Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  “Rangers, open up!” I call, racing up the stairs and pounding on the doors. “It’s Elias! Let us inside!”

  Behind me, the Nightingales struggle to hold back the ranks of gorgons.

  There is a grinding sound like groaning metal and a heavy wooden thud, then a squeal as the hinges are pushed open.

  “Hurry inside!” A voice comes from beyond the darkness of the portal. “Quickly!”

  We rush into the cathedral, a hail of arrows coming down to keep the demons back and cover our escape. Once we are all inside, the thick, wooden doors are pushed shut and locked in place.

  Blinking against the gloom, we find ourselves in a vast chapel that has been turned into a hospital. The pews have all been moved away to allow stretchers and gurneys to be laid out on the stone floor, and surgeons mill about, administering to the ranger wounded. Steely-eyed Warden Quinn stands beside us, a longbow in hand and a battle-axe strapped to his back.

  “Your arrival is well-timed, Elias,” he says, voice and expression grim. “The R’Laar have brought their war machines to bear against us.”

  Just as he finishes speaking, there is a loud boom and the very foundation of the cathedral shakes. A stream of dust falls on us from the ceiling, and I brush it off my shoulders before responding.

  “Where is the Master Warden?”

  Quinn points with his bow to the far side of the cathedral. “She’s in the priest’s quarters of the western wing. She and the other Wardens are attempting to coordinate our defense.”

  “Right,” I reply, turning to address the Nightingales. “Stay here and guard the entrance. Listen to Warden Quinn – he will command you while I am away. Talon, on me.”

  With that, I break away from the group, barely waiting for Talon to jog after me.

  The cathedral is in even worse shape on the inside, many of the corridors and rooms caved in from the barrage. Rangers stand guard near every hole, shooting arrows with deadly precision at the attacking demon horde.

  Eventually we come to a room on the west side of the cathedral, a sparsely-furnished chamber with a low ceiling and a war table taking up the middle. Tamara stands there with a handful of other wardens, pouring over a map spread out over the table.

  “At last report, we had kill squads here, here and here,” she says, pointing to places on the map. “If they are still alive, they should prevent the rest of the R’Laar from reaching the inner districts.”

  Our entrance prompts all of them to turn, and Talon fidgets awkwardly at my side.

  “Ah, Protector Keen,” she says coolly, hand resting on the hilt of the Grandmaster’s Sword. “I was wondering when you’d bring our newest ranger back to us.”

  I hold her gaze from across the room. “Master Warden... I – I’m pleased to see that you are alive. I’ve come to aid you and your fellow rangers.”

  Her mouth quirks up in a small, sorrowful smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, Elias,” she answers, turning back to peer at the table, “but we can no longer hold this position. We’re planning to evacuate the cathedral as soon as possible.”

  “I see.”

  Again, a terrible boom shakes the stones around us. Everyone in the room seems to wince and brace themselves for the worst, but the shaking soon fades.

  I clear my throat. “Well, I have about fifty armed soldiers ready to assist you in the evacuation. Tell us what to do, and we will help.”

  Tamara glances back and for a moment, it is as if I am looking back at the demure blonde girl that I once knew. Her frosty eyes connect with mine, and then it is back to business. “The biggest challenge will be moving the wounded,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “The resistance is light on the east side of the courtyard, but when the demons see us fleeing they will converge on us quickly. We may need your men to engage the enemy directly so that we can evacuate.”

  A plan begins to formulate and soon we are leaving the priest’s chambers and making our way back to the main chapel, traversing the darkened hallways. Tamara and I take up the rear, and when we are relatively alone, she speaks to me in a lowered voice.

  “I honestly didn’t expect to see you again,” she murmurs, brow furrowed. “With the city falling, I figured this was the last place you would want to be.”

  “Your rangers are a vital part of the defense,” I reply gruffly. “I needed to make sure that they were okay.”

  She pulls up short and jabs a finger hard into my chest. “Enough of the lies, Protector,” she growls, blue eyes piercing. “When you entered that room and saw me, the relief on your face was as plain as day. You and I both know that you came here because you thought that I was in danger. Admit it.”

  For an instant, I am completely speechless, a part of me awed by her observation skills. Then, my expression hardens, face turning to stone. “It’s as I said. The defense of this city is my top priority.”

  She eyes me for a moment, then throws up her hands in disgust. “Ugh! You’re unbelievable! I’ve never met a more stubborn man, Elias Keen.” She turns away from me and begins storming down the hall.

  I follow after her, my emotions a storm within me, but I maintain a cool exterior. I cannot allow myself to succumb to her prodding.

  As we enter the main chamber of the cathedral, we begin coordinating the evacuation, my Nightingales helping with the wounded and the rangers gathering near the front door. When the word is given, they will charge out and engage the demons in the courtyard, allowing the others to flee deeper into the city. The plan is to gather with the other civilians near the ruins of the Conclave – the exact center of Tarsys.

  If the R’Laar reach us there, that means the city will truly be lost.

  Just as we are gathering up the wounded and preparing to burst through the cathedral doors, another loud boom sounds from the outside and shakes the ground beneath our feet. This one seems much closer, and is followed by a second and even louder boom. Rangers and Nightingales alike are knocked to the ground by the shock, and torrents of dust fall from the ceiling, raining down upon our heads and making the air thick and hazy.

  The western wall and a large portion of the ceiling buckles and for a moment, looks like it is going to hold. Then, with a rending crack, it collapses, sending an avalanche of broken stone and masonry cascading into the hall.

  Dozens are instantly buried by the barrage, their screams stifled by the debris as it falls down upon them.

  I watch in horror from my place near the front doors, concerned that the entire cathedral is about to topple on our heads. Tamara, who is assisting a group of wounded rangers, stands dangerously close to where the rubble is falling.

  “Tamara! Watch out!”

  She and the others try desperately to get out of the way, but they, too, are buried by a deluge of shattered stonework.

  A billowing cloud of grit and dust fills the great hall, and then everything grows silent.

  Without thinking, I rush blindly through the haze to get to the spot where the Master Warden had been. As I go, I trip over chunks of wood and broken pieces of tile.

  Oh, Light! Tamara!

  The image of her face, eyes wide with fear as the wall collapses, causes my heart to seize up within my chest.

  The thought of her dying is even worse.

  When I reach the massive pile of debris, I immediately begin sifting through it, moving bricks and shoving aside large slabs of plaster. Behind me, warriors groan and move about, picking themselves up from the ground and searching for somebody – anybody – to lead them.

  Right now, that person isn’t me.

  “Light... Tamara!” I grunt as I bend down and begin digging through the wreckage with my fingers. “Hold on! I’ll find you!”

  My efforts uncover bodies and body parts, all half-buried beneath mounds of rubble, but Tamara is not among them. Even as I claw, fingernails bleeding, I am unable to locate her amidst all of the detritus.

  Light almighty – please, don’t let her be dead.

  Warde
n Quinn’s voice echoes through the remainder of the cathedral. “The demons are advancing! We need to get out of here! Those of you who are able, come with me to hold them off! The rest of you, get yourselves and the wounded and retreat to the Conclave!”

  Boots thud on stone and gradually disappear, leaving me to paw through the rubble alone.

  My eyes are eventually drawn to something sticking out from beneath a large, wooden beam – it appears to be a braid, a twisted tangle of hair covered with dust and lying half-buried on the floor.

  Blonde hair.

  I cry out and leap into action, scrambling to the beam and searching for a handhold. Using every ounce of strength that I possess, I reach down and pull, lifting the beam and revealing the form of the Master Warden beneath. Tamara lies on her side in a small pocket formed by chunks of the falling ceiling. Though the space seems to have protected her body from being crushed, she carries a bloody wound on the side of her head and her foot is twisted at an odd angle.

  Heaving, I toss the beam aside and fall to my knees beside her, my breaths coming in ragged gasps and tears welling up in my eyes.

  “Tamara, can you hear me?” My voice sounds husky in my ears. I reach forward and take her hand, noting sadly that it feels limp and lifeless.

  The wound is bloody and caked with dirt, but it appears to be shallow. Was it blunt force or simply a gash? I know all too well what a head wound can do to a person.

  She doesn’t respond, and I can feel the tears start to run down my face. “Damn you, Tamara. Why didn’t you run away with me all those years ago? We could have avoided this whole mess. We could have lived our lives in peace, together. We could have been happy...”

  Behind me, the remaining rangers and Nightingales begin their abandonment of the cathedral. Outside, I can hear the sounds of pitched combat.

  Exhaling softly, I squeeze my eyes shut and wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. There’s no time to waste, I think, forcing away the profound feeling of loss. I still have a city to defend. I release her hand and am about to get to my feet when I hear a faint voice. It is a small, frail voice, but it is also somehow teasing, the sound causing my heart to leap within my chest.

  “You see? I knew that you still cared for me.”

  I look down and see Tamara’s eyes fluttering open, a demure half-smile gracing her features. She gazes up at me from the ground, blue eyes stark against her pale skin and the blood on her left temple, and she reaches up and squeezes my hand, her grip surprisingly strong.

  For a moment I am taken aback, my jaw dropping open in astonishment. But after a few seconds I burst into a fit of joyous laughter, my eyes welling up with new tears.

  Her smile broadens and she begins laughing as well, a bond of love reigniting between us like a burning coal stoked back to life.

  Leaning down, I kiss her gently on the lips, tasting the salt of our mingled tears. It is a simple gesture. Nevertheless, it fills me with a new sense of strength and sends a warm shockwave through all my limbs.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” I say at length, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Can you walk?”

  She grimaces and shakes her head. “I think my ankle is broken.”

  “Alright,” I reply, sliding my other arm beneath her legs and scooping her up. “Then I will carry you.”

  As I begin making my way out of the rubble, though, she calls for me to stop.

  “Wait,” she says, wincing in pain. “Take Light’s Edge.” She gestures to the beautifully-crafted sword lying in the dust right next to where she had been. “The Grandmaster’s Sword should not be left behind. Frankly, I can think of no one better who could wield it.”

  Without hesitation, I set her down softly and unbuckle my own longsword, discarding it and picking up Light’s Edge. The blade is expertly-made and feels comfortable in my hand, its weight perfectly balanced and razor sharp. Embossed on the hilt is a depiction of an arrowhead – the ancient symbol of the rangers.

  After hesitating for just a moment, I strap the weapon to my waist and pick Tamara back up, racing away from the rubble and to the open door of the cathedral.

  Almost the entire building has been evacuated, a few straggling rangers helping the wounded to the exit. We cross the tiled expanse quickly and head outside, breathing the smoky air of a city under siege.

  Gorgons clash with human warriors in an open brawl in the courtyard, many bodies littering cobblestones around them. The Nightingales and the rangers both fight to hold back an entire legion of the red-eyed demons, struggling to hold the way open for everyone else to escape. A line of wounded men and women hobble behind the line of battle, making their way to the streets that will lead them deeper into the city.

  “Come on,” I mutter, going down the steps and sidestepping the corpse of a hook horror riddled with arrows. “We need to get to the Conclave and make contact with Captain Kris.”

  Many of the nearby Nightingales including Talon fall into step around me, guarding the two of us from any demons that manage to slip through the line. A few gorgons break through, but they are quickly dispatched, and it isn’t long until we manage to make it through the cathedra’s courtyard.

  Tamara clings to me as we walk, her slight yet muscular body resting easily in my arms. Her scent is familiar to me – leather armor mingled with sweat and the faint smell of flower blossoms.

  I find it more alluring than even the costliest perfume.

  Despite the closeness I feel with my former lover, I cannot help but notice the destruction of the city around me. The R’Laar have managed to penetrate deeper than I would have thought possible. Every side street we pass seems to be choked with armed soldiers fighting off demons. Smoke rises from dozens of neighborhoods like black columns reaching into the sky, and bodies of all shapes and sizes rest discarded on the ground, their blood slicking the cobbles.

  It isn’t until we reach the city’s center that I finally begin to feel safe once more.

  The Conclave stands like a broken circle, the bridged towers of the mages seemingly lonely without the mighty company of the Pillar of Radiance. Still, it is a welcome sight. This place is the last magical defense of a city on the brink of destruction.

  The great concourse is filled with people, citizens who were forced to flee their homes and take refuge within the ring of towers. Behind the barricades and guard posts, people huddle together in large groups, clutching at their children and meager possessions with fear plain on their faces. The few mages who remain appear to be haunted as well – their High Magus dead and their headquarters overrun.

  Despair seems to have infected everyone yet living.

  As we pass through the gates of the Conclave, striding past the guards nervously holding their halberds, I set Tamara down on a bench and wave Talon over to my side.

  “She needs medical attention,” I say, resting a hand on the Grandmaster’s Sword. “See that she gets it, and then guard her with your life. Understood?”

  “I understand,” he replies seriously.

  “Good.” I turn to regard Tamara. “I need to go make contact with Captain Kris – the R’Laar are pushing deeper into the city and we need to stop them before they reach the Conclave. Can you have your rangers set up a perimeter?”

  “Of course,” she answers. Then, more quietly, she says, “You come back to me, Elias Keen. I did not wait all these years to have you die at the hands of some demon.”

  I give her a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  Leaning down, I kiss her on the forehead then depart, leaving a confused-looking Talon as I head back out into the city.

  The farther I get from the towers of the Conclave, the louder the sounds of destruction become.

  Patrols of steel-clad knights and green-cloaked rangers pass by as I run toward the embattled districts, their armor dented and scuffed and their weapons dark with blood. I do not get very far, though, before I begin to see signs of the R’Laar.

  They’ve penetrated so far, I lament, eyin
g the corpse of a darkhound with an axe embedded in its spine. How could they have gotten through all of our defenses?

  I draw my sword and address the fleeing soldiers in the strongest voice I can muster. “Nightingales! Hold! Why do you run?”

  The soldiers skid to a halt in front of me, shame mixing with the abject terror painting their expressions.

  “The Market District has fallen,” one of them says, breathing heavily. “The demons have flooded the streets and more are coming this way!”

  “They’ve sent more balors into the city,” another offers, his eyes wide with fear. “They’re crushing buildings and destroying all of our barricades!”

  I wave my sword to silence them as more begin to speak in hurried tones. “Where’s Captain Kris? I need to speak with him!”

  They all fall silent and look at each other uncertainly, then back at me.

  “Captain Kris is dead, Protector,” the first soldier replies timidly. “I saw him die myself – ripped to shreds by a pack of those accursed wolves. With no one to lead us, the defense broke.” He shrugs his mailed shoulders in defeat. “I... I’m sorry.”

  “Eleven Hells,” I curse, anger and frustration seeping into my voice. Then that’s it, the entire west half of the city has been lost. All we can do now is make a final stand. “Get yourselves to the Conclave,” I growl, gesturing with Light’s Edge. “The guards there will need all the help they can get.”

  The Nightingales nod and race off, disappearing back the way I had come and leaving me alone in the middle of the street.

  Light, I pray quietly, bowing my head for just a moment, please... we need a miracle. I fear that we will not survive much longer. If you can hear me, please send us a little help until Owyn and Zara can complete their quest.

  Taking a deep breath, I mentally change my plans. Instead of trying to hold a district already overrun by demons, I decide to command every soldier I pass to retreat back to the Conclave.

  If there is anywhere in the city we can hold them off, it is there.