Into darkness

Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended

Credits: The title was borrowed from the latest Star Trek movie (2013). The quote below, on the other hand, is from the bible (version: Aramaic bible in plain English), 1 Peter, 1:24.

Warnings: As Tarrant has already undergone his transformation when the story sets in, there won't be explicit slash for a change. Be prepared for a fair amount of violence and gore, though, mostly in the 2nd chapter.

A/N 1: You'll notice that Gannon switches between different tenses when talking about Gerald. As he doesn't know whether his lover is still alive or not, this is intended, so please don't tell me off for it...;-).

A/N 2: Ah, the animals on Erna. In the case of the rats and the toad, I opted for sticking to the Earth version instead of adding a 'nu', 'not', 'un' or whatever. After all, Ms Friedman herself used the plain 'wolf' for Amoril's pets, so I might be forgiven.

A/N 3: Considering the meagre reading stats for 'Not of this world' on AO3, most of you don't seem to be very keen on reading something about the relationship between King Gannon and Tarrant. But considering that there's next to no canon with the exception of Gerald being one of the courtiers of the very king who founded the Order of the Golden Flame and outlawed private sorcery, continuing to create my own Gannon/Gerald-verse was just too tempting to resist. And with Halloween just around the corner, I wanted to write something dark. But rest assured, ye fans of the classical Tarrant/Vryce pairing. If everything goes well, there will be a real Halloween story centering on them.

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Merentha Castle, October 293 A.S.

"Because all flesh is grass and all its beauty as the blossom of the field; the grass withers and the blossom fades…"

Staring bleakly at the open grave at his feet, King Gannon payed no attention whatsoever to either the words of the priest holding the funeral service or the desperate sobs of the eleven-year-old who had lost his entire family. Since he had received the terrible news that that Almea Tarrant and her two younger children had been brutally slaughtered and her husband was nowhere to be found two days ago, he was feeling as dead inside as the three corpses in the flower-bedecked coffins nearby.

As soon as the exhausted messenger wearing the black and blue livery of the Neocount's household had left him for a well-deserved refreshment and a nap in subsequent order, he had summoned his personal bodyguards and set off for Merentha Castle a mere two hours later. Eager to interrogate eventual eyewitnesses about what had come to pass, his panicked race to the venue of the crime had very nearly ruined their unhorses. But very much to his dismay, he still wasn't much the wiser now for all his inquiries.

According to the groom who had taken care of Almea's mare after her return from a visit to the Bellamy family, she had been slightly taken aback by the unexpected absence of her children. Eager to comfort her, he had told her that to the best of his knowledge Tory and little Alix were belowground with their father. Then Marsha Galbraith, an elderly servant, had delivered a message from her spouse to the young woman, whereupon she had apparently descended into the vaults in order to join them. So far, so good. But sadly, this had been the last time one of the attendants had ever seen a member of the doomed family alive.

For quite a while, nobody had really wondered about their whereabouts. After all, it was well-known that their master was wont to spend hours on end in his library and the adjacent workroom where he studied his books and his considerable collection of Earth artifacts. But when dinner time had come and gone and there was still no sign of the neocomital family, the domestics had begun to worry. Merentha Castle was heavily Warded, and no however high order demon had ever managed to gain entrance. But there was a first time for everything, and the colonists on Erna had learned the hard way hundreds of years ago that there was no absolute protection against the faeborn other than the life-giving light of the sun.

By now, true night had been reigning supreme outside, and none of them had been altogether keen on daring to advance to their master's lightless subterranean realm, even more so with regard to the fact that the adept had strictly forbidden them to enter his storeroom of knowledge without his express consent. They had lost valuable time while arguments had flown and the discussion had seesawed. But eventually, the majordomo had agreed to search for the missing people, taking two heavily armed guards with him for protection.

Very much to Gannon's dismay, neither Mes Galbraith who had left to live with her daughter and son-in-law right after sunrise nor the guards could be questioned anymore. The latter two had been found in a remote corner of the castle grounds the following noon, dead as a door nail and without an ounce of blood left in their bodies, a rather unsettling occurrence not exactly helpful in calming already frayed tempers, to put it mildly. But Tom O' Riordan, the only surviving member of the search party, had still been at his disposal.

Since his doomed companions had carried him back upstairs with united forces, the majordomo hadn't been able to leave his bedstead other for short visits to the privy. Whatever the man in his mid-fifties had seen down in the vaults had caused his hair to turn from salt and pepper into snowy white literally overnight, and he still looked pale and drawn. His king in the flesh visiting him in his modest chamber had clearly flustered him, and for a few minutes he hadn't been capable of grinding out anything but apologies for welcoming him in a dressing gown and similar nullities Gannon hadn't been truly interested in. As for him, as long as O' Riordan could help to uncover the truth hidden behind a veil of ignorance and suspicion, he wouldn't have minded if the man had spilled the beans absolutely stark naked and standing on his head.

Being worried sick about his lover, he had felt sorely tempted to shake the answers he needed out of his stammering vis-à-vis. But in spite of his impatience, he had forced a benevolent smile on his face and had assured the majordomo that there was no reason to fret about the lack of etiquette under the dire circumstances. Thank goodness his gentle approach had born fruit. Heartened by his kind words, the man had finally plucked courage and told him about the grisly discovery they had made deep down in the bowels of the keep.

Against expectations, the library and the workroom had been utterly deserted. But very much to their astonishment, a hidden door in the back wall had stood slightly ajar, giving access to a small cavern none of them had ever entered before. An obstacle in form of a handrail-less stone bridge spanning a seemingly bottomless abyss had brought their advance to a temporary halt, and terrified to cross it without at least securing themselves by a rope, they had discussed whether to go on or to return to more hospital surroundings without having achieved anything. But the need to learn what had become of their lordship had driven them on, and they had crawled over it with their eyes firmly locked on the just about a foot wide stony path in front of them.

The three of them had heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief when the bridge had finally ended in a somewhat more spacious ledge of rock. Stepping through an archway so narrow that the bigger one of the guards had had to squeeze through sidewards, they had entered another cavern just to encounter a veritable horror scenario worse than anything they had imagined in their gravest concerns.

Tory and Alix had lain huddled against the far wall, their faces contorted in agony even in death. But it had been the sight of Almea Tarrant, her stiffening limbs still chained to the rough stone slab dominating the chamber, which had made them wish that they hadn't had dinner that night.

"You can't imagine what her murderer did to our beloved Neocountess," O' Riordan had whispered, barely able to force the words out between his chattering teeth. "He cut her open, pulled out her entrails. Her organs were right there on the slab, neatly arranged. And her lovely face, frozen to a mask of pain and terror unlike anything I've ever seen before... it will haunt me to my dying day."

Hot tears running down his chalky-white cheeks, the majordomo had buried his face in his hands. "Some people allege that the Neocount became insane," he had continued after regaining the capacity for coherent speech. "That he tortured his family to death and went straight to hell as a punishment for his deeds. They should be ashamed. He was... is such a kind master. A good person. He would never do anything like this. And what for? Everybody knows that he loved his wife and children. I don't care what those scandalmongers say. May the Lord in His wisdom send his Excellency back to us. I pray for his safe return every day."

Grateful that there was at least one living soul who wasn't inclined to condemn the adept outright other than himself, Gannon was bound and determined to settle a considerably annuity on Tom O' Riordan. The poor man certainly deserved it for his courage and his complete confidence in a human being suspected of such a ghastly crime. If he could only share the domestic's utter conviction that Gerald really didn't have anything to do with the killings!

Very much against his will, his thoughts once again steered in a direction he would have rather avoided. But as much as he wished otherwise, there was no denying that Tarrant had changed after his nearly fatal heart attack in spring, and not for the better. Learning that his lover had collapsed and it was to be feared that he wouldn't pull through, he had dropped everything and rushed to his side. To hell with state business when the man who was meaning the world to him needed his support!

Although the crisis had already passed on his arrival, he had been aghast at Gerald's sorry sight. For as long as he had known him, the adept had never had an ounce of fat on his lean body. Being a paragon of temperance, he yet belonged to the lucky few who could theoretically tuck in to their heart's content without plumping out. But during the few weeks since their last encounter, he had evidently crossed the fine line between slenderness and emaciation.

With his delicate bones standing out in stark relief under the almost translucent skin and dark circles shadowing his eyes like bruises, he had looked so frail and sickly that Gannon had feared for his life despite the healers' reassurances that his condition was stable for the time being. But fate had held an even more profound shock in store for him. Instead of being delighted at his sick bed visit, the convalescent had feigned fatigue and dismissed him with a few trite phrases utterly uncalled-for in dealing with a king, let alone when said king had been sharing one's bed for nigh to fifteen years.

At first, he had thought that the adept's damned pride was standing between them like an impenetrable wall built from sheer glacier ice. As ridiculous at it was after all the shit they had been through together, he wouldn't have put it beyond him. In fact, if he had had to draw up a list of the ills Gerald abhorred more than anything else, helplessness would have certainly gotten top billing, a not altogether surprising fact considering certain wretched events in his less than happy childhood. But this couldn't have been the reason for the soul-chilling cold in the grey eyes so eerily reminiscent of the first icy breath of winter, for the darkness lurking just beneath the pleasant facade which had sent a cold shiver down his spine each and every time he had beheld those wan but still strikingly beautiful features. May the god of their faith forfend that his lover's involvement in the slaughtering of his family was more than malicious gossip!

Sighing inwardly, the king let his gaze wander over the funeral party. If Gerald didn't turn up soon alive and his right mind, he would have to decide on the future of the Neocounty of Merentha. Whether the adept was guilty or not, there was no chance in hell that he would rob Eric of the title he had created for his father. But it went without saying that an eleven-year-old boy who was half-crazed with grief couldn't take up the reigns. Hence, a trustworthy regent had to rule in his stead until the day the lad finally came of age. For obvious reasons, choosing one of Tarrant's brothers was out of the question. He'd rather take the responsibility himself than letting the Neocounty fall into their greedy clutches. If they ever came into power, Eric would doubtlessly find himself in a dungeon within a week, never to be seen again.

To make matters worse, new employees for the household had to be found as well. A mere four days had passed since disaster had struck, and already about half of the servants had sought refuge in flight, leaving the young Neocount-to-be high and dry. The rats are leaving the sinking ship, Gannon thought furiously. But if he was honest to himself, he really couldn't hold it against them, especially not considering that the guards weren't the only victims of the mysterious killer prowling around in the night. If the rumours were to be believed, at least seven citizens of the seaport Merentha and the nearby villages had died a horrific death since Gerald's disappearance. Their throats had been ripped out so viciously that the heads had almost been severed from the bodies, and as in the case of the two members of the search party, their veins hadn't contained a single drop of blood anymore. Vampire, the people already whispered behind closed doors, and who could be more prone to turning into a bloodsucking fiend after his death than a threefold murderer of his own kin?

Lost in his musings, he had missed that the priest had ended his sermon quite a while ago and the coffins had been already lowered into the grave. Now the mourners were filing past it, offering commiserations to the boy whose entire world had gone to pieces in one single night. Calling himself three times a fool for his mental absence, he hastened to fall into line, but was stopped dead in his tracks by the voice he wanted to hear least of all. "Your Highness! I'd like to have a word with you."

Go to hell and have a word with the Devil, you bastard, King Gannon thought with no small amount of malice, but knew better than to pick a quarrel at a funeral. At least for now. Only the One God knew what would happen if the hypocrite who had very likely sowed the seeds for this catastrophe provoked him beyond the limits of his endurance.

Wrapping the dignity of his office around him like an invisible mantle, he straightened to his full height and gazed haughtily down on his squat nemesis who never failed to remind him of a particularly repulsive toad. "I'd very much appreciate if you could make it short, Your Holiness," he answered brusquely. "It's been a long day, and I'm tired."

"Of course, of course. What a shock it must have been for you to learn about the terrible fall of your favourite courtier. Knight of the Realm, Neocount of Merentha, and now this. What a pity you wasted your favours on such an unworthy person."

His temper close to boiling point, Gannon started to count from hundred backwards, but it was to no avail. "Seems that I'm not the only one who lavished honours on Gerald," he choked out between gritted teeth. "If I remember correctly, it was you yourself who made him premier of the Order of the Golden Flame a mere three years ago."

"Alas! He deceived us all, I suppose. Who would have thought that an ostensibly pious man like him could betray everything he professed to believe in? But he was always an outsider, wasn't he? A freak of nature with strange, ungodly powers. Instead of bowing to the orders of his superiors, he stubbornly refused to forsake his evil witchery, and look where his heresy has gotten him. Without a doubt, he's already roasting in hell, paying for his despicable deeds for all eternity."

The very picture of smug self-satisfaction, the head of the Church of Human Unification on Erna rubbed his hands, and Gannon felt a shudder of visceral revulsion running through his body. "May I remind you that nobody knows what has truly come to pass, Your Holiness? Like everybody else in my kingdom, Gerald has the right to be presumed innocent until proved guilty. I'd be very much obliged if you could observe the law."

The Patriarch stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Of course he's guilty. Who do you think vivisected his wife and their common children? Don't give me that fairy tale about a faeborn intruder like the dimwit up in his attic room. Riordan or whatever his name is. Went straight onto his knees and begged me to reconsider my verdict, the old fool. No, no, if there was truly a demonling involved in the killings, he did your treasured friend's bidding. And anyway, the Church is above mundane laws. I've already given orders that Gerald Tarrant's name is to be stricken from the books. Soon, it will fall into oblivion, and within a human life span or two, none but a few carefully chosen insiders will know that the Prophet of the Law was no other than the accursed Neocount of Merentha."

Blazing with anger, Gannon stepped closer, deliberately invading his opponent's personal space. "How can you dare, you devious son of a bitch?" he growled. "The dream you dream is his! You owe him everything! Without Gerald writing more than half of your bible and capturing people's imagination, not to mention risking his neck by fighting your wars for you, you would have sunk into obscurity long ago. And let me tell you one thing: just in case you're right and he did what you're accusing him of, it would have never happened if you hadn't cornered him like game, threatening to condemn him outright for something completely out of his control. He is - or was - an adept, for God's sake! What you call his 'evil witchery' is as natural to him as breathing. It was you and the likes of you who drove him into darkness with your doctrines of demonic possession and the terrors of hell."

"That's outrageous! How can you suggest that I'm to blame for the abysmal fall of your leman? Because that's what he was, wasn't he? Even for a ruler it's a cardinal sin to lay with another man, Your Majesty. And let's not forget that if I'm right, both of you are adulterers, another besetting sin in the eyes of God. So maybe you should wish him good riddance and repent your..."

"Shut up!" The blood pounding in his ears, Gannon barely recognized his own voice. "As you're so very keen on sticking your nose into matters none of your business: Yes, Gerald was my lover. For many years. I'm sick and tired of denying it. But don't you ever again suggest that I should be ashamed of our relationship. I'm damn proud that he picked me of all people. He was one of a kind, and you aren't even worthy to licks his boots."

The Patriarch's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Am I not? That's not the way to talk to the head of the Church of Unification, King Gannon. But we can return to your disrespect for me later. For now, I can't help wondering whether you're somehow, how shall I put it politely, involved in the disposal of an expendable spouse. Perhaps we should take care that Queen Merissa won't suffer a similar fate."

This was the last straw. Naturally, he couldn't see his own face. But considering his antagonist's reaction, bloody murder must have been written all over it in fiery letters. Blanching, the Patriarch staggered backwards, but he hadn't come farther than a few steps when Gannon descended on him like a deadly bird of prey, his nails digging deeply into well-upholstered shoulders. "You disgusting little toad," he growled viciously. "At your orders, I outlawed private sorcery and threw the man I love to the wolves in the process. He talked me into it, or I would have never agreed to it. For this alone, I will never forgive you, nor will I forgive myself for consenting to this act of utter madness. You have my word that I'm going to support Gerald's most treasured creation for as long as I live. For his sake, not for yours or the church's. But never ever approach me again other than on state occasions when tolerating your loathsome presence is unavoidable, or I'll declare my promise null and void. And now stop croaking and be gone, or the gardener will have to dig another grave in the morning!"

After the Patriarch had pivoted on his heels with astounding agility and fled his presence as if the Unnamed were after him, Gannon drew a deep breath to calm himself and looked around. Dusk had already fallen, and he was the last mourner in the very same corner of the premises where the bodies of the hapless guards had been found three days ago. Shortly after his heart attack, the Neocount of Merentha had ordered the construction of a family mausoleum, but the imposing white numarble building hadn't been finished yet when fate had struck the terrible blow. As soon as it was completed, he would see to it personally that the mortal remains of Tarrant's family would be solemnly transferred to their somewhat more dignified final resting place. If no miracle happened, this might very well represent the last service he could ever render the man who had made his life worth living for so many years.

A chill wind had sprung up, and big raindrops were starting to fall as if the skies were crying the tears he had been denying himself so far. Shivering, King Gannon pulled his fur-trimmed cloak tighter around his sturdy frame. The world was an empty, desolate place without Gerald at his side. Of course, they had been separated before, for example when the adept had led his troops into battle or had spent a longer period of time on his estates. But there had always been the prospect of a passionate reunion. Now he very much doubted that his lover would ever lay in his arms again, gracing him with that special smile only reserved for him.

All at once, the temperature seemed to drop by a further five degrees at the very least, and he held his breath, all his senses on the alert. Admittedly, it was autumn, and the better part of the trees had already lost their leaves. But the sudden icy cold threatening to freeze the marrow in his bones couldn't have a natural cause.

Warily, Gannon eyed his surroundings, his left hand creeping towards the hilt of his sword. Up to now, the adept's wards had hold in terms of protecting the above-ground rooms of the keep, suggesting that he was still alive against all odds. But this didn't change the fact that if Tarrant was innocent, someone - or something - else had to have committed the murders. Perhaps a particularly nasty demonling was still at large, roaming the castle grounds and the surrounding area in his insatiable hunger for sustenance of the human kind.

For the first time since he had snapped out of his fruitless deliberations, he noticed that his personal guards weren't within sight, a rather disconcerting discovery. What the heck had possessed them leave him to his own devices? But he would think of a fitting punishment for neglecting their duty in such an appalling fashion later. For now, he was much too occupied with pricking up his ears and searching the shadows for whatever supernatural threat that might have it in for him. No faeborn demon jumped at him with bared fangs and claws, and other than for the wind singing his eternal song and the gentle drip-drip of the rain the night was utterly quiet. But he knew, knew with absolute certainty based on a sense much more ancient than seeing or hearing, that he wasn't alone anymore.

The main entrance to the brightly-lit castle wherein the guests would be about sitting down at the dining table in order to take the funeral banquet by now was less than a hundred yards away, but it could as well have been a thousand miles. Try as he might, Gannon couldn't bring his paralyzed limbs to move. It wasn't just fear. In his younger days, he had come face to face with the grim reaper on more occasions than he actually cared to count, although he was just beginning to realize that there might be fates worse than mere death at the hands of one's human enemies. The powerful will of an entity malevolent beyond mortal reckoning rooted him to the spot as securely as if he were chained up with the very same iron manacles which had bound Almea Tarrant even in death.

Squinting, he thought he could see a hint of movement in the grove of towering alteroak trees nearby that Gerald had saved from being logged during the construction of his family seat and had ordered them to be incorporated into the castle grounds instead. At the very next moment, a blast of air parted their branches, allowing him a short glimpse of flowing robes fluttering in the night wind and unearthly silver eyes glittering in a bone white face. The shock broke whatever spell had been put on him and he started to run, not into the direction of the security providing keep but towards the place where all his hopes were laying. Yelling the adept's name, he crashed through the undergrowth without giving a damn for the integrity of his skin until he ground to a halt in the small clearing where he had believed to see his lover. But nobody answered his desperate calls. Who- or whatever had been waiting for him out there in the darkness was already gone, leaving just a blood-stained piece of midnight blue silk behind.

With trembling fingers Gannon pulled the scrap from the pointed twig whereon it was being impaled and brought it closer to his face. His nostrils flared with revulsion at the coppery stench emanating from it. But it was the so very faint whiff of something altogether different mingling with it that very nearly sent him into a fainting fit: Gerald's unique scent he would have recognized among a million others.

"Your Majesty? Your Majesty, where are you?"

Shaken to the core, he stuffed the treacherous corpus delicti into his waistcoat pocket without thinking twice and stepped into the open. "I'm right here," he shouted hoarsely. "By the old alteroaks. I just needed some peace and quiet for a while."

At the very next moment, Jonathan Moffat, the sturdy captain of his guard, trotted into view. "Thank the gods you're alright," the man puffed all aflutter, his weather-beaten face flushed with embarrassment. "I don't understand how it could happen, but we were damn sure that you were with us. It wasn't until your valet asked us about your whereabouts that we realized you were missing. Forgive us, my Lord. I don't know what has come over us."

Be grateful for your ignorance, Moffat, Gannon thought miserably. The memory of those flashing quicksilver eyes so utterly alien to the mortal plane still made his blood run cold with dread. For a fleeting second, he contemplated summoning a posse. After all, it was very well possible that the apparition hiding in the grove had indeed been Gerald in flesh and blood, alive but insane after being forced to witness what had been done to his family. If, on the other hand, it had been the bloodsucking demon haunting the night lately, the creature had to be wiped off the face of the planet before it could cause further havoc. But a strange sense of foreboding closed his mouth. After a last valedictory glance at the darkness under the trees, he turned round and headed back towards the world of the living.

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