by Brian Murray
“Actually, we’re on our way to Evlon,” replied Zane, ignoring the man’s harsh tone.
“So are we,” said Thade.
“Why?” asked the prince.
Dax’s eyes blazed and his hand twitched towards one of his axes.
Gan-Goran interjected, “You tell me why you’re going to Evlon first, young Zane.”
“On royal business.”
“Zane, this is no time for short answers, riddles, or jests,” snapped the old man.
Zane looked into the older man’s eyes and saw them change from concern to anger.
“Well, my father has not received any reports from Baron Chelmsnor. So he has sent me to discover what is afoot.”
“Baron Chelmsnor is well and on his way to Teldor with some friends of ours,” advised Dax. “As for Evlon, I had better let Gammel explain.”
All eyes shifted to Gammel, who sat next to Dax. The blacksmith looked up and stared at the prince. This was closest the man had been to any member of the royal family. He scanned the younger man’s face. He resembled Thade: nearly the same height, same build, and same intelligent but boyish looks.
“Well, what news?” snapped the prince impatiently.
“Prince or no prince, the man will tell you in good time,” growled Dax, his hooded eyes more of a threat than his words.
“I am fine, Dax, my friend,” said Gammel, his voice low and cold. “Prince Zane, you ask what news of Evlon? Your question should be, what has become of Evlon?” he paused. “Evlon is a city no longer. It has been razed to the ground.”
Prince Zane was visibly shaken by this news, his face blanched and took a moment to squeeze his eyes against tears. He swallowed a lump in his throat and whispered, “The Kharnacks?”
“No, they did not complete this act of wanton murder, but they march with the murdering degenerates who did.”
“I don’t understand,” said the prince, as Gan-Goran took up the story. He explained about the rise of the Darklord, the unification of the Kharnacks, and how the powerful Dark Brethren had led the destruction of Evlon.
The Prince digested this information and remained silent, thinking over what he had been told.
“That’s not all, Sire,” the old man added unusually formally.
“Captain, you and your men must excuse us for a moment please,” ordered Zane, understanding the sudden change in the old man’s tone.
“But your Highness . . .”
“I am safe here, Captain. Will you see to our men?”
Captain Waid rose and bowed to the prince. “Of course, Sire.”
Once the Royal Lancers had left the hollow, the prince turned his attention back to Gan-Goran. “I am no longer the child-prince you knew, old man; I am now heir to the throne. Now will you complete your story,” he commanded sternly.
“The news I am about to tell you is neither for idle gossip nor hearsay. What I am about to tell you, Baron Chelmsnor will shortly be telling your father. Only my friends here and a few other travellers with the Baron Chelmsnor have this knowledge.”
Zane nodded, encouraging Gan-Goran to go on.
“Firstly, the Kharnacks have been united by this Darklord. Secondly, we believe the destruction of Evlon may only a token action. The loss of life, though terrible, may be followed by something much worse. We have knowledge that the Chosen, the Phadrine Emperor, has been overthrown by his son with the help, we believe, from this Darklord. An assassination attempt was made but the Chosen escaped and is now accompanying Baron Chelmsnor to Teldor to meet your father.”
Zane’s eyes widened at this news. He licked his lips nervously as Gan-Goran continued.
“We believe this, again, is only a diversion in the greater scale of things.”
“A diversion? That’s a huge diversion, magic-master.”
“Aye, it is, but a distraction nonetheless. You have heard the story of Rhamagabora, the Dark One, and his relics.”
Zane’s eyes turned glassy. Primal fear rose from the pit of his stomach as he just managed to nod dumbly.
“These men know about them, too; they needed to know. I told them because I didn’t want them entering into this adventure without knowing what it involved.”
Again, Zane nodded.
“To answer your first question, we are on our way to Evlon to ascertain whether the relic is still there. If it is, then the destruction of the town is only a coincidence. If not, then this Darklord knows his history.”
“So he has the pieces in Evlon,” mumbled Zane, remembering the story his father had told him years earlier. At the time, the young prince had thought it was a tall tale to scare him, but recalling his father’s seriousness then, it changed everything.
“That is what we will find out. The Darklord travelled, we believe, from the Grey Castle, the Abbey of the Dark Brethren, where it is said one of the relics was hidden.”
“Aye, that’s true and two more rest in a white marble temple,” confirmed Zane.
“Yes, and we believe that to be the White Palace of the Chosen in Kal-Pharina across ‘the scorched lands’, meaning the Steppes,” added Gan-Goran.
“Oh hell, do you know what you’re saying?”
“Aye.”
“I cannot believe anyone would be that malicious; no one is so foolish as to consider trying this. To try and . . .” Zane did not finish his sentence.
“Do you know where the last two relics are?”
“No, only that they were hidden near the final battle at Rhamagabora. No one knows their location, not even I.”
“Yet I believe someone does.”
“Who?”
“The Silver Warrior, the one who carries the Dark One’s black crystal.”
The statement brought silence. No one wanted to name the crystal carrier. No one wanted to name the Silver Warrior, the forgotten hero from the Dark Wars. Tension in the camp was high, the atmosphere thick, the fear apparent, and no one spoke for a long while.
Dax broke the silence. “Well, now you know what we know. What will you do?”
Prince looked into the older warrior’s violet eyes, but said nothing for the moment, his mind racing. “Captain,” he called.
The Royal Lancer Captain hurried into the camp with two of his men. “Yes, Sire.”
“I need you to send a message to my father as quickly as possible. Send a couple of men to ensure the message reaches him.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“These men are on their way to Evlon. I have been told that Evlon has been destroyed and Baron Chelmsnor is nearing Teldor to see my father. We cannot waste any time in reaching Evlon. We will take half the men and go through Dashnar Forest; the rest of them will go around the forest, south, then eastwards.”
“Yes, Sire,” answered the captain, puzzled, but he saluted and left the campsite to issue his orders.
“Now Gan-Goran, I think it is time you introduce me to your friends and serve some more of that fine smelling stew.”
Gan-Goran smiled and made the introductions while he served second helpings of the evening meal. The old man again asked Zane many questions about Teldor and his family. Later, Gan-Goran excused himself and went for a short walk. He sat down by a small stream to relax his body and mind, listening to the stream rippling over rounded stones.
***
Chaos restlessly prowled the corridor of the White Palace in Kal-Pharina. His host, Tucci, had given him everything he required but one thing; his host could not give him his revenge. Again, in his mind, he relived the fight over and over again, on that final day near Rhamagabora. He shivered as again he felt the cold blade cut into his face. Chaos’s red eyes brightened as he remembered the words spoken by his opponent. He closed his eyes to picture the warrior’s actions more accurately. He saw the man’s eyes and smiled.
“I will have my revenge soon, very soon,” whispered Chaos.
Chaos rose from his bed and stepped over the remains of his previous evening’s entertainment – eight dried out young bodies scattered
around the room. He walked out of his room into the palace gardens and started exercising. He loosened up with some stretches and then commenced some fighting moves. Pausing, he returned to his room and reappeared with his two short swords. For an hour under the morning sun he practised with his weapons of death – his swordplay – jumping, twisting, and diving, his cuts and slashes becoming quicker and quicker. Towards the end of his exercise, his movements were so fast that individual blades could not be seen. Chaos abruptly stopped and stabbed his swords into the earth, howling in delight. He stretched his sweat-drenched body, then relaxed. Even after his exercising, he still yearned for excitement; he wanted blood. He walked back into his room and washed, then started to dress. There was a knock on his door.
“Enter.”
“Lord, it is I, Davron. May I be of service this morning?”
“Yes Davron, we can break our fast together.”
Davron bowed. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”
The two men left Chaos’s sleeping chamber and crossed through a door to the dining area, where they could eat in private. A meal was brought for the two men; bloody rare steaks with fresh fruits, and honey-sweetened tisane. Both men tucked into their steaks, with few words of conversation exchanged.
“You look troubled, my lord,” ventured Davron at last. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do, Davron? No.”
“You could tell me what is troubling you? I may be able to advise you.”
Chaos laughed. “My friend, do not take my laughter as mocking. I do not have a problem that can be rectified through normal actions, but it will be resolved soon. There is a warrior, a great warrior, who went against us a long time ago during the Dark Wars near a place called Rhamagabora, who defeated me in single combat. Can you believe that? I, Chaos, master of the blade defeated in single combat?” Chaos ran his finger down his scar. “He did this to me.”
“Who is he?”
“He has a name that reflects his talent.”
“What’s his talent, my lord?”
Chaos’s red eyes blazed when he answered. “His talent is death.”
***
Later that night, while Zane was meeting Dax and the others, there was another knock on Chaos’s door.
“Enter.”
A Dark Brethren entered the room and bowed. “My lord, our master wishes your presence. I will escort you to him.”
“Fine.”
The black-clad warrior guided Chaos through the maze of the white palace to the Chosen’s chamber. He knocked on the door.
“Enter,” came Malice’s voice from inside.
Chaos entered the room to see Malice and Fury sitting around a black marble table with the Darklord. He bowed.
“Forgive me, I did not know we were meeting this evening.”
The Darklord waved Chaos to a chair. When the Darklord spoke, his voice sounded distant, with an echo. “We were not, but Malice has recovered the two relics hidden here and I thought we would use their power.” He paused and placed the bones of the Dark One’s hand on the table. “Your brother is where I want him and I wish to send him a sign.”
“You know where he is?” sneered Chaos, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes,” echoed the Darklord’s voice.
“Then I will go to him and get what is ours.”
“That is in hand, my friend. Your vengeance will be served, but now I wish to test the Dark One’s power. With the relics we have here we can call forward the essence of the Dread, namely the Talon Hunters. Your brother will have a test and we will see if he is still strong.”
Chaos smiled. “Yes, I would not want him to be weak, my lord.”
The Darklord clasped his hands together as though in prayer, closed his eyes and spoke in an ancient language. For several minutes, he chanted a spell. The temperature in the room dropped as the bones on the table glowed, absorbing the heat from the air. The Darklord opened his eyes and drew a circle in the air with his bony finger. Within the circle, a picture crystallised of a group of men camping in a forest.
“Him,” hissed Chaos, leaning forward.
The Darklord waved his hand and the picture changed, now deeper within the forest. In the centre of the image a pack of wolves rested after a bloody meal. He spoke two ancient words of power and the area in the forest darkened.
The wolves rose nervously, initially sniffed the air, then started to howl. The howling grew louder and coarser as the wolves began to metamorphose. Steam rose from the wolves as they thrashed about in pain, and the lean, sleek wolf-shapes started to bend and twist as bones snapped, and muscles stretched and tore to form the dark, angular shapes of the Talon Hunters. The picture slowly dissolved.
“It is done, the first of the Dread once again walk in this world. The Talon Hunters will be the first stage, followed by the Shadows. Then the world will be ours.”
“The Talons will not kill him,” hissed Chaos in disgust.
“I know, I want you to have that pleasure, my friend.”
Chaos chuckled, “Of course, thank you, my lord. Then I will have his mantle.”
“We will need the other pieces to call the Shadows forward, and the black crystal to open the gateway to the Yallaz’oom so that our master can return.”
“We will get them,” stated Malice, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Of course we will; it has been pre-ordained. Now I must go and rest, summoning the
Talon Hunters in these circumstances is tiring, even for me.”
The Darklord shuffled out of the room as the three warriors bowed.
***
Under the cover of darkness, six Talon Hunters silently stalked through Dashnar Forest, in search of blood – and only the blood of man would satisfy their thirst.
Chapter 12
The Royal Lancers escorting the Chosen and his friends arrived at the north eastern gate of Teldor around midnight. Following General Brooks’s orders, Captain Nestry had along the way escorted the group to certain taverns, whose owners the general knew would not talk. These taverns received special payments from the Crown for letting out rooms in their taverns with no questions asked and no rumours spread.
Seeing the Rhaurien capital for the first time, the Chosen marvelled at the size of the outer wall. He had seen drawings of the fortress city, but never imagined it could be as impressive as his own capital.
Within the outer wall, the Royal Lancers took the group through the poor district of the city, Downtown. Here, no one cared who travelled with the Lancers. Whereas in the trading district and Uptown, the rich quarter, people enjoyed spreading idle gossip and rumours; having a squad of Royal Lancers leading a group of people to the palace at night would stir up a hornet’s nest of rumours and spread throughout the city like wild fire. General Brooks had mapped out the route through the city with much care, and would take the party close to the docks.
Downtown, with its squalor, filthy, dark alleys, and drab, over-hanging buildings surprised and appalled the Chosen. He kept his thoughts to himself, knowing they must be taking this route for safety. But the Phadrine Emperor could feel the eyes of unseen, unsavoury characters boring into him, and did not feel at all safe.
On the wagon, Baron Chelmsnor knew they were being smuggled into the palace; he deduced this by the meandering route they followed.
***
Aurillia paused her cleaning in the Flying Vessel tavern to watch as a squad of Royal Lancers passed a window. She saw them escorting a heavily cloaked group of people, but thought nothing of it.
Aurillia was a tall girl in her late teens with long, black wavy hair, bright violet eyes, and a slim figure, full in all the right places. She had just finished clearing away all the glasses, goblets, and platters, and was now wiping the tables. She remembered as a child enjoying the marching soldiers, but now she felt little joy watching them – the deliverers of bloodshed and pain. She looked out of the window again and saw the cloaks worn were very thick so the wearers’ features could not be se
en. Secrets, more secrets, she thought. Aurillia sighed and turned her attention back to the tavern, turning over the stools and chairs, placing them on the table so she could easily sweep the floor. It had been a quiet evening in the tavern. This was normal as Rayth, the owner, was renowned for standing for no nonsense in his tavern.
Humming a merry tune as she swept, Aurillia collected all the dust and waste into a dustpan. Finally, she turned out the oil lights and went back into the kitchen. Here she made sure everything was clean and put away in its place. She did not have to do much, as Rayth hated a dirty kitchen and the cook knew better than to leave the place in a mess. With her chores finished, Aurillia made her way to her room and got undressed. She put on a simple, woollen nightgown and walked into her father’s room. There she curled up into a chair with a blanket and re-read the note from her lover. Within minutes, she fell fast asleep waiting for her father, Rayth, to come home.
***
The Royal Lancers passed the Flying Vessel tavern and turned down the cobble street leading towards the docks. Here on the left they passed the City Watch offices.
***
Inside the offices of the City Watch, Captain Zorain read his latest report. He heard the clatter of horseshoes on cobbles and looked up. Passing his window rode a squad of Royal Lancers, leading a wagon with people in deeply hooded cloaks. He thought about stopping them, which would be within his rights, but decided against it, as he was on his last report and did not want any fresh problems to deal with. He found it curious they should be travelling this late at night, and then thought they must be on Crown business.
After his last meeting with Prince Zane, the captain had received a note saying the prince would be out of the city for about a month on royal business. Since then things within the poorer regions of Teldor had gone very quiet, too quiet, in fact, for Zorain. It seemed as if everyone in Downtown was waiting for something to happen, and everywhere a dreaded expectancy hung in the air. He did not know what to make of it.
Zorain sat at his desk and made some final notes on the report, about a fight in a tavern Downtown, which had resulted in two arrests. He decided not to send the two men up in front of the magistrate as his officers had, as he put it politely, ‘used sufficient force’ to apprehend them. Someone gently rapped on Zorain’s door, disturbing his thoughts.