Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  After a moment, the general turns back to regard the scene, resting his metal-clad hands on the battlements as he leans forward to observe.

  "I have the rangers stationed strategically along the western wall. Their arrows will prove useful in keeping the demon scum from advancing. Battlemages are also scattered strategically to provide cover as needed. My knights will hold the gate, city militia hold the south, and I have engineers manning the ballistae and the catapults – the rest is held by your Nightingale archers." Looking to the side, he points to a nearby watchtower, a circular behemoth of heavy stone. "Might I suggest commanding from up there. It is a good vantage point, and central to where your men are stationed."

  I offer him a salute and wish him luck, then depart swiftly, going to the appointed place. As we make our way along the wall, passing muttering soldiers who stare out at the R'Laar with uncertain expressions, I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Fighting never gets easier, I think to myself in resignation. Even after all these years, a stray arrow or a stupid mistake can end my life. I know exactly what these men are feeling.

  Climbing the stairs, I am surprised to find Tamara waiting for me at the top of the tower. As always, she is wearing her ranger cloak and light, form-fitting leather armor. Light's Edge, the Grandmaster's Sword, is strapped to her back, and a long recurve bow is held in her hands, and a bristling quiver of arrows on her hip.

  "Took you long enough," she remarks coolly, glancing at me from over her shoulder before looking back out at the enemy. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were napping," she narrows her eyes as a small smile graces her lips, “old man.”

  I grunt in response, brushing off the playful jeer, and step up next to her. Beside the two of us, everyone else on the tower is wearing Nightingale black, their crossbows held as nervously as any of the city's defenders.

  "What are you doing here, Tamara?" I ask, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "Shouldn't you be with the other Wardens?"

  She shrugs. If she is the least bit perturbed by the presence of the demon army, she does not show it. "I wanted to see you before the battle commenced, to remind you of our little discussion from before."

  Oh, Light, I think. Not this again.

  "Hells, Tamara," I growl, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead. "You're a persistent one."

  "That’s why I'm effective," she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Don't worry, Protector. I'm not going to embarrass you in front of your men. I only wanted to wish you well in the coming battle, and let you know that I do not have any regrets. I said what needed to be said, and that's that."

  "Alright," I say gruffly, not really sure what to think. "That's good. I wish you well in the battle as well."

  She nods, then reaches forward a hand for me to shake.

  When I reach forward to clasp her hand, she abruptly pulls me in so that our faces are mere inches apart. "Know this, Elias Keen," she whispers, icy blue eyes intense, "I do not intend for this to be the end. I will fight with every fiber of my being, and I expect you to do the same. Duty or no duty, I intend for us to see this through, and when the dust settles, I intend on having another talk with you. Then, perhaps, you will be more honest about your feelings, and in turn, be more honest with me."

  I lock eyes with hers, even after she releases my hand and steps away. "Yes, Master Warden."

  She nods curtly. "Good."

  Then, offering me a wry smile, she shoulders her bow and saunters off.

  I watch her go, and, for some strange reason, cannot help but notice the way her hips move as she walks away. "Light help me," I mutter to myself, shaking my head and turning my mind back to the task at hand.

  On the ground below, the R’Laar have finally come to a halt just outside arrow range, their ranks stopping on the grass and staring hatefully up at us. Smoke billows from the scattered taverns and villages of the Heartlands, every building outside the city having been set ablaze by the enemy troops. Somewhere deep in the endless mass of demons and mindflayed humans is the Prince of Darkness himself, the last remaining demon lord bent on destroying our world once and for all.

  I wonder if he’ll send an emissary to parlay; the rules of battle dictate as much.

  Somehow, I doubt that Asmodeus will obey the conventions of human warfare.

  Dead silence hangs over the legions of defenders on top of the walls, every man and young lad staring down at the writhing sea of death waiting to fall upon them. Their expressions range from stoic to outright terrified, the more hardened fighters among them lending strength to the more cowardly.

  “Steady, men,” I find myself saying, hand straying to my bow. “Remember that the Light fights with us. None will pass by these walls while we defend them.”

  Somewhere on the ground a lone horn blows, a loud, grating sound that echoes on the wind. As soon as the horn fades away the field erupts in a chorus of screams, the army letting out a battle cry that seems to shake the very foundations of the city. Bellowing gorgons lend their voices to howling darkhounds, combining with the shrieks of thousands of unnamed creatures to create a cacophony that chills the blood and causes nearly every man to quiver.

  “Do not give in to fear!” My voice barely carries over the demonic battle cry. “Fear is their greatest ally!”

  As one, the front ranks break away from the main body of the army and begin to charge, running at full speed toward the walls. The rush consists of many hundreds of different kinds of demons, and they run with reckless abandon.

  Cursing, I draw an arrow and pull the fletching to my cheek.

  The Battle for Tarsys has officially begun.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zara

  A light blooms in the darkness ahead, brightening the oppressive tunnel like a beacon in the night. After so many hours in the dark with only the glare of torches to light the way, the brilliance ahead is almost blinding.

  Our weary band trudges silently toward the light, horses plodding beside us, their hooves clopping loudly on the stone.

  Beside me, Owyn squints, trying to glean something from the tiny yet powerful speck of light.

  “Must be morning still,” he reasons, voice hushed.

  “How can you tell?” I ask just as quietly.

  “We’ve been heading generally northwest,” he explains in a matter-of-fact way. “It doesn’t seem bright enough for us to be heading into direct sunlight, which means the sun must still be in the eastern portion of the sky. That, and my gut tells me we haven’t been in this tunnel for more than a day.”

  I think about this for a moment, then shrug, muttering, “The light seems plenty bright to me.”

  “That’s because you’re not a ranger,” he replies rather smugly. “It’s hard to get to know the sun when you're sitting inside some stuffy library all day.”

  Giving him a playful punch in the arm, the two of us fall back into a contemplative silence once more, making our way ever closer to the exit with the rest of our group.

  We had spent the previous night underground, sleeping while the horses ate and drank what little hay and water we had brought with us. Owyn spent much of the night alone, whittling a small piece of wood and quietly brooding away from the group, and the close confines of the tunnel made it difficult to sleep, every noise echoing loudly off the rough stone walls. Overall, it had been a long and largely depressing journey, one that I am grateful is now almost over. Going so long without natural light is difficult, and the close quarters have made me feel claustrophobic.

  Still have a way to go before we get to the wastes, though, I think to myself, setting my jaw in determination.

  Finally, the cave-like floor begins to slope upward and we reach the yawning tunnel entrance, a door of thick iron bars blocking our path. The door reminds me of something that would be in a prison cell, and one of the mages, a man named Gilford, makes short work of the lock with a flare of magefyre. Pushing open the rusted hinges with a metallic wail, we step out into the welcome daylight and brea
the the fresh air.

  We find ourselves at the base of a hill located near a small village which I assume is Emonstead. The area around us is overgrown with weeds and contains piles of broken stone and dirt, much like one would expect to see at a rock quarry.

  As we shuffle out with our horses out of the tunnel, everyone looks to me for direction. The mages, stoic in their blue robes, wait almost expectantly while the desert youths in their mismatched armor cluster around Owyn.

  Shrugging, I motion for us to continue up the road to the little village.

  Emonstead appears to have been completely abandoned, an eerie ghost town that resembles little of the quaint farming community it must have been. Houses sit empty on the square, doors and windows open to the elements, and refuse litters the ground, detritus that the villagers could not take with them on their flight toward the capital.

  We silently make our way through the village, a somber feeling on the too-warm breeze. It isn’t until we put the community behind us and step foot in the Heartlands that we are able to breathe a little easier.

  Just as Owyn predicted, it is midmorning – though it is hard to tell with the omnipresent layer of clouds above. Rolling hills and fertile farmland stretches out in all directions around us, and we immediately choose a road leading east, plodding relentlessly toward the Emberwood and the wastelands beyond.

  As we settle into a decent pace, conversations begin to pick up in our group. Everyone seems to be relieved to finally be out of the tunnel, and the fact that we can now ride our horses instead of walk makes the journey infinitely less taxing.

  Owyn and I chitchat while the others converse in little pockets, talking about everything from the war to weather and anything in between.

  The wastelanders are true to their word and seem to handle themselves well riding the horses, though each of them looks a little unnerved as they attempt to stay close to Owyn, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that they are not walking themselves.

  I smile faintly to myself as I regard them, remembering a time when I felt the same about riding horses.

  That feels like a lifetime ago, I muse quietly, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. So much has happened since those days.

  It isn’t long before the mages start talking to me about the nature of our quest, pestering me with questions about the spell and the source crystal we are seeking.

  “I’ve already told you, the spell turned the demons to ash,” I explain to a pair of twin mage women named Sira and Kaleigh. “It did nothing to harm any of the humans in the area.”

  “Yes, yes,” Sira says, waving her hand dismissively as she pulls her horse up to trot next to mine. “But what of the blast radius? How far did this explosion extend, and what effect did it have on the surrounding land – the flora and the fauna?”

  “None that I could tell,” I reply, scrunching up my eyebrows as I ponder the question. “I wasn’t really in a place to measure the exact radius, Sira. But my tiny talisman was able to eliminate an entire village worth of demons, perhaps more beyond that. Imagine what we can do with one the size of the Heart of Light!”

  “I’d feel much more comfortable with exact measurements,” Kaleigh mutters from behind her sister, turning her pointed nose up into the air.

  I’d feel much more comfortable if you would stop annoying me, I think to myself, though I keep a pleasant smile plastered on my face.

  “I’m more curious about our escape plan,” Vargus says from his place riding beside Kaleigh. The newly-raised magister was chosen to leave his place in the Circle to help with our mission – a fact that still irks me, despite the fact that he is an extremely powerful mage. “It seems to me that you have put a great deal of thought into getting us there, but not so much into getting us back home.”

  Turning in my saddle, I give him a suffering look. “Successfully completing the mission is my primary concern, magister. Or have you forgotten the stakes we are dealing with? Saving my own skin has been the last thing on my mind.”

  He harrumphs and looks away, staring out at the rolling hills with a thinly-veiled air of bitterness.

  “Zara,” Owyn calls, trotting his horse up to walk beside our group. “May I speak with you a moment? Alone?”

  The other mages eye one another in irritation, but slow their horses down, allowing Owyn to ride up beside me and giving us some semblance of privacy.

  “What is it?” I ask quietly, curious about what he has to say.

  “Nothing really,” he replies with a lopsided grin. “Just thought you could use a break from those scheming mages.”

  I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head, giving him an affectionate smile. “Those mages are my colleagues,” I remind him, then quickly add, “but thank you anyway, I very much needed a break.”

  He winks at me then looks ahead, a gentle breeze ruffling his unruly hair.

  Light, I love him, I think to myself fondly, letting out a small contented sigh. I wish that the two of us could just gallop off together and begin a new life, away from war and demons and all of our responsibilities.

  Suddenly, I remember that night out in the wastes when the two of us had our first experience drinking uzqi. I remember the dancing, the way our bodies moved in time with the primitive music, then afterward, when we almost let go of all our inhibitions.... The more my mind starts to wander, the more I silently wish for another night of reckless passion.

  Owyn looks back, and, upon seeing me daydreaming, asks, “What are you thinking about?”

  I shake my head, trying vainly to clear away the scandalous thoughts. “Nothing,” I reply, feeling my cheeks growing red. “Just wondering about what we’re going to eat for dinner.”

  Nice save, Zara.

  Owyn raises an eyebrow, then glances over at his saddlebags. “Well, judging by our last couple of meals, I’d say you have a choice between dried venison, dried fruit, or dried crusty bread – a delicious feast, if your jaw is up to the task of chewing it.”

  I let out an embarrassing snort that causes him to burst out laughing as well, and I can practically feel the unapproving eyes of the mages at our backs.

  There was a time when their approval was all I cared about, part of me thinks. Now, I just want to enjoy this time with Owyn; I could care less what they think of me.

  We spend the next hour or so chatting about small things – the food we miss, the places we want to travel, the things we want to accomplish before we grow old and boring. We completely forget about the battle that is no doubt raging in Tarsys and simply delight in being in one another’s presence. As the afternoon sun begins final descent in the sky, though, I begin to truly start thinking about supper, my eyes looking away from the attractive ranger and out toward the western horizon.

  Far ahead, I can see movement coming from what looks like a small village up the road. Tiny figures run about the fields like wolves in the distance, and in the sky, black shapes like vultures circle menacingly. Immediately, I know what I am seeing.

  “Look!” I cry out, pointing at the distant shapes. “Darkhounds and blackwings!”

  “Hells!” Owyn curses, noticing the movement as well. “Must be a scouting group that broke away from the main army. Good eyes, Zara!”

  “Why are they circling that village?” One of the mages asks in confusion behind us.

  The realization hits me like a blast of radiant magic. “People must still be living there!” I exclaim, urging my horse to run faster towards the village. “We have to help them!”

  Behind me, I can hear Owyns horse running faster as well. “You heard the Seeker!” He shouts, rushing to keep up with me. “Come on! Those people need our help!”

  As a group, we begin to gallup up the hill towards the village, drawing the attention of the demons. Sure enough, the closer we get to the village, the more distinct the shapes become. Vicious, red eyed darkhounds turn to look at us, and the blackwings overhead take notice of us as well, flapping their wings in white circles and screeching as
we draw near. I can also start to make out the shapes of villagers, scrambling to defend their homes. They are few in number and lack basic arms and armor, but their movements seem to indicate a sort of resolute strength, a hardiness that only a group of farmers could portray.

  It isn’t long before I can see the glowing red of the demons' eyes.

  Only a dozen or so, I think to myself reaching up and touching my talisman. Hopefully we can make short work of this.

  Just as the darkhounds begin charging and the blackwings begin diving at our horses, source energy floods my veins and magefyre fills my hand.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Elias

  The Battle of Tarsys has been joined in full.

  Arrows fly and men shout from the walls as a wave of mindflayed human soldiers approaches, making yet another push with shields and ladders raised. They climb over the bodies of their fallen soldiers without hesitation, unyielding, uncaring and utterly unafraid of death. They march onward even as rocks, projectiles, burning oil and magefyre is rained down upon them, making progress with nothing but sheer strength and overwhelming numbers.

  “Focus your shots on the ones carrying the ladders!” I shout from my place on the tower. Runners listen eagerly so they can take my message to the other Nightingales along the wall. “If we bring them down, they will be forced to retreat! We cannot risk them scaling the walls!”

  “Yes, Lord Protector!”

  They race off to carry the message.

  Leaning out over the parapet, I scan the horizon, trying to glean every bit of information I can from the battle.

  Beyond the lines of charging mind slaves, the rest of the demonic horde looks like a sea of red and black. The R’Laar have dug in firmly since arriving to besiege the city, setting up their camps outside of arrow range and digging trenches to prevent cavalry attacks. Even from my vantage point high above the fray I can see that the monsters come in every conceivable shape and size; no amount of description from Owyn could have prepared me for such a terrible sight. Large brutes lumber among small dog-like beasts, and flying terrors patrol the skies like massive bats.