Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  "At once, Lord Protector!"

  He dashes off and I lean against the crenellations of the wall, staring off into the distance. As I do, I think that I can see smoke rising from a point far off to the west.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zara

  My horse’s hooves clatter noisily on the cobblestone street, the wind whipping at my robes and my messy ponytail as I ride swiftly through the city. The news that the scouts had returned reached me just moments before, and I immediately left the Academy in a rush, wanting to reach the city gates as soon as possible.

  Light, I hope I don’t miss it, I think to myself as I guide my horse into the westernmost district. Whatever news they bring will be imperative, and I want to hear it from them first hand.

  Fortunately, the streets remain relatively empty as most people remain inside. Commerce has almost completely stopped in the city, the shopkeepers and the merchants hoarding their goods and spending time alone or with their loved ones.

  Because of this, I reach the western gate in no time at all. Pulling my mount to a halt, I dismount just as the portcullis is being raised, admitting an exhausted-looking man on a horse lathered in sweat. He clops into the city and practically falls out of his saddle, several soldiers rushing over to assist him.

  “Get the man some water, and bring him to the guard room,” Elias barks, descending the stairs set into the wall beside the gatehouse. “And for Light’s sake, give him some room to breathe.”

  “Report, sir,” the scout says, leaning in to whisper something as Elias approaches him.

  The grizzled ranger does not immediately react to whatever it is he says, but then nods his head gravely and then gestures toward the gatehouse. “Get yourself inside and rest for a moment,” Elias commands as I come over to where they are standing. “The council will be here shortly, and you can give them a full report.”

  The man offers a weak solute and then walks off with a pair of knights, disappearing inside the great stone structure.

  “Seeker,” Elias says respectfully as I approach.

  “What did he say?” I ask, mildly annoyed that the scout spoke only with Elias.

  “Nothing good,” he replies dryly, resting a hand on the large, curved knife on his belt. “The demons are on the march, and more refugees are coming to the city.”

  “How close are they?” I pry, surprised at the haughtiness in my own voice. “What do their numbers look like? Are they coming from the west as we suspected?”

  Elias eyes me, looking mildly bemused. “He did not go into much detail,” he answers. “And I suspect they will be here sooner rather than later. Patience, Zara. We will find out more once everyone arrives.”

  “Why wait?” I continue to press. “It could be time-sensitive information. We should hear him out instead of waiting around.”

  “It’s about trust,” he replies. Judging by the tone of his voice, his own patience is wearing thin. “We have many different factions here, and trust is in short supply. A few minutes of waiting is a small price to pay so that no one feels their authority is being undermined.”

  I resist the urge to let out a frustrated sigh, instead nodding coolly and then moving off to ensure that my horse is being cared for. Luckily, I do not have to wait long as several groups of people arrive within moments of each other. Owyn and Talon are with the rangers, looking somehow different as they walk up to the gatehouse with the Wardens. The newly-appointed High Magus Roth arrives as well with his assistant, as does General Mohr accompanied by several knights on horseback.

  Upon realizing that I am already here, Owyn comes over to stand beside me, his hand slipping into my own, fingers intertwining.

  “Why do you look so chipper?” I ask, eying him curiously.

  He merely shrugs and offers me a half-smile. “No reason.”

  “Stop playing coy,” Talon scoffs, stepping up beside us. “You’re now looking at the two newest rangers in the kingdom, Magus. You’re not the only one to get promoted earlier than normal.”

  “They raised you?” I ask, a wide grin splitting my face. “Owyn, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

  He shrugs again, trying to play it off like it isn’t a big deal.

  Typical.

  “Nothing’s really different,” he says, glancing around as everyone dismounts and begins peppering Elias with questions. “It’s really only a title. I’ll still be doing the same things I did before. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Well, it’s a big deal to me,” I insist, giving his hand a squeeze.

  He smiles at me and is about to respond when Elias raises both hands in the air and speaks out. “I haven’t gotten a full report from him yet. He’s inside the guard house. It’s not very big, so essential people only – you’ll have to leave your guards outside.”

  No one argues as he leads the way into the guard house, General Mohr, High Magus Roth, and Tamara Moyle following him. Looking over his shoulder, Elias gestures for us to come as well.

  “I guess we’re considered ‘essential’,” Talon says with an air of self-importance, wearing his usual smirk.

  We follow the group inside, squeezing into the cramped guard room where we find the scout sitting in a chair, a wet towel around his neck and a pewter mug held in both hands. He looks up to regard us, his face pale, but when he gets up to stand and salute us, Elias motions for him to sit back down.

  “No need for that,” he says gruffly. “We’re all here. Now, what is your report?”

  The scout settles down in his seat and clears his throat nervously, sweat beading on his forehead. “It’s the demons, Lord Protector – the R’Laar. They’re coming, just like you said they were, and they’re heading right for the city.”

  “How many are there?” General Mohr asks, his tone urgent. “Were you able to get a rough count of their numbers while you were out there?”

  He licks his dry, cracked lips and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “It is a force of two hundred thousand, maybe more,” he says, prompting everyone in the room to let out an audible gasp.

  “Eleven Hells,” Talon murmurs.

  Even the general blanches upon hearing the staggering number.

  The scout continues. “Two thirds are heavy infantry,” he reports, eyes growing distant. “The rest is a mixture of ranged and... bestial forces. No cavalry that I could see, but they have hounds and flying things, and monstrosities so large they looked like they could crush a house with their bare hands.”

  Balors, I think to myself, remembering the hand-drawn images from the book on demonology.

  The room falls into an uneasy silence as the scout's message sinks in. If his words are accurate, which something tells me they are, that would mean the R'Laar command the greatest army that has ever marched on Byhalya. Even with the city walls and the considerable defenses in place, we will be hard-pressed to stand our ground against such force.

  "There we have it," Elias says at length. Though his demeanor is as stoic as ever, there seems to a be a faint apprention to his words. "Now we know what we are dealing with. How soon before they arrive."

  "Three days," the scout answers immediately. "Right now, they are on the borders of Loch Morloch, and they are moving slowly." He hesitates as if dreading what he is about to say next, then adds, "My lords... Green Harbor has been completely destroyed."

  Another silence fills the room, the weight of his statement crashing down.

  Green Harbor? I think, feeling a queasy knot form in my stomach. That is one of the seven great towns of Tarsynium... its destruction would leave hundreds dead, maybe thousands...

  Again, it is Elias who breaks the silence. "Were there any surivivors?"

  The scout shakes his head. "None that I could see. Many people fled for the center of the kingdom before the demons arrived, but those that remained..." He trails off, visibly suppressing a shiver. "I couldn’t be there long – the R'Laar have scouts and outriders, monsters lookin’ like they came right out of a nightm
are. The other scouts... I’m not sure if they made it out."

  Elias turns to face the group. "We need to get the refugees out of here now. They'll move slowly and will be extremely vulnerable when crossing the Heartlands."

  "Protector, there's more," the scout interjects, setting down his cup on a nearby table. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. "Before I left... well, it looked like the demons were harvesting the people of Green Harbor. They... used them, fueled their magic and discarded them like empty wine skins... I've not seen anything like it." He shudders and squeezes his eyes shut as if to banish the memory.

  "The R'Laar devour the energy of living beings to grant them power," I mutter, all eyes turning to me. "It is why everything outside of the Arc has been turned into a wasteland."

  "And that is the fate all of us will face if we do not stop them," Elias growls, resting his hand on his belt knife. "Thank you, soldier. One last thing – there was smoke rising to the west when you came in. Did any of the demons follow you into the Heartlands?"

  The scout frowns and shakes his head. "It's possible, but I do not think so."

  "Something out there was burning," Elias replies darkly. "We need to figure out what it was. Did you pass any villages on your way here?"

  "The only one I can think of was Oaken Branch," he answers after a moment of thought. "It is a small community... only two dozen people at most."

  "Perhaps it is some of the outriders he mentioned," General Mohr offers, looking at Elias. "We need to send troops there to stop any demons that may be heading our way."

  "Leave that to me," I offer, suddenly perking up. Again, all eyes turn toward me.

  Owyn looks at me incredulously. "Zara, are you mad?"

  "No," I reply determinedly. "Merely seizing upon an opportunity. There is something that I need to test, and this may be our only chance to do it." Turning to Elias, I ask, "May we have some support from the Nightingales? I'll need a few soldiers to watch my back, but it shouldn't take long."

  He considers this for a moment, then finally nods.

  "Excellent," I say, turning to smile at Owyn. "Come on. There's no time to lose."

  WE MAKE HASTE THROUGH the city gates, hooves thundering on the road as we race on horseback toward the growing column of smoke to the west. Our group is small, consisting of myself, Owyn, and a small honor guard of three Nightingales, their dark cloaks whipping in the wind behind them.

  Passing refugee camps and throngs of beleaguered-looking people, we ride in silence, pushing our horses hard as we try to arrive at Oaken Branch as fast as possible.

  Eventually, we leave behind the ramshackle campsites outside the city walls, entering the rolling hills of the Heartlands and the small farming communities spread throughout. Though the bulk of the army is still more than three days out, the outriders of the R’Laar could be anywhere at this point, ravaging communities like Oaken Branch all over the kingdom. It is up to the combined armies of Tarsynium to prevent as much of that as possible, although in truth their presence has been less than ideal.

  It takes little more than an hour of hard riding for us to reach the small village, the column of smoke rising up before us in a billowing black mass. As we draw near to the settlement, we pass streams of people fleeing the scene, women with tear-streaked faces and ashen-skinned men.

  “What attacked you?” Owyn calls from atop his horse, pulling on the reins and addressing a cluster of frantic villagers.

  Shouts of demons and hell spawn come babbling out from the group, and Owyn is forced to shout above them. “What did they look like? How many are there?”

  One man, who seems less hysterical than the others, addressing him directly. “Dog-like things, my lord,” he replies, his suntanned face stained with soot. “There were creatures that walked like men, but had beaks like birds and great hooks for hands!” He shudders as if disturbed by the very thought.

  Prompted by Owyn’s questioning look, I give him my best guess. “Sounds like darkhounds and hook horrors,” I reply, recalling what I had read in the past. “They are dumb creatures, but extremely dangerous in close combat. We should proceed with caution.”

  He nods and turns to address the fleeing villagers. “Head due east to Tarsys,” he commands. “There, you will find safety in numbers. Move quickly so that you are within sight of the city walls by nightfall. Go, now!”

  With that, he spurs his horse, leading are group further up the road and toward the burning village.

  When we finally see the thatch-roofed buildings, many of them being consumed by fire, it is like we are entering a warzone. Corpses litter the ground, and the last remaining humans who were not fortunate enough to escape are being run down by darkhounds, their jaws wet with fresh blood.

  The Nightingales draw their weapons and Owyn unslings his bow, nocking an arrow and pulling while still atop his horse. He looses and strikes one of the darkhounds in the flank just as it is about to devour one of the last remaining haggard-looking villagers.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick,” he says, readying another arrow. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to last.”

  Sure enough, the darkhounds all turn their attention toward us and begin to growl, about a dozen of them in total on the village green. Further up, I can make out the shape of a gorgon setting a farm house on fire, and standing over the half-eaten corpse of a man is a monstrosity I have only seen in pictures. It looks like a grotesque combination of human and featherless bird, with an enormous beak on its face and clawed, buzzard-like toes on its feet. Instead of hands, it has a long, curved blade like a scythe fused to each arm, and upon seeing us, it opens its beak and lets out a loud, horrendous caw.

  “Okay,” I say grimly, dismounting and pulling out my talisman. “I’ll only need a few minutes. Cover me.”

  The four of them form a defensive perimeter around me, their horses whinnying nervously as the demons approach. As the fighting commences, I attempt to tune them out, focusing all of my energy on the task before me.

  Alright, Zara, I think to myself, recalling the spell I had memorized the night before. Now is the time for you to redeem yourself.

  The crystal in my hands begins to glow a soft blue, radiating with light as I begin to channel. Source energy courses through me, a trickle at first, then a rushing torrent, filling my body with an intense but wonderful buzz of power.

  “Cuir a-steach a 'chlach seo le cumhachdan sònraichte,” I utter, starting the incantation that will turn the talisman into a magical artifice.

  The azure surface of the crystal begins to darken, taking on a deep amaranthine hue, and its surface grows hot to the touch, becoming almost unbearable to hold. Still, I wait the customary thirty seconds for the spell to set in before moving on, gritting my teeth against the discomfort.

  Ahead of me, Owyn tramples a darkhound and looses another arrow, the horses giving my defenders a bit of an advantage over the much smaller beasts. Still, I realize that it is only a matter of time before they get overwhelmed, several of the horses bearing nasty cuts from the demons’ claws. The hook horror begins lumbering forward, walking with an awkward gait that would appear comical if it wasn’t so terrifying.

  I continue the spell, chanting the words in an almost sing-song voice. “Thoir dhomh an cumhachd seo. Tionndaidh an uidheam seo a-steach do bhoma. Sgriong mo naimhdean.”

  The fighting grows more desperate by the second, the darkhounds swarming around the horses like snapping wolves. Gorgons begin to pour out of the village carrying torches, and the hook horror reaches the farthest defender, a hapless Nightingale who isn’t paying close enough attention. With a swipe the great monstrosity decapitates the horse entirely, sending it and the rider tumbling to the ground.

  Light, I think to myself, feeling sick to my stomach. If this doesn’t work, we are probably going to die here.

  But if this spell doesn't work, we are all going to die anyway.

  Finally, the artifice is ready, the crystal g
lowing an angry red in my hand. Without hesitation I shout the command word to break it, hoping that this will set off the bomb. “Sgrios!”

  In a flash of light, the talisman explodes, sending shards of crystal shooting out like shrapnel. The shards slice up my hand and I scream, but the sound is drowned out by the terrible boom that resounds through the air.

  Red light blooms from my palm like a rose, spreading out in all directions in a blinding flash of shimmering radiance that seems to consume the entire village. It grows, raging like a violent storm of rushing winds until everything is nothing but varying shades of light and darkness.

  Then, in an instant, it is all over.

  The radiance fades, taking us back into the grey light of winter, everything and everyone in exactly the same place as before. Only now, the demons are no longer a threat. They stand in place like statues, skin grey like ash and eyes dimmed until one by one they begin to vanish, crumbling into dust and blowing away in the light Heartland breeze.

  Overwhelmed, I sink to my knees, my hand torn and bleeding from holding the now-obliterated source crystal. My ears are ringing from the blast, and a strange sense of shock overcomes me, making it difficult to breathe.

  Owyn rushes to my side, wrapping his arms around me and speaking words that I cannot hear.

  Finally, the ringing fades, and I can begin to make what he is saying. "Zara, talk to me. Are you alright?"

  I nod my head numbly.

  "Oh, thank the Light," he says, holding me close. "You scared the Hells out of me. I thought for sure that your spell had seriously hurt you." He glances down at my lacerated hand and grimaces. "It doesn’t look bad, but we need to get this cleaned up."

  He helps me to my feet, and together, we make our way to the horses. The Nightingales are staring dumbly at the piles of dust littering the ground.

  Despite the pain in my hand and the shock of the blast, I can't help but smile. Owyn looks over and frowns in confusion.