Chapter Thirteen: Alone in the Dark

Imperial Railway, 173 miles west of Pridnah, Melcania

The train lumbered lazily over the tracks, like some great, immeasurable beast, vast, and seemingly unstoppable. It travelled at a moderate, yet determined pace, its speed reduced for the moonless night that made their lanterns useless, the darkness swallowing their light like some gaping, ravenous maw. Even the smoke and steam coming from the engine seemed to disappear, becoming one with the black that the train was running blindly into.

Alongside the large vehicle were a number of lightning powered troop transports, as well as several dozen mounted soldiers, Imperials in black armor, riding atop equally black horses, doing their best not to run into each other in the limited visibility. Nearly 200 men, assigned to escort the train as it travelled down the desolate track. The closest towns were hundreds of miles in either direction, they were alone in the dark, and everyone was uneasy, feeling eyes on them where they could not see.

In the engine cabin the motorman kept his eyes focused on what track he could see, watching for obstructions and other hazards. The results would be catastrophic if the train struck something hard enough to send it off the rails. He stifled a yawn, taking a swig of the good stuff from his flask, trying to keep alert in the long, arduous journey of crossing the empire from west to east. The night that made the soldiers nervous really just made him tired, he had been operating trains for years, and he knew that worst thing to fear in the dark was usually a blocked track, but that happened few and far between. The motorman took another swig from his flask, pausing as he thought he saw a glimmer in the distance. The man leaned out of the cabin window, squinting, trying to make out what he was seeing.

“What in the hell? It almost looks like… OH SHIT!!” He ran to the controls, heaving the brake back as far as it would go, sparks flying off the wheels as the great, lumbering beast groaned and screamed, struggling, grinding to a halt in an effort that would surely damage the engine. Transports and mounted soldiers came to a stop, the enormous engine belching steam from the exhaustive and abrupt action it had been forced to take. Some of the soldiers dismounted, coming down from their horses to see what had caused the delay. The motorman was already out of the cabin, standing at the head of the train, scratching his head in bewilderment. In front of the train, stuck into the ground with wooden stakes, were several lines of scarecrows, holding hands tied together with twine, mirrored glass hanging around each of their necks. From a distance it looked like a crowd of people waiting patiently to be run over.

“What is this? Some kind of joke?” His pondering was cut short by the sound of the ambush…

Shots rang out in the darkness, catching the Melcanians on both sides, the lights on the train and their transports putting them at a horrible disadvantage, as they were forced to fight in a spotlight against an enemy that could not be seen. After a moment of confusion, they rallied behind their vehicles, trying to form a defensive line, but without visibility all it did was prologue the inevitable as they were picked off one by one. A few of the imperials reentered their transports, arming the light cannons within armored security, firing blindly into the dark. The explosive shells struck the shadows with frightening force, lighting up the night in bright flashes of fire and the deafening roar of thunder.

The salvo continued, hammering an enemy that could not be seen, punishing a blackness that seemed almost mockingly resilient. Minutes passed, and the last cannon on the last transport fired the last shot, the guns going silent… there was no more ammo to fire. The air became hauntingly still as every man stood, rifles ready, waiting in uncomfortable silence, waiting to see what demons had survived the hell storm, what monsters that would come for them in the black. Moments passed like hours, and suddenly the silence was broken, as the shadows moved all at once, a swarm of blackened shapes overrunning the escort from both sides. Terrified soldiers fired their guns into the horde, but were quickly swept aside with fluid precision. What Melcanians that were not slaughtered, threw down their guns and ran into the wilderness, abandoning the train altogether. They were not pursued, for their attackers had what they wanted.

When the area was cleared of soldiers and secured, the cloaked individuals locked the motorman in the engine cabin, detaching it from the rest of the train and sending it on its way to Pridnah. Then they proceeded to break and shoot the locks off of each car, revealing dozens of people, stashed alongside crates of mountain berries and other typical exports. When they saw the blackened individuals, they recoiled, afraid that it might be more of the empire’s cruelty. One of the men took off his mask, showing his face to them, a young man with green eyes and fiery hair, Bellemirran, not Melcanian.

“You’re safe now, but we have to hurry. Come, follow me, we will get you out of here.” And with that, the crowd that had been hesitant, sprung to life, the idea of freedom filling them with energy. They jumped from the train, following their new protectors, and escaped into the night fallen wilderness.

…

Coin District, Averynce, Melcania

High within the Tower Keep, built adjacent to the palace, was the Emperor’s private sky gardens. A spacious room made entirely of thick glass and iron framing, extended out over the vast emptiness, giving one full view of the city below. Contained within was a vast and beautiful variety of Northern flowers, blue, red, purple, and white, some in exquisite pots, some in extravagant table planters.

“They’re beautiful.” Breathed Rorick, as he walked down one of the several rows of flowers, his fingers brushing against their leaves. Alric stood, quietly observing him from the entry. He allowed his lips to lift in a half smile, content to see Rorick enjoying himself.

“I’m pleased you like them. I don’t come in here as often as I’d like anymore.” He paused, eyes distant for a moment, before looking back at Rorick. “I spent many days here in my youth though.” He came down the short steps, and began walking down the center aisle. “I always loved the early hours, when the sun would rise, and bring life to this sleeping city.” He gestured out at the horizon. “The whole skyline would burst with color, orange, red, gold.” Rorick stopped at a flower of red and purple, golden filaments popping from their centers.

“Must be busy being the emperor.” He said absently, hands going over the flower. “To not have time for a place like this.” Alric frowned, his hand falling back down to his side. It was true, he knew it. Alric found that moments like these, where he could just spend an afternoon in a garden, with a boy, were too few for his liking, his time constantly demanded by meetings, social gatherings, public appearances. He looked back at Rorick, his smile returning.

“Here, I have something I think you might enjoy.” Rorick looked up.

“Oh? And what is that?” He asked coyly, hiding playfully behind the plant. Alric gestured softly with his hand.

“Follow me over here.” Rorick promptly complied, stepping around and following Alric to a large ornate cabinet of black stained wood and golden decoration in the center aisle towards the back half of the room. Rorick looked at the cabinet with piqued curiosity, his face pondering what could possibly be inside. Alric smirked, satisfied with the reaction, and drew a key from his vest, inserting it into a golden lock on the front of the of the regal cupboard. He pulled open the doors, and Rorick was confused when all that was inside were three identical flowers, each in their own golden pot, evenly spaced apart. Alric looked at the flowers with no shortage of pride, their deep blue and purple petals speckled with white, the leaves themselves being a dark blue, almost black. Rorick thought the flowers were beautiful, but could not tell why they needed to be locked up. Finally, Alric spoke.

“You see these Rorick? These are Northern Glacies.” Rorick looked back at the flowers with newfound awe, almost feeling compelled to take a step back from the precious plants. These flowers were so rare, so valuable, most nobles couldn’t afford the luxury, let alone provide proper environment and maintenance. Even Lady Polisa’s flower collection did not hold a Glacies, and yet Alric had 3, yet another statement of his power and wealth. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Northern Glacies are rare, fragile, and only grow in the coldest reaches of the northern mountains of Tor and Melcania.” He reached a hand out, as if to touch one of the delicate leaves, but stopped just short. “These things can’t even be in direct sunlight, nor be touched by the warmth of human hands, or they will die. A true Northern flower, one that hates the Southern heat almost as much as I do.” He looked at Rorick. “That is why I keep them in the darkness of this case.” Rorick turned his gaze away from the beautiful flowers, looking at Alric with true puzzlement.

“But, if they cannot be enjoyed outside of this case, why are they so sought after?” He gestured to the room full of vegetation. “Surely a flower you can hold and keep outside would be more desirable.” To this, Alric merely frowned, taking on a more serious tone, a tone Rorick found, that the emperor used for teaching moments.

“Sometimes in life, it is the things that we cannot enjoy regularly, the things which must be savored sparingly, that bring us the most joy.” He closed the cabinet doors with one fluid motion. “Patience, patience is the most valuable, and perhaps most underappreciated trait of any man or ruler.” He inserted the key, clicking the lock shut. He sighed, taking on a softer tone. “But you are right, in your own way.” He looked at Rorick, eyes of ice meeting eyes of Topaz. “Sometimes we want something that is more accessible.” His face took on a thoughtful complexion. “Something we can enjoy more often.”

“Ahem.” Alric and Rorick looked over at the doors simultaneously, Corvus standing there, his hands folded behind his back. “Excuse me for the intrusion, your grace, but there is an important matter in which I wished to discuss with you.” Alric nodded absently, still thinking on other things.

“Very well.” He looked at Rorick. “I trust you will be fine here for the time being?” Rorick smiled, leaning in, kissing Alric lightly on the lips before pulling back.

“Yes, you go take care of business.” Alric frowned, unsure how to feel about the surprise show of affection. As a ruler, he wanted to be firm, strong, as immoveable in his will as the very Tower itself, yet the sight of Rorick’s smile was enough to weaken him, the touch of his lips enough to muddle his thoughts, but even still, he wanted his touch more than anything.

“My Emperor?” Alric looked up to see Corvus still waiting by the door.

“Yes, yes.” He walked down the length of the aisle, and up the steps to the door. “This is something that can be discussed in the hall, I hope?” Corvus gave short, respectful bow, putting his arms out to the side.

“Yes, my Emperor, you have my assurances that this will not take but a moment of your esteemed time.” He stood back up, folding his hands behind his back again. Corvus turned to the door, opening it with an unnecessary flourish, allowing Alric to exit first. The peculiar man glanced back at Rorick with his customary smirk, equally amused and analytical, then pulled the door shut behind him.

Rorick looked around the transparent room of flowers, down at the streets below and people that went about their day, seeming as ants from this height. He turned his attention to the door, and suddenly remembered the task he had been given by Lady Polisa. Alone in an empty room of glass, with the Emperor and his advisor discussing what could only be privy and important matters, right outside the door. He could not ask for a better opportunity. Rorick took a deep breath, trying to soothe his anxiety, and began moving furtively to the door.

It seemed to take forever, time moving sluggishly, but Rorick finally made it to the end of the room. The door must have been thick and tightly sealed though, because all he could hear were muffled sounds, nothing coherent or clear penetrating the dark wood. Rorick was not about to give up that easy though. Polisa was his Master, his noble to serve, maybe even his friend, if she had time to consider such things. He pressed his ear to the door, transforming the muffled jibberings into actual words.

“What do you mean gone?”

“Exactly what the word implies, gone.”

“Do not patronize me, Corvus, what happened?” There was a notable pause, Rorick adjusted himself to make sure he was hearing correctly.

“The last shipment was hit; reports indicate southern rebels. The Crystal Borne that were to be sent over to Gearstinn escaped with them.” Something struck the door, startling Rorick, causing him to recoil back momentarily.

“Why am I surrounded by failure and incompetence!? I give you a simple task, transport the test subjects across the Trade Waters, and yet you fail me!” Rorick could hardly believe what he was overhearing, and having a harder time understanding what it meant. There was a pause, and then Corvus spoke again, disturbingly calm under the circumstance. Rorick did not like the man, the Geargandian reminded him of a snake, lurking in the grass.

“Your grace, my logistics are only as efficient as the men and resources I am granted. These Imperial soldiers, as highly regarded as they may be, are crude, blunt, and devoid of adaptability or independent thought.” He chuckled, amused by his next thought. “All the rebels had to do was strike the convoy under the cover of darkness, caught our forces ill prepared… laughable.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Forgive me, my Emperor, I forget myself.”

“What resources do you require to fix these… shortcomings?

“Well, if you would permit me, I’d like to hire mercenaries to reinforce our escorts.”

“Mercenaries? You think gold loyal thugs will do better than Imperial soldiers?”

“This one, yes.” There was a long pause, so long, Rorick almost thought they had moved down the hall.

“One man?”

“One man.”

“How will one man be of any use to the escorts?” Another pause, Rorick could picture the Geargandian’s trademark grin.

“He’s also a Crystal Borne, my initial evaluation finds him to be… most effective.

“He has no qualms turning against his own kind?” Corvus merely chortled.

“I’ve never met an individual with a heart as tainted as this man. He cares not for nation, race, nor allegiance, only the clinking of gold and the shedding of blood.”

“What is his name?” Rorick adjusted his footing, forgetting about the steps, nearly falling over as he fumbled to regain his balance. He then noticed that they had stopped talking, of course, surely, they had heard him. He quickly made his way over to a flowerpot halfway across the room, trying to control his breathing. The door did not open, as he was sure it would, but he did not dare approach it again, knowing better than to risk his neck a second time.

By the time the door opened again, Rorick had composed himself, standing at the far wall, watching the sun sink closer to blissful sleep, eager to usher in the coming night. Alric appeared at his side, his face filled with the weight of the crown. He watched the skyline with distracted disinterest, standing in silence. Rorick looked over at him, smiling warmly.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Their eyes met, and Alric’s expression softened. He looked out at the sun, watching it set fire to an infinite horizon as it fell beneath the mountain peaks. For the first time in years, he truly appreciated the sunset, a single tear falling down his icy cheek.

“Yes, yes it is.” Alric suddenly understood what it was that he wanted, what he would give anything to have. Without another pause, he wrapped his arms around Rorick, holding him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. There were no words, no actions, simply two people, separate from the world, watching the sky burn in an unimaginable radiance of colors, orange and red and yellow, warm and beautiful, and then fade into twilight, purple and almost sad, like the final breath of a dying man. before sinking into the darkness of the night, deep, unknowable, filled with a sense of mystery, a longing for the light of a new day. Rorick looked at Alric, still holding him gently, eyes filled with want. Alric turned, kissing the boy softly, lovingly, surrounded by flowers and walls of glass in a world gone black. Alric pulled back, Rorick pressed forward, not wanting the moment to stop, his face flushed as his breathing came heavily. Alric looked at the boy, still barely a man, his heart filled with feelings he only allowed himself to feel when they were together.

“Come, Rorick, the hour is late, we should go.” He turned to leave, but Rorick resisted, holding onto Alric, an action that, from anyone else, would have angered him.

“Do we have to? Couldn’t we stay here? Forever in this moment? Forget about the world, all it’s problems, and stay here?” Rorick had never looked more beautiful, than at that moment, and Alric found himself unable to resist. The two embraced again, kissing deeply, passionately, allowing the world to fall into nothing, it did not matter now, letting Corvus, Polisa, southern rebels and plots of deception to fade away, as meaningless as shadows.