, died
screaming. All around, the twisted creatures that were its offspring,
collapsed, sharing the death of their monstrous creator. In the fading
aftermath of the creature’s death shriek, the only sound to be heard above the
panting of the exhausted humans was the powerful song of Mireia.

And then Ferran, acolyte of the Order of Talan, stepped
from the wreckage of its corpse with a cry of triumph that matched her song.

They burned the
bodies of
the fallen villagers. Orange flames from the pyres lit up the
night, defying the encroaching darkness through the long hours until dawn.
Pyres had been set on the scarred and torn earth that had once been the town
cemetery, where the fallen queen had melted away into nothingness, in the hope
that the purity of the flames might scour the taint of the creature from the
ground. Ferran knew that for the villagers, the relief of their victory was
tempered with the keen edge of loss and the hollow feeling that the world was
no longer as simple and safe as it had seemed.

As dawn rose on a new day, Ferran stood with Mireia,
watching the light from the fires mingling with the rising sun. Riffolk and
Warden Aker stood apart, talking quietly. Ferran held the broken pieces of one
of the wooden icons gripped tightly in his hands.

From the crowd of villagers, two figures emerged and made
their way over to where the group was standing apart. Ferran could make out
Hamond, the village headsman, and his young daughter.

Hamond was filthy from the fighting, but he carried himself
tall before the two acolytes. His daughter looked up at him, soot covering her
small face, and then she squeezed his hand. She smiled up at Ferran and Mireia
and the dirt on her face looked for just a moment like the tattoos on Ferran’s
own. She waved once before walking back toward the crowd.

Hamond gazed after her, his eyes wet. “Over enough time,
those things… they would have taken the entire village?” he asked quietly.

Mireia nodded her head. “Yes. They would have replaced
people one by one, and no one would have been any wiser until it was too late.”

The headsman turned toward her. Dark circles under his eyes
gave his face a sunken, haunted expression, and the grief over what had
befallen his village was evident in the set of his jaw. “The world is not as I
thought it to be.”

“No,” Mireia said. “No, it is not.”

Ferran held up the broken wooden board. “That is why we
must know about the man that brought these to the village,” he said grimly.
“This was no hoax designed to cheat people out of simple coin. This was
malicious. He offered this village up to the forces of the Dark.”

Hamond did not take his eyes off the symbols. “He came from
the East,” he said. “That much I remember.” He looked back down the hill at the
pyres still burning. “I seek your forgiveness, acolytes. And I must seek my
daughter’s as well. I heard her stories, her fears. I ignored them.” Tears
began to well up in the man’s eyes. “I was afraid to make the same mistake my
father did. He listened too much and did not do enough.” He wiped his hand over
his eyes. “So I chose not to listen at all,” he said bitterly.

“No,” Ferran said. “You did listen, and when the time came,
you acted. In doing so, you saved not only your village, but our lives as
well.”

“I did not want to believe these nightmares truly existed,”
Hamond said, his voice now just a whisper. “When my daughter began to see
things, I did not believe her. She has always been… different, and that has
made her life difficult here.” He met Ferran’s eyes, then looked to Mireia and
seemed to regain a measure of strength. “I don’t know if her life would be
easier in your Order. I don’t know if I will be able to let her go. But perhaps
there is something to be said for not facing difficulties alone.” Then, he
nodded a final time and went to rejoin his people.

The warden walked over. “I must get word to the other
wardens, so that they may be on the lookout for these strange markings in their
own areas,” he said without preamble. “Then I will work my way through my ward
to report and remove any that I find.”

Ferran pointed out toward the rising sun. “Hamond said that
the charlatan had come from the East. Mireia and I will begin our search there.
Whatever sinister purpose this man is working toward he has had years ahead of
us to put it in place. I don’t intend to allow any more time to pass before we
stop it.”

Riffolk stepped forward. “Hil’s family lives east of here.
He was my friend. I would like to tell them myself of what happened to their
son.”

“We would pay our respects as well,” Ferran said.

Mireia agreed. “Of course. Travel with us until we reach
Hil’s home, Riffolk.”

Riffolk gave them a half-smile, and for the first
time since Hil’s death, a touch of the boldness that Ferran had seen yesterday
on the road was there on the man’s face. “It may be a bit further than that,”
he said. He moved his cloak aside and beneath was the gold crowned-eye
emblem that Warden Aker had worn.

The warden crossed his arms over his chest. “Riffolk no
longer serves the Lord of Greenhope March. He is my agent now, charged with
investigating this matter.”

Ferran glanced back at Riffolk. “There will be worse to
come than what we faced here.”

Riffolk nodded, wringing his hands. “Mireia said every day
was a blessing. A blessing earned by the ones who came before us,” he said. “I
want to earn it as well.”

Mireia and Ferran exchanged a look before Mireia nodded at
Riffolk. “Okay,” she said with a smile and then turned back to Ferran. “East?”
she asked.

Ferran looked at her eyes, deep and green, and finally
nodded. “East,” he said, and together the three of them headed out toward the
road.

Follow the continuing stories of Ferran in Book 2, Skinshaper.

Coming Soon.

Mark: A huge thank you to my dad, Dan Gelineau, my brother
Dave, my wife Tiffany, and my son Bryce for their love and devotion. And to my
mom, Pam Gelineau, who I miss every day.

Joe: To Irene, Emma, and Kate. Thank you. You guys make
me a better everything.

A massive thanks to the team that helped put it all
together:

Jason, TJ, and Alexandre.

And also to our friends and beta readers:

Jason, Dave G, Emily, Maria, and Kevin.

Echoes of the Ascended, Books 1

Thank you so much for reading
Rend the Dark
.

Mark and I met more than twenty-five years ago, and
inspired by all the great fantasy authors of our childhood, we wanted, more
than anything, to tell our stories as well. To share them with others. With
you.

It has been a long journey to finally get here. It
hasn’t been easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is.

We’ve got many more stories to tell in Aedaron. Our
mission is to get one new story out to you every month.

Different characters. Different stories. But our same
love for the world, characters, drama, and action that matter most to us.

We hope you’ll come along for the ride.

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Whatever your medium, we accept love in all its forms.

Hope to see you again soon.

Mark & Joe

v1.0

A Messy Little Murder

The slow lapping of the Prion River mingled with the
creaking wood symphony of the water wheel beside the dock. Moonlight tinted the
heavy fog as the last hours of night became the first hours of morning. The
heavy mist lay upon the woman’s corpse, fat drops of dew sitting on the blood
and making it shine.

Alys bent over the body, her hands on her hips as she
studied the dead woman’s face. Young. Roughed up. She may have been pretty
once, but it was impossible to tell now. Old bruises and new mixed with dried
blood to create a mask over the girl’s features.

Alys turned to the man standing against the wooden wall of
the pier and shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

The man finished speaking to a pair of city guards and
waited until the two men clanked away in their armored breastplates and shiny
helms. His light hair, always cropped close and crisply perfect, shone briefly
in the glow from the torches the guards carried. Alys caught just a glimpse of
those familiar blue eyes before the light from the torches faded away.

He pulled his long coat closer about him against the chill
of the morning. The black fabric and gray striping of a royal magistrate made
him stand out.

She corrected her thoughts.
Stand out even more.

“I want you to tell me what happened,” he said.

She laughed, adjusting the large-bladed scythe that she
carried across her back. “What happened? Someone killed her, Magistrate
Inspector Daxton Ellis,” Alys said, punctuating every syllable of the man’s
title with a clipped enunciation.

He gave her a long, hard stare. “Nothing is ever easy with
you, is it, Alys?”

“It’s part of my charm,” she said, moving over to the wall
beside him. As she drew closer, she studied his face – the subtle play of
muscles around his eyes, the set of his mouth. He was always easy to read. “You
know who she is.” It was not a question.

He hesitated at first, then said, “She’s Lydia Ashdown.”

“Old name,” she said.

“Old everything.”

Alys shrugged. “Doesn’t mean much down here in Lowside.
You’re sure it’s her?”

The inspector gave her a slow nod. “She’s been missing for
three months now. The parents held out hope that she had just had a rebellious
jaunt out to the marches to visit friends or relatives.” He shook his head.
“Still, the magistrates were given her description. We knew there was a chance we’d
find her like this, but there was always hope. At least until tonight.”

Alys flicked her tongue against her teeth in silent
annoyance. “That doesn’t answer my question, Dax. How do you know this is her?”

“When she was younger, she was playing and fell into the
hearth,” he said. “It left her with a burn scar between her…” He cleared his
throat. “Over her heart area.”

Alys laughed. “So you tore open this poor girl’s bodice for
your salacious gaze? Why Dax, you cad!”

“The mark is distinctive. It looks like a sparrow.”

“A sparrow?” Alys said in disbelief, kneeling down and
opening up the corpse’s shirt. Underneath the clothing, on the stiff, waxy
flesh was a brownish red mark. It sat between her breasts, just over her heart.
To Alys’s surprise, it actually did look quite a bit like a sparrow in flight.
“Amazing. Highside even has prettier scars than we do.”

“This is hardly a laughing matter, Alys. The Ashdowns are
true blooded. They have a direct line to the First Ascended. And their daughter
is dead. In Lowside.”

“Ah,” Alys said. “And there it is. I was wondering what had
prompted the chief magistrate to assign you here, dear Dax. Now, I know. You
true bloods stick together, right? They brought you in to tidy things up and
make sure the Ashdown family is confident that a person of the correct breeding
and background is investigating the death of their poor child.”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought we weren’t making this
personal?” he remarked, an edge in his voice. “Wasn’t that one of the rules?”
He paused and shook his head. “I’m not here to tidy anything up. I am here for
justice. To find who is responsible. It does not matter to me in the slightest
how true hers or anyone’s blood may be. You should know that most of all.” He
looked at her and in his eyes was that familiar look of resolution, but also a
bit of challenge as well.

That was new.

Silently, she cursed him. As ever, he knew all the right
buttons to push. And he was right. Those were the rules. Keep it business. Alys
presented a charming smile to him. “A noble endeavor, Dax. And one I would be
glad to assist you with, but you know that nothing is free, Magistrate
Inspector. Especially down here in Lowside.”

“The city will pay for your assistance. Discretely, of
course.”

“I don’t need coin. I can steal whatever coin I want.” He
remained quiet at that, and she chuckled. “Oh come now, Daxton. Surely it
hasn’t been so long you can’t remember what a girl really wants?”

“I can’t do it. You know I can’t.” But even as he spoke,
Alys saw his eyes move back to the body before them.

The way his attention kept returning to the corpse, the way
his breath came a little faster as she was about to move away. This was a
serious case. A Highside victim, old family nobility, found in Prionside. Dax
was out of his element here and he knew it.

“What do you want to know?” he said at last.

Alys moved in closer and whispered in his ear. “The
appointment for Justicar of the Second District is coming. I want to know who’s
going to get the nod for that post and what leverage the appointers have on
them.”

Dax spun away. “You’re out of your damned mind.”

“Oh, unclench. You know I will be discreet, Dax. I always
am.”

“It hasn’t been fully decided yet,” Dax said through tight
lips.

Alys waggled a finger in front of him. “Stop trying to
avoid it. This is no small endeavor you are asking me to join you on. And
knowing who’s getting tapped should just about cover it. The Second District
Justicar is the law in Lowside.” She paused and smiled at him. “Well, the
king’s law, anyway.”

He did not smile back. If anything, his frown seemed to
intensify. “It’s not you that I don’t trust, Alys. It’s who you’ll sell the
information to.”

“Believe me, Dax. They know the rules too,” she said. “This
is their world. One that they carved out for themselves and built with sweat
and blood. They’re not going to shit on all that.”

Alys met his gaze with her own dark eyes. She saw him break
first, unable to keep from looking at the corpse. Inside, she smiled.

“Fine. I will find out what you want, but I will want results
first.”

“Of course,” she said.

She pressed her hand against her heart and then held it out
to him. He did the same and they clasped forearms, sealing the deal.

“The Ashdowns will want someone to answer for this,” Dax
said. “They will look to the top and think that Blacktide Harry himself is
involved,” he said.

“No chance it’s Harry,” she said.

“He’s still boss in Prionside District, right? The
Stevedore Rats still answer to him?”

“Why Magistrate Inspector! It seems you have been keeping
an ear to the ground in regards to the goings on of the shade folk.”

“It’s his domain,” he said. “And he’s got the reputation
for violence.”

“Oh Harry’s as black-hearted a bastard as you’ll ever meet,
but he has no temper. Everything he does is cold. But even more, this,” she
said, pointing to the body of the young woman, “is bad for business. It’s
public. It shines a light on Prionside. The Blacktide would never do anything
to disrupt business on the docks. Never.”

“Well, then if he is so innocent, he shouldn’t mind the
inconvenience of a few questions, should he?” He fixed her with a look that
slowly evolved into a smile. “You can arrange a meeting, can’t you?”

“You’re wasting time,” Alys said, reaching back and
adjusting the large scythe in its harness, and checking the daggers at her
belt. “But I suppose, if you are set on it, it wouldn’t hurt to pay him a visit
anyway. If you really want to follow this, we’ll need the Blacktide’s blessing
if we’re going to be poking around Prionside.”

With that, she offered him her arm. “Come along, Magistrate
Inspector. It’s late at night, and the streets can be so very dangerous,” she
said, batting her eyes at him. “An escort is ever so important.”

Dax frowned again, but behind his eyes, Alys caught just
the barest hint of amusement. “Then I suppose it is good that I have one,” he
said.