Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  “Tell your mages to stand down,” I bark, teeth barred. “Now!”

  “Stand down!” He croaks, his voice a strangled gasp. “For Light’s sake, stand down!”

  The blue light fades behind me, and I offer the man an unpleasant smile. “We don’t have time for cowards, High Magus.” I lean in close and stare hard into his dark eyes. “We can’t afford inaction. Either you pull yourself together and do your duty to the realm, or I kill you right here with my bare hands and find someone else to take your place. Understood?”

  Again, he nods.

  “Now, what will it be?”

  He swallows, then clears his throat. “I will pull myself together. Forgive me, Protector. I... I don’t know what came over me.”

  I continue to stare at him for a moment, then finally nod my head. Releasing my grip on his robes, I straighten and take a step back, casting my eyes around the room at the other mages.

  Every single one of them stares at me like I am some sort of wild beast, their eyes wide and their faces pale.

  “The lot of you – get back outside,” I command tersely. “There’s about a dozen places I could use each of you. Get moving.”

  They practically trip over themselves as they scramble to obey.

  I step out of the building without bothering to look back at the High Magus, breathing in the stale, humid air in an attempt to clear my head. Night has begun to fall, though it doesn’t really seem like it. Fires blaze all along the wall, red flames mingling with green to create a hue that is both beautiful and terrifying to behold. Behind the barricade, pitch-soaked torches send oily smoke into the sky and large bonfires burn in the middle of the street.

  There will be no sleeping for the defenders this night.

  This, unfortunately, will likely be a night of violence.

  Taking another deep breath and exhaling slowly, I walk back over to Captain Kris who is coordinating the defense of the barricade with several Nightingale officers.

  “Lord Protector,” he says as I approach, saluting and prompting the others to do the same.

  “At ease,” I grumble, stepping up onto the platform to observe the battlefield. “High Magus Roth will no longer be a problem. Captain, report.”

  Kris clears his throat and comes to stand next to me. “The archers are in position, protector, as well as the foot soldiers. We’re about as prepared as we’ll ever be for an assault. The Master Warden sent a message not two minutes ago. She’s set up in the Cathedral of Light with rangers watching the ramparts. Kill squads are roaming the streets, picking off any demons that manage to slip through our barricades.”

  “Good,” I reply with a grunt. And thank the Light that she’s still alive. “Have the demons made any attempt to push?”

  “Not yet,” Kris answers, shaking his head. “They’ve filled up the walls with their archers but have yet to make their way across the courtyard. Perhaps they’re waiting for something?”

  “Perhaps,” I mutter, gazing up at the walls.

  Sure enough, the gorgons have crowded the battlements, their glowing red eyes leering down at us from atop the scarred, white walls. The smoking holes are filled with rows of troops, gorgons and darkhounds and other feral beasts, but none of them attempt to assault our position. Why aren’t you attacking? I wonder, chewing my lip in consternation. What are you waiting for?

  Above, blackwings swoop down like bats looking for field mice, their clawed feet snatching at men stationed on the rooftops. Their efforts are easily foiled though, as hundreds of arrows shoot up and ward them away.

  As I am contemplating our next move, a series of deep roars rumbles across the battlefield. They seem to originate from beyond the wall, a terrible sound unlike anything I have ever heard before.

  “Eleven Hells,” I growl. “What now?”

  Huge shapes begin making their way through the rubble and smoke of the destroyed wall, lumbering like giants past the insignificant foot soldiers. Legs like tree trunks carry thick, muscular bodies clad in metal, and sitting atop impossibly large shoulders are heads like boulders with twisted, curving horns. Each of them carries a weapon that looks like it can level an entire house, and when they begin making their way toward our position, the very earth seems to tremble beneath their feet.

  Light almighty, I think to myself in horror, drawing my sword. Balors!

  Chapter Thirty

  Zara

  The darkness of the mine feels almost oppressive as Owyn and I make our way down the tunnel.

  We hold each other tightly as we stumble through the dark, tripping over loose stones and grasping for the uneven walls. Behind us, rocks crumble from where the tunnel had collapsed, trapping us beneath the hill while the demons rage outside.

  Vargus was right, I think to myself in a daze. There’s no turning back now. We’ve reached the point of no return. We must either succeed in creating this artifice, or perish in the darkness beneath this hill.

  A faint light emanates from deeper in the mine, a ghostly blue glow that barely illuminates the way. Beside me, Owyn limps on a wounded leg, his fatigue evident in the way he carries himself.

  It mirrors my own exhaustion, the shield I conjured having weakened me significantly.

  After what feels like an eternity we finally make it to the main chamber, the mages and the wastelander youths having gathered themselves together before the enormous source crystal. It rises from the floor of the cave like a column of glittering azure glass, its multi-faceted surface catching the light of the magefyre and sending brilliant sparkles shooting out in all directions. Several of the mages whisper to one another reverently, but most simply stare up in wonder, their jaws slack as they study the massive crystal.

  Above, a small vent in the ceiling lets in the afternoon sun, a golden shaft that blends beautifully with the blues of the mine.

  “That worries me,” Owyn notes, gesturing up at the vent.

  I frown, gazing up at the diminutive hole. “You think any demons can get through there?”

  He shrugs. “Probably not, but it’s a weakness. It can be exploited, maybe widened. Assuming the demons can access that part of the hill, we’ll need to find a way to guard it.”

  Smiling tiredly, I pat him affectionately on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, husband.”

  He grins, but it quickly turns into a pained grimace as he shifts the weight on his leg.

  “That needs to be taken care of, first,” I remark, eyebrows knitting together with worry. “It must hurt terribly.”

  “It’s not so bad,” he replies with a dismissive wave. “But you’re right – it does need to be taken care of. I’ll take a few minutes to clean it, then I’ll go with Yari and the others to see about securing this mine.”

  He turns to leave, but before he can get away, I grab his arm and pull him close. “Thanks for staying with me back there,” I say quietly, staring into his deep, forest green eyes. “For a second, I was afraid that that was going to be the end for me.”

  “Come on, Zara,” he says, holding my gaze with a smile. “You should know this by now – I’d never leave you.”

  “I know,” I reply, a little abashed. “It’s just... I really appreciate it, knowing that you’re here with me. It makes saving the world a little more bearable.”

  Beaming, he responds with four simple words. “I love you, Zara.”

  We kiss, lips meeting as we stand together at the edge of the large cavern. A force stronger than radiant magic surges within me, and when we finally break apart, I find that my heartbeat has quickened within my chest.

  “Alright,” I say, a bit breathlessly, “no time to dally. We’ve important work to do.”

  He looks at me in a way that makes me blush and replies, “As you wish, Magus.” Then, he hobbles off to join with the wastelanders.

  Sighing contentedly, I make my way over to the mages who are still standing awestruck before the source crystal. Several balls of magefyre float in the air around them, illumi
nating the area in a dazzling aura of different shades of blue.

  “It’s magnificent,” Paulus, a middle-aged man, remarks quietly. “I never thought I’d see it’s like in my lifetime.”

  “A source crystal of this size was not supposed to exist,” replies Edith, a spry woman in perhaps her early sixties. “The Heart of Light was an anomaly – no one believed another one existed on the face of Byhalya.”

  “Well, it clearly exists,” Vargus answers sourly. “Now, we must use it to our advantage. Seeker, shall we begin?”

  All eyes turn to regard me as I approach the group from behind. Their faces range from astonishment, to hope, to concern. Even Vargus, with his hard expression and heavy grey eyebrows looks to me expectantly, waiting for me to speak.

  Taking in a deep breath, I address the gathered mages, many of whom are more than twice my age.

  “As you can see, this source crystal is of a kind with the Heart of Light,” I begin, clasping my hands in front of me. “It is roughly the same size, and it is still connected to its roots beneath the ground, which means its natural power remains untarnished. If the literature on source crystals is to be believed, that would make this artifice extremely potent.”

  Many of the gathered mages bob their heads in agreement, but the Magister merely scowls.

  “Get to the point, Seeker,” Vargus grunts. “Tell us what we must do so that we can all go home.”

  I continue unfazed, my demeanor cool in spite of the man’s tone. “There is a good deal of preparation that needs to be done before we can attempt the casting. Measurements need to be taken and the spell needs to be adjusted. I’ll write the words of power down for us to discuss. Then, we need to determine how much energy needs to be channeled in order to bring the artifice to life. We’ll only have one shot at this. I expect it will require some rather extensive calculation.”

  We begin organizing into groups, each mage going to the area of his or her expertise. Sira and several others scratch complicated formulae onto scraps of parchment while others pull out measuring implements in an attempt to account for the source crystal’s exact size.

  Vargus, his ego inflated without good reason, begins taking charge, inserting himself into various conversations to offer advice or weigh in with his opinion.

  I spend the next half hour or so writing down the words of the spell in detail, explaining to the mages what the various syllables mean and what it entails. Then, with everybody working, I go over to check on Owyn, who is leaning against a wall on the far side of the chamber.

  “Are you doing better?” I ask, noting curiously how Yari seems to be hunched over, administering to Owyn’s leg.

  “Much better,” Owyn replies, pointing at his wound. “Yari here apparently knows a thing or two about field triage. The moss that grows in this mine has medicinal properties, and can help fight off infection.”

  Sure enough, Yari seems to be packing the wound with wet strips of dark green moss. Even so, I can’t help but grimace as I watch the youth work. Owyn’s pant leg is rolled up, revealing a garish cut on the side of his calf and halfway up his thigh. It looks rather painful, but Owyn bears the treatment with a stoicism that would make Elias proud.

  “Kanik and Vas are exploring some of the other tunnels,” he continues, resting his head back against the stone. “When we’re done here, Yari and I will join them – see what we can do about securing this place.”

  “That’s good,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Though, I think this place is already quite secure.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Owyn answers, face growing grim. “If there is one thing I know about the R’Laar, it’s that their determined. If they want to get in here, they’ll find a way. When they do, I intend to be ready for them.”

  Such a ranger, I find myself thinking affectionately. The R’Laar aren’t the only ones that are determined. “Well, don’t push yourself too hard,” I chide gently, offering him a friendly smile. “I still need you to be able to walk out of here when all this is done.”

  He assures me that he will and that I must promise to do the same before I depart, heading back over to be with the mages.

  We continue working late into the evening, even after the sun goes down and the black sky of night can be seen through the vent in the ceiling. Vargus organizes our provisions on the floor near the crystal, rationing the food and water so that we do not starve to death before we can complete our mission.

  Finally, we force ourselves to retire, reasoning that the spell will surely fail if we are not well-rested. We set a watch and settle down, trying to get as comfortable as possible on the uneven stone floor, and one by one begin drifting off to sleep.

  Outside, the howls of the darkhounds can be heard ringing out through the hills, reminding us that just beyond the dirt and stone is an army of demons waiting to devour us.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Elias

  “Balors!”

  Men scream in terror as the great behemoths make their way to the barricade, enormous weapons held high as they prepare to strike our defenses.

  “Archers! Mages!” I shout pointing my sword at the charging demons. “Bring those creatures down!”

  On the barricade, everyone scrambles to get out of the way, but fortunately, the archers and the mages do as I command. A hail of arrows and magefyre rains down on the balors, slowing them down in their attack. Some of the beasts actually go down with ear-shattering wails of pain, their flesh igniting like oil-soaked leather and sizzling from the magical flames.

  Still, most manage to make it through, bringing their clubs and swords down on our makeshift defenses.

  Splinters fly as timbers crack, broken by the sheer weight of the balor’s weapons, and those soldiers who are not quick enough to get out of the way are crushed, squashed like insects before the might of the great demons. The beasts are brutal and efficient, working with frightening strength to completely obliterate the barricade, ripping down the roughly-built walls as if they are nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

  “Pull back!” I cry as dust and broken bits of debris fly through the air. “Pull back and regroup on the street!”

  Nightingales and armored knights stagger backward as our defenses are decimated, many of them tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

  Arrows and magical fire continue to rain on the balors, but like the rest of the R’Laar, they seem to push forward without any fear of death. There is almost a full dozen of them in total, many of their heads taller than even the buildings around us.

  “Eleven Hells,” I curse, dodging out of the way as an enormous slab of stone is knocked down and sent tumbling over the cobblestones. Nearby, one of the balors crashes through an entire building, knocking down the walls and roof and sending archers screaming to the ground.

  All around me is death and destruction on a scale I’ve never before seen. Everyone seems to be in a full-fledged panic, some soldiers even throwing down their weapons and fleeing deeper into the city.

  Need to act fast, I think to myself, mind racing as I back away from the barricade. Somehow, we need to bring those big bastards down.

  Working with Captain Kris, we begin rallying the troops, shouting as loud as we can and organizing ranks in the street. We even order the siege equipment pulled back – the security of the machines compromised by the loss of the wall.

  Beyond the ruined barricade, the demon foot soldiers begin to charge, closing the gap in the courtyard and rushing up to where the balors stand. The big creatures do not attempt to engage us, though, most of them seemingly content with destroying the remnants of our defenses and the surrounding buildings – that, and crushing the unlucky human that gets too close.

  Swords and spears aren’t going to do any good against them, I think, watching as shields and spears are positioned near the front of the ranks. The only thing that seems to have any affect is magefyre. I need more bloody mages.

  Having pulverized the barricades to rubble
, the balors begin to push forward, followed by a gleeful army of gorgons and snarling darkhounds. They seem to crowd behind the behemoths as they carve a path through the city.

  “Spears up!” I command, raising my sword high. “Hold your ground! We cannot allow them to get past us!”

  Around me, men shake in their boots and offer prayers to the Light, their fear almost tangible as it hangs over us like a cloud.

  Those archers who remain continue to shoot arrows at the balors, and every once in a while, a mage with throw a fireball, but the attempts are weak and too sporadic, having minimal effect on the demons.

  Just as the creatures are about to fall on us, I sense a presence standing next to me in the middle of the street.

  “Roth?” I ask, incredulous. “You’ve decided now to join us?”

  “Tell your men to fall back,” he says, voice grim and expression calm. “They must leave now.”

  “What in the Hells are you talking about, man?” I practically shout the words in his face.

  He doesn’t seem bothered by my outburst, or anything else for that matter. He continues to stare calmly at me, his eyes both serious and resolute. “I’m going to cast a spell on the balors, and your men can’t be here when I do. Have them pull back to the Market District and begin preparing your defenses there.”

  Just then, the demons fall upon the first ranks of soldiers, killing many of them instantly. The long spears seem to give them pause, but only for a few seconds, their tree-sized swords and clubs sweeping them aside like a child pushing away unwanted toys. Instinctively, I know that we cannot hold this position.

  If we stay here, every single one of us will die.

  Biting back a curse, I sound the retreat, calling for the rest of the soldiers to pull back. They gladly oblige, backing away from the demonic onslaught as quickly as they can.