Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  Cloaked men in masks walk among them carrying daggers dripping with blood. They gang up on the slower, weaker ones, stabbing them viciously and leaving them to bleed out on the cobblestones before moving onto their next victims.

  It looks like a bloody massacre – wolves running among sheep.

  Bloody Hells, I think, recognizing those masks immediately. Those are Harbingers! I thought they had all been killed off!

  Elias draws his sword, prompting the others to do the same. People scream hysterically as they try to escape the inevitable conflict.

  Hefting my spear, I follow the others into the milling crowd, making our way toward the handful of men and their blood-soaked knives. They immediately begin to back away, finally noticing our superior numbers.

  “Take them out!” Elias roars as he rushes forward. “Let none escape!”

  As a group we run the Harbingers down, chasing them away from the crowd and gutting them where they stand. Several of them put up a fight, managing to wound one of our Nightingales, but the cultists quickly fall, their daggers no match for our swords and spears.

  When the last man collapses to the street, Elias turns to regard a hurt woman lying in a puddle of blood against a nearby building.

  “You’ll be alright,” he says, kneeling before the woman and putting pressure on the wound.

  As I approach them from behind, can see that he is telling her a comforting lie. The wound is too deep and too wide for her to be saved. She’ll be dead in minutes.

  Coughing, she raises a bloody hand and points further down the street, to where one of the columns of smoke rises into the sky.

  “There is more down there,” she croaks, eyes watery with tears. “Please... you have to stop them.”

  “We will,” Elias promises her softly, his voice a gravelly rumble.

  She holds his gaze for a moment, then closes her eyes, breathing out one final breath and then lying perfectly still.

  Elias picks up his sword and stands up, turning to face the direction the woman had pointed. “Let’s go,” he growls, setting off without looking back. The rest of us follow without question.

  Together, we make our way down the street and turn a corner, coming face to face with a building that has been set ablaze. The charred sign outside marks it as the Central Bank of Tarsys, a gaudy building transformed into a raging inferno. We stop short a few dozen paces away from the bank, noting the size of the fire. The heat coming off of the flames is staggering, and I wipe sweat from my forehead.

  “There’s a well on the next street over,” one of the Nightingales shouts.

  Elias nods. “We need to keep this fire from spreading to the rest of the city,” he replies, sheathing his sword and motioning for the Nightingales to do the same. “Everyone – look for buckets and make for the well. We’ll form a line and try to contain the blaze.”

  Wordlessly, we break out and form a water line, each man carrying water from the well to the burning building.

  I feel rather useless, unable to carry much water with my crippled arm, so instead I decide to stand watch, shouldering my spear and keeping a lookout for any more Harbingers.

  As the others work to contain the flames, I notice some shapes gathering together in a nearby alley. At first, I think that they are citizens watching us working from afar. Then, I begin paying attention to the way they move, the menacing way in which they lurk in the shadows. Before I have a chance to notify the others, one of the figures fires a crossbow, shooting a bolt directly into the back of one of the Nightingale soldiers.

  The man goes down and the others scatter, dropping buckets of water as they dive for cover.

  “In the alley!” I shout, pointing with my spear.

  The dark figures begin to vanish, disappearing into the darkened alleyway.

  “Talon!” Elias barks, speaking to me from behind a low garden wall. “Take a couple men and go after them! The rest of us will stay here and take care of the fire.”

  Great, I think to myself as I nod my head stupidly at him. Now I get to run off and get myself killed by a bunch of crazed cultists. Not the way I wanted to go, but... I suppose it’s better than being devoured by some demon.

  A group of about ten Nightingales volunteer, and without another word we take off, going where the cultists had fled down the alley.

  The space between the two buildings is grimy, slick with slime and obscured by shadows. Fortunately, we do not find a group of the enemy waiting to ambush us, but instead discover nearly-imperceptible footprints in the muck.

  “This way,” I proclaim, leading the Nightingales deeper into the warrens, turning around the back of a building and out onto a street on the other side.

  We exit just in time to see a group of dark cloaks running into an abandoned shop and we hurry to catch up to them, rushing across the street and into the open door.

  Once there, we find the back wall of the building has been torn down, a gaping hole leading into a sheltered but overgrown graveyard beyond.

  Creepy blighters, I think, proceeding with more caution as we make our way through the shop and to the crumbling hole. Outside, we find the cultists gathering behind a cluster of gravestones, crossbows and swords at the ready as they wait to dispatch us.

  “Well, gents,” I say, peeking out from behind the ruined wall. “It appears we are at an impasse. These freaks seem to be itching for a fight.”

  Our forces appear to be equally matched, and there isn’t an obvious path for escape. That means this is going to be a fight to the death – a brutal melee that only one side will be able to win.

  A couple of the Nightingales take out hand crossbows of their own and load them, then look to me to give the order.

  Lifting my shield up, I look back at them grimly. “Aim for their crossbowmen. The rest of you, get behind me. Three... two... one... let’s go!”

  We rush out of the shop and into the graveyard, shouting furiously as we charge. Behind me, the crossbowmen fire and two of the Harbingers pitch forward onto the mossy ground, feathered with bolts. A few projectiles thud into my shield as well, though none of them seem to do any damage. Before I know it, we are colliding with the cultists, weapons flailing and men grunting in pain.

  I ram my spear into the chest of one of the men and list my shield to block an incoming sword. The force of the blow rattles my bones and makes my arm go numb, but I ignore the discomfort. Yanking the tip of my spear out of the hapless cultist, I move on to the man next to him.

  Steel rings against steel as our two sides continue to beat each other bloody, and it isn’t long before men begin dropping like flies.

  Blue magefyre suddenly materializes and explodes on a Nightingale standing next to me, engulfing his clothing and charring his skin. He collapses into a writhing heap on the ground, screaming in agony.

  They’ve got a bloody mage with them! I think, lifting my shield and taking a step back, eyes darting around the graveyard.

  Crouching behind a headstone perhaps a dozen paces away is a woman in black cultists robes, clutching a glowing crystal in one of her hands. Unlike the others, she does not wear a mask, her face contorted in rage and her frizzy brown hair askew, reminding me of a ruffled porcupine.

  “There!” I shout, motioning at the woman with my spear. “Take out that mage!”

  One of the crossbow-wielding Nightingales raising his weapon to shoot, but before he can get off his shot, he too becomes alight with magefyre. He goes down faster than he can scream.

  “Eleven bloody Hells,” I quietly curse as I dodge an attack from a cultist with a sword. Much more of this and we’re done for!

  The rest of us fall back, taking up a defensive position as the cultists advance.

  “Wedge formation, gents,” I say to the others quietly. “Give me an opening and I’ll try to stop that mage. Sounds good?”

  The remaining Nightingales grunt their agreement, expressions grim as they regard the oncoming enemies.

  I take a few steps back, let
ting the others form up in front of me, and wait for the fighting to begin anew. Within seconds the cultists let out a unified shout and attack, colliding with our line hard. The Nightingales hold their ground and punch a hole through the enemy rank, giving me a chance to rush through to the other side.

  Light, please forgive my many transgressions... I just wanted to have a little fun in this life.

  Lifting my shield, I grit my teeth and race through the gap, jumping over the smoldering body of a fallen Nightingale and stumbling into the grass beyond. I almost trip but maintain my momentum, running full speed away from the fighting.

  Ahead, I can make out the crazed cultist woman – and she looks absolutely enraged.

  As I raise my spear and charge at her, she screams, “I am the Prophetess, you worm! You think you can defy the will of the Chosen?”

  She hurls a ball of magefyre at me and it explodes on my shield, quickly igniting the wood in a bright flash of blue. Yelping, I wriggle my arm out of the fastenings, tossing the burning chunk of wood off to the side as I continue my charge.

  She snarls like a rabid animal and begins casting another spell, her crystal brightening as she does so.

  Seeing this as my last opportunity, I double down, pumping my legs hard as I lift up my bloody spear tip. Fire begins to form in her open palm, the flames flickering and hot.

  Letting out a ragged yell, I lunge, stabbing forward with all my strength as I clear the final few steps. It strikes true, piercing deep into her gut and out the other side. She gasps, eyes widening in pain as the magefyre winks out like a snuffed candle, and as I continue to push she falls backward, the spear tip going down into the soft soil and pinning her to the ground.

  I drop to my knees as she dies, letting go of the spear and gasping for breath.

  Behind me, the last of the Nightingales cheer, emboldened by my stupid yet successful display of heroics. The cultists falter upon seeing their leader die, and the rest are quickly cut down like dogs, blood splattering the headstones like winter rain.

  “Nice work there, ranger,” one of the Nightingales says as I pull out my spear and approach them. Less than half remain of the group that originally came with me.

  “Yeah,” I reply, still breathing heavily. “Thanks. You too.”

  WHEN WE RETURN TO ELIAS and the others, I’m grateful to see that they seem to have gotten the fire under control. Dozens of citizens have come out of hiding to help them, and now there is a small army of people hauling water and dousing the blaze.

  “Good,” Elias says gruffly upon seeing us. “You’ve returned. Now we must return to the wall.”

  “That’s it?” I reply incredulously. “We risk our lives to hunt down some insane cultists – several of us dying in the process – and we don’t even get a ‘thank you’ from you?”

  The Nightingales around me shift uncomfortably at my subordinance and Elias gives me a hard look.

  “Thank you for your sacrifice, soldier,” he growls. “I’m glad you were successful. But speak to me like that again, and I’ll have the Master Warden string you up from the wall by your bootheels. Got it?”

  I hold his gaze for a long moment, but eventually look away. “Yes, sir.”

  He nods, then turns to address everyone else. “Alright, men. It looks like these good people have things under control. It’s time for us to head back to the front. Gather your things and let’s go.”

  They jump to do as he says, picking up their discarded weapons and armor and forming up behind him on the street.

  Elias is a tough bastard, I think to myself as we begin making our way to the western districts. No wonder Owyn rarely smiles. With a master like that, he probably had all the joy beaten out of him.

  When we finally return to the wall, it is already late into the afternoon. We are greeted by shouting and the sounds of fighting, the men above us on the battlements shooting arrows pushing down the ladders of another wave of gorgons.

  “Lord Protector!” One of the officers shouts upon seeing us. “Captain Kris is waiting for you on the tower! There is something you should probably see.”

  Elias nods and dismisses our group, telling everyone to return to their posts. When I try to go back to the barracks, however, he stops me with a gruff command. “Ranger Meecham! With me. The Master Warden gave me full command of the rangers, and we could use your spear on the wall.”

  Hells, I think, turning around and following him up the stairs. Should’ve shown the blighter a little more respect.

  We make our way to the top of the tower, climbing the steps swiftly and passing wounded soldiers on the way up. When we arrive, we immediately see what is causing all of the commotion.

  Rolling across the battlefield, pulled by a score of large, horned beasts, is an enormous metal monstrosity contained within a latticework of timbers. Like the other demonic devices, it is in the shape of a tube and covered in strange glyphs and carvings, and it stands high above the ground, dwarfing even the balors lumbering out of its way.

  “Burn me, but that’s a big one,” I mutter, jaw going slack.

  “Yes,” Elias replies, voice not much more than a rumble. “A big one indeed.”

  He immediately turns and rushes to the side of the tower, shouting for the mages to assemble at once. The great machine is still a good distance away, but it is clearly angling for the gatehouse. At the speed the strange beasts are pulling it, it will be in position shortly.

  Blue-robed mages begin gathering upon the wall, crystals at the ready and awaiting their High Magus’ command.

  The gorgon assault has seemingly pulled back, waiting for the device to do its work before making another attack on the city.

  As the massive wheels grind to a halt, the mages begin casting their spell in unison, completely enveloping the gatehouse in a shimmering bubble. Judging by the strain on many of their faces, I’d say maintaining the shield requires a tremendous amount of effort.

  Below, black-robed gorgons begin to gather around the machine, bringing with them a large group of what looks like humans bound in chains.

  Probably prisoners taken from Green Harbor, I think to myself uneasily, watching as the humans are brought before the gorgons.

  To my absolute horror, the demons begin to do something to the prisoners, sucking green energy from their bodies and channeling it into the machine. The humans begin dropping one by one until every single one of them has fallen to the ground.

  Aghast, many archers begin lobbing arrows at the monsters, but they are just outside of bow range. The missiles thud uselessly into the grass many paces away from them.

  Now, the huge metal tube glows with an infernal light, pulsing like it has a twisted heartbeat of its own.

  “Hold the shield!” Elias cries, looking to the mages. “They’re about to shoot!”

  Sure enough, the machine begins to charge up, a deep thrum resounding through the air. At the very last minute, though, the beasts lashed to the thing begin to move right, directing the tube away from the gatehouse to another section of the wall.

  A stretch of stone that is completely unprotected.

  “Move the spell!” Elias roars, waving his arms like a madman. “Move the spell! We must protect the wall!”

  He is too late.

  The machine erupts, spewing a blinding gout of green energy at the wall with enough force to cause its casing to roll backward. The sound is deafening, the concussion so powerful that it causes many atop the tower, including myself, to fall backward. There is a sound like rending earth then a crash, followed by a high-pitched ringing noise that fills my ears.

  By the time I manage to get to my feet, the smoke has already begun to clear.

  Just beside the gatehouse where there used to be thick blocks of stone there is now a gaping hole, a gap so wide that an entire army can fit through.

  Eleven bloody Hells, I think, panic welling up inside me. Now we’re in big trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Zara

&nbs
p; “I’m sure he’s fine, Zara,” Sira says, painting on a reassuring smile. “The boy’s probably just taking his time to make sure we’re safe.”

  I pause in my nervous pacing long enough to nod my head distractedly. “Yes... yes, that’s probably it.”

  She pats me softly on the back and departs, going over to the other mages resting on the side of the road. Nearby, our horses graze and drink from a small pond. It is midafternoon, and though no demons have attacked us yet in the forest, Owyn has yet to return.

  Blasted ranger, always insisting on going out on his own, I think to myself in frustration while I pace. Doesn’t he realize that it’s not just him anymore? We’re in this thing together, now. I force myself to stop and take a deep, calming breath, closing my eyes to shut out the world. It’s going to be okay. He probably just shot a deer or something, and carrying it back is slowing him down.

  Somehow, the thought does little to comfort me.

  I continue to wait on the edge of our group, unable to eat or drink or rest. My eyes are focused eastward, on the path I hope Owyn will take when he comes back to us. Nearby, the wastelanders lean upon their spears and watch with me. They have hardly left my side since Owyn departed.

  Footsteps eventually cause me to turn and regard a handful of mages who have approached me from behind. Sira is there, along with her sister Kaleigh, and the dour-looking Vargus with his unkempt beard.

  “It’s time for us to go, Seeker,” Vargus says brusquely. “We’ve tarried here long enough.”

  “Just a few more minutes,” I reply hotly, turning back to gaze at the forest.

  Sira clears her throat and steps up beside me, laying a gentle hand on my arm. “He’ll catch up to us, dearie. Don’t you worry about that. But we really should be going now.”

  “We have a schedule to keep to,” Kaleigh chimes in from behind.

  Blinking back tears, I finally nod and allow myself to be led away. Nobody comments as we ready the horses and mount up, a somber attitude permeating the group.