Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  They greet us and bob their heads at the priest’s words, apparently eager to finally have some new customers in their establishment, then rush off to get the rooms ready and begin cooking the evening meal. By the time we make our way outside, a pair of stable boys have begun taking the mages around the back to put away the horses.

  “So,” Zara asks, looking over at Daine as we step out onto the dirt road, “does this mean you are the mayor of this village?”

  The priest lets out a small chuckle. “You might call it that; though, I prefer to think of myself as a shepherd looking after my flock.”

  “I see,” Zara replies, nodding slightly to herself. “Well, at any rate, we are grateful for your help. If there is anything else we can do for you while we’re here–”

  “Your presence is enough,” Daine gently interrupts. “You’ve already done so much. Please, just rest from your travels and enjoy our hospitality. We rarely get the opportunity to entertain guests, so it is our pleasure to have you here.”

  Zara and I thank him one last time before he departs, stating that he needs to check on some of the other villagers. When he is gone, I turn to regard her, my brow furrowing slightly.

  “There is still some daylight left,” I remark. “We could pass this place by, put a few more miles into our journey.”

  She shakes her head. “This is probably the last chance we’ll have to sleep in comfort and eat some decent food – the rest we’d get here would benefit us in our travels. Besides, it’ll no doubt have a positive impact on morale, something we desperately need.”

  My first reaction is to object. Our mission is one of urgency, every hour counts. However, I notice something in her eyes I have never seen before. She blinks and looks down, clearing her throat as she avoids my searching gaze.

  “Zara, is everything alright?” I ask her, reaching for her hand and holding it in mine. As I take her hand I notice that it is shaking.

  She looks back up at me with tears in her eyes, her teeth biting her lip. When she speaks, it is barely a whisper.

  “Owyn, I’m not sure I can do this. I tried before, back in the wastes, to open the arc.” Tears freely fall from her eyes as she continues. “So many people died. Died because I failed.” She emphasizes the last word, squeezing her eyes shut as if uttering it causes her physical pain.

  I pull her into an embrace, holding her as she sobs uncontrollably. Seeing her like this, so vulnerable makes everything seem more real. Makes her seem more real. As I’m holding her, I can’t help but fall a little more in love. I embrace her a little tighter, not knowing how many more times I’ll have left to do this.

  After a few moments, she composes herself, wiping the tears away and fixing her hair. Her cheeks are bright red and her eyes are clear, the fear and anxiety from before seemingly gone from them. She gives me an embarrassed smile, stepping away from my embrace.

  “Owyn I’m sorry. I’m a mess, I must look dreadful.”

  I can’t help but beam at her. “Zara, you have never looked more beautiful,” I wipe a stray tear from her cheek. “Let’s stay here the night. You’re right, it will be nice to sleep in a good bed for a night before continuing on our quest.” Her smile broadens at my words, her cheeks blushing a little more.

  “Zara, I know you won’t fail. You’ll find a way. You are the most talented mage in all of Tarsynium.” I give her a playful smile. “And you’re the most stubborn woman I have ever met.” We both laugh at that and she punches my arm playfully.

  “Come on,” she says, reaching out to take my hand. “Let’s go make sure everyone gets settled in.”

  “You go on ahead,” I reply, squeezing her hand and then quickly letting go. “I want to stretch my legs for a bit. Too long in the saddle.”

  She nods and then heads off to go after the other mages, leaving me standing alone in front of the Elder Hollow Inn.

  I watch her go, feeling a strange sense of detachment as she disappears behind the back of the inn. Her words from before echo in my mind, striking a chord somewhere deep inside me: This is probably the last chance we’ll have...

  Shaking my head, I begin making my way up the road, exploring the little town nestled on the edge of the Heartlands.

  An elder tree sits in the middle of the village, rising up higher than any of the buildings and extending its leafless limbs out in all directions. The enormous tree is like a lone sentinel, watching over Elder Hollow with ancient, wooden eyes. For a brief instant I am reminded of the elder tree back in Haven and the villagers that had been hung there by the R'Laar, but I quickly shake the thought away, not wanting to dwell on such a horrible image.

  As I pass by farmhouses, I find my thoughts drifting back to Zara and the time we have been able to spend together since meeting in the Emberwood all those months ago. They are fond memories, ones that I will never forget, and when I think about where we are today, I can’t help but smile.

  My feet take me all the way to a small stone church located on the edge of town. It is an old building of moss-covered grey stones, but with colorful stained-glass windows on the outside.

  This must be where the priest Daine preaches, I think to myself, stopping in front of the structure and examining the sturdy architecture.

  Again, thoughts start running unbidden through my mind, reminding me of the all the different words Zara has spoken to me. There needs to be promises... vows made between us. Some sort of real commitment. I love you ranger boy, and I’m glad you’re with me right now.... This is probably the last chance we’ll have....

  Time seems to stand still, the words reverberating in my skull and making it impossible to think of anything else. My heart begins to pound within my chest, pumping furiously as my breath catches in my throat. Nervelessly, almost of its own accord, my hand reaches into a pocket in my cloak and pulls out a small bit of wood – the carved piece of oak I have been working on for weeks now. Looking down, I examine it in the low, grey light of late afternoon, noting how it is now almost complete.

  A simple wooden ring.

  “The time is now,” I whisper to myself, feeling a strange rush like lightning course through my veins. “I need to take this chance, before I run out of time.”

  Holding the ring in one hand, I use the other to pull out my pocket knife, then find a secluded spot to finish my work. As I whittle, careful not to ruin the delicate band, my thoughts begin racing as I contemplate what I should do next.

  Eleven Hells... I’ve fought onslaughts of demons, but never been so nervous for something in my life... Light help me.

  ZARA STANDS ON A SMALL hill on the outskirts of town, staring east with the setting sun behind her. A soft breeze tugs at her robes, and strands of her straight, chestnut hair pull in that direction as well. She does not look back as I approach, her face thoughtful as she stares off into the darkening horizon.

  “They're out there, you know,” she says, voice contemplative as I step beside her. “The R’Laar are besieging the city as we speak.”

  “Perhaps,” I reply somberly. “But you’ve seen those walls. With Elias defending them, I’m sure the demons have been stopped dead in their tracks.”

  She glances at me and gives me a sidelong smile. “It’s amazing that when one of us broods, the other is cheerful. I wonder why that is?”

  I shrug. “Intuition?”

  “Perhaps,” she replies before looking back out at the plains.

  Clearing my throat, I wipe my sweat-slicked hands on the edges of my cloak. “Can I ask you something, Zara?”

  Without looking over at me, she replies, “Of course.”

  “Back at Dunmar City, right when you woke up from your coma, I kissed you. Do you remember?”

  This seems to grab her attention, pulling her away from her thoughts. She turns fully to face me, a demure smile gracing her lips. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Do you remember what you said afterward?”

  She pauses, considering the question before eventually shaking her head.<
br />
  I take a step toward her.

  “You said, and I quote, ‘Took you long enough’.”

  She giggles and gives me a wry look. “Yes, that sounds like something I would say.”

  Pushing aside my nerves, I continue on, trying not to let my anxiety show. “You’ve always seemed to be one step ahead of me, Zara, sorting through your feelings before I even have a chance to understand them. It’s almost as if you can see the future – the future of us and where we’re supposed to be.”

  She frowns at that, but doesn’t reply, her deep eyes searching mine intently.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Do you remember what you said to me that night in the wastes, after we got drunk and danced together?”

  Her eyebrows knit together in concern. “Owyn, we don’t have to talk about that night. I–”

  “You said that there needed to be promises – vows made between us. You said that you didn’t want me for just one night, or even a few nights. You wanted me forever.” I reach into my pocket and wrap my fingers around the ring. “Well, Zara, you were one step ahead of me. I want you forever as well.”

  She gasps as I drop to one knee and present the ring, the plain band of wood resting in the center of my palm. Looking deep into her eyes, I ask the one question that has been burning within me for weeks – the one question I have always been afraid to ask.

  “Zara Dennel, will you marry me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zara

  My breath catches in my throat.

  My heart seems to stand still in my chest.

  Without thinking, I blurt out, “Yes – yes of course I will!”

  His face, rugged yet uncharacteristically nervous, splits into a wide, lopsided grin. He leaps to his feet and kisses me, passion burning between the two of us like source energy, then he pulls me into a warm and tender embrace, holding me as if afraid I’ll disappear.

  Tears spring into my eyes and I laugh, powerful emotions welling up inside of me and warring for dominance. Happiness, anxiety, peace, joy, fear and love all swirl within my breast like a storm.

  Bringing his hand up, Owyn gives me the ring. It is absolutely beautiful, dusky oak lovingly crafted with expert skill.

  I accept it and slip it on my left hand, feeling a sensation like magic as it slides onto my finger.

  A perfect fit.

  “Owyn, I... I don’t know what to say.”

  He beams. “Me neither.”

  We pause for a moment, standing close to one another on the hill as a soft breeze ruffles both our hair. I can’t seem to look away from the band resting perfectly on my ring finger, a feeling of excitement overcoming all the other emotions. Then, a thought strikes me.

  “This is wonderful,” I say, looking up at him, “and so unexpected! But you realize that we’re on a dangerous mission in the middle of a world-ending war, right?”

  “Yes,” he replies gruffly. “I realize that. But perhaps that means this is the best time to get married, to bring a little light into this darkening world.”

  “There’s that,” I concede, “but who’s to marry us? We’re in the middle of the Heartlands for Light’s sake!”

  “I seem to recall a kindly priest who would be more than happy to marry us,” he replies matter-of-factly. “There’s also a little chapel here, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Yes, but Owyn! The day’s almost over! We need to leave early tomorrow to continue our journey!”

  His face falls somewhat, and I can’t help but feel guilty about my overly-logical thought process.

  “Zara,” he says softly, looking me in the eye. “We don’t have to do this.”

  “No,” I reply firmly, giving him a reassuring smile. “This is what I want. I just... this is all so sudden! I mean, I’ve never even been to a wedding, let alone participated in one. Is what we want even possible?”

  He takes both of my hands in his and smiles. His fingers, rough and calloused, intertwine with my fingers. “Of course it’s possible. As long as I’m with you, everything will be perfect.”

  Light, he’s too cute, I think, standing on the tips of my toes and giving him another kiss. How can I argue with that? Logic be damned.

  “Alright,” I whisper, settling back and resting my head against his chest. “Let’s do this. Compared to saving the world, a simple wedding should be infinitesimal by comparison, right?”

  “Right,” he replies contentedly.

  For a moment, we simply stand there, holding each other in the waning light of evening. Then, hands still held, we begin making our way down the hill.

  UPON RETURNING TO ELDER Hollow, those at the inn practically burst with glee when we tell them about the proposal. The elderly mages congratulate us profusely and the innkeeper's wife smiles broadly, clapping her hands together in an exuberant fashion.

  “I know a few young girls who would be ecstatic to help you get ready, my dear,” she says, taking my hand in hers affectionately. “And the women of the village would love to prepare for the ceremony! I’m sure we can scrounge together some decorations, and then there’s the feast to prepare for... oh, this is so exciting! We haven’t had a wedding here in years!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ven,” I reply, prying my hand free from her surprisingly powerful grip.

  “Please, call me Peony, dear.”

  “Peony, then,” I amend, trying not to appear flustered by everything. “Are you sure this isn’t too fast? The sun’s just about to set, and we haven’t even begun to–”

  “Let me worry about all that,” Peony replies with a tone that brooks no argument. “Now, let’s get you ready. A bride must be properly groomed for her wedding night!”

  Properly groomed? I’m not sure whether to be offended or relieved by the declaration.

  “Ven!” She continues, turning back to regard her husband. “Muster the lads, will you? We’ll need to have tables and chairs brought into the common room, and food hauled up from the larder.”

  The burly man nods and wraps a meaty arm around Owyn’s shoulder. “Come, my boy. I’ll tell you everything you need to know about marriage while you help us get this place in order.”

  Owyn shoots me a small, suffering grin before being hauled away, and I manage to mouth the word, “Sorry” at him before he leaves the room.

  Then, as if out of nowhere, a gaggle of young village girls materializes beside me, fawning over my ring and talking excitedly amongst themselves.

  “The girls will take you upstairs to help get you prepared,” Peony says, standing up and smoothing out her apron. “I’ll stay down here and organize the cooking and the decorating. Now, chop, chop! There’s no time to lose!”

  The women, ranging from my age to matronly, pull me from my seat and begin leading me up the stairs, giving me little say in the matter as they usher me toward a large washroom. Upon entering the room, they sit me on a stool and close the door, deliberating on what they shall do to get me ready.

  “My ma has a wedding dress she can lend you,” one of the younger girls offers sweetly. “She saved it for my wedding – but seeing how Bill has yet to ask my hand, it’ll be alright for you to wear it first.”

  “Thank you,” I manage to get in. “That’s very kind.”

  “You’re a little less busty than Martha, but I’m sure that it’ll still be a good fit,” woman with black hair says bluntly. “Why don’t you go tell your ma to get it out of storage, lass.”

  The girl nods eagerly and immediately leaves the room.

  “Respectfully, Magus,” the raven-haired woman says next, “when was the last time you washed your hair?”

  “My hair? A couple of days ago – why do you ask?”

  She makes a tsking sound with the tip of her tongue and musses my hair with a delicate hand. “Windswept, tangled, and smelling of smoke... this simply will not do for a bride. It will need to be washed and brushed, then perfumed. I think I have a bottle of lavender oil back at my cottage...”

&n
bsp; The other women chatter excitedly with one another, talking of makeup and clothing as if I’m nothing more than a dummy for them to dress up.

  I do not scold them, of course. The last thing I want to do is antagonize the women in charge of taking care of my appearance. However, I can’t help but take mild offense at the way they speak about my body, pointing out every one of my flaws.

  There is little time to brood, though, as they begin stripping off my clothing and pulling me toward a small wooden bathtub.

  Indignant thoughts about my modesty flee as I am forced into the icy water, my skin prickling as it sloshes up to my neck. I let out a yelp as a maiden behind me dumps a pitcher over my head, and I can hear several of the girls giggling as I attempt to brush the wet hair from my eyes.

  “Best to do it quickly in winter,” one of them says, sounding slightly empathetic. “Otherwise, we’d be here all night while you tried to get used to the temperature.”

  Shivering, I nod my head, teeth chattering as the black-haired woman comes up and begins scrubbing soap into my hair.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t keep you in here too long,” she says, working the creamy soap into a lather. “Just long enough to wash the smell of the road off of you.”

  Fortunately, she is true to her word. They work quickly to scrub me from head to toe, and, after another frigid dunk in the water, I am allowed to step out where warm wool blankets await me.

  They spend the next hour or so brushing my hair, applying lotions, makeup and perfume, and chatting about their own weddings, often with wistful expressions and an air of romanticism. During this time, my mind begins to wander, thinking of what it will be like to actually be married to Owyn Lund.

  Something one of the women says about the wedding night catches my ear, sending my mind reeling about a small detail I have thus far overlooked.