by Lucas Hault
THE CONQUERING
DARKNESS
BOOK ONE OF
THE SHADOW OF DEATH
LUCAS HAULT
Copyright © 2018, Lucas Hault
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Published in India by Prowess Publishing
YRK Towers, Thadikara Swamy Koil St, Alandur,
Chennai, Tamil Nadu 600016
ISBN-10: 1-5457-3854-8
ISBN-13: 978-1-5457-3854-2
ePUB ISBN: 978-1-5457-4248-8
Mobi ISBN: 978-1-5457-4249-5
The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with caution.
—J.K. Rowling
The City of Harot
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgements
About the Author
The bleak winds howled, sounding like an awful wail of the starving wolves.
It was a cold autumn night. Dry shedded leaves covered the lonely roads, with heaps everywhere around the long roadway that connected to the Southern Woods. The blowing winds and the sound of rustling foliage filled the entire place, beside the roar of a vintage car, tearing through that path, scattering the heaps of dry leaves all around.
“We could have made it much earlier if it wouldn’t have been for you,” roared Allan Will. He was a middle-aged man, with an impassive, rather sulky expression, along with a yellow parchment skin and a pair of tempting blue eyes, dressed in cargos and boots, a revolver butt by his side, and a leather jacket covering his top. Allan had earned his place as a commander in the Synerian army despite his young age, as the man was remarkable for his fortitude and astuteness, which was the solitary reason behind his appointment to the post.
“I was not the only one responsible, but you and Edd as well were fairly involved in gushing those wine down your throats,” replied the man beside him, Rickard Jones, a heavy, golden-haired, dark youth, who was feared by every stranger for his husky appearance, though his disposition were just the opposite. He was the same in age as Allan, clad in a suit of heather tweed with a soft cloth cap; but appeared more mature than his companions.
“Sounds like I am in a company of drunken bastards,” commented Allan irritatingly.
“That company involves a wank commander as well,” mentioned Edd Green, the final companion clutched at the back, struggling with the cannikin held in his hand. He and Rickard laughed, not as much at the remark, but rather to annoy the fierce commander. Allan didn’t look at them but could hear their palms clap against each other. Edd was little more than a boy, frank-faced and cheerful, with the breezy manner of one who is out for a trip and means to enjoy every minute of it. A dark-haired, black-skinned man with a pair of big brown eyes, he was the youngest soldier ever admitted in the army. Though it was his elder brother behind the delegation rather than any of his adroitness, but Edd seemed proud of it.
The men had crossed the extensive wasteland that separated the large forests of Townslane from the thick yellow Southern Woods, following which laid their destination—the abandoned city of Harot.
Harot was located far south of Townslane, the vice-capital of Syneria. It was situated at the southernmost region of Syneria, at the edge of the Southern Continent. Harot was cursed, being evacuated centuries ago. Once regarded as a beautiful city famous for its magnificent buildings and opulent lifestyle, the place now stood in ruins. Its brightness was replaced by darkness, sorrow overtook its laughter, and worst of all, life had surrendered before destruction. The city that was once mesmerizing was presently bare and lonely, haunted by countless tales.
People trying to approach it had never made it back. The matter was reported to Marven Fraser, the current President of the nation, who had sent a large army troop to Harot to discover the truth. But half the troop met with an accident midway, while the ones that remained, making it favourably to the place, never ever returned.
There were countless tales relating to many others who had never made it back from Harot. It was the leading cause as to why the entry to that place was strictly prohibited by law, and the ones trying surpassing it were punishable by death.
“Rules are for the rest. None can dare to stop a commander,” mentioned Edd, as he opened the third beer can, pouring the delicious drink down his throat.
“Surely they will,” he replied at once. “When they notice a capable commander driving a bunch of morons to some restricted place.”
The howling winds slapped their faces all the way through the woods. The weather seemed harsher, much different than before, as if it had changed within an instant. Rickard caught a glimpse of small round eyes staring at them from tall tree branches, being disturbed by the sound of their speeding car. His stomach clenched, but thank heaven, they were nothing more than owls in the branches, fierce and awake.
Allan and Edd continued with their chattering, but he was least interested in their military talk. The tall dense trees wrapped in complete darkness appeared like giant behemoths, sending a shiver down his spine. He could hear the chirping sound of crickets behind the bushes and the absolute silence that surrounded the region.
Allan rushed the car across the woods and towards the land of rumours. His nerves tingled with the sense of adventure. Rickard was imaptient too. The though of witnessing Harot with his own eyes buried the seeds of eagerness within his chest.
The roofless car that Allan drove was exorbitant. Roofed automobiles were used only by the President and his chiefs for their impregnability.
Allan Will had spent three glorious years in Hustlecitis, the capital of Syneria, while Edd was in the service of the Townslane army. Edd Green was the younger brother of Owen Green, one of the highly trusted officials of Lord Elias Solomon Rayne, the Governor General of Townslane, and who was also the closest friend to the President. The third one, Rickard Jones was the son of a nobleman who had been enjoying life with his father’s wealth. He was up to no good, and yet was married to a noblewoman from the exquisite city of Balin because of his father’s status.
The three were close friends, born and brought up in the vice-capital. They were no different than the rest, who had grown up hearing tales about Harot. The tales did not frighten or bother them, but they weren’t the exceptions.
A majority of Synerians regarded the tales of Harot as nothing but a myth, while some considered it as old twisted tales to frighten young children to sleep. They de
nied the existence of anything unnatural or execrable, and referred the believers as ignoramus and dastard.
“Do you really believe in the people and what they say regarding the city?” asked Edd mockingly. He had just emptied the can, throwing it off the car.
“Now I can see the wine playing its part.” He sounded arrogant, which he truly was.
“Maybe Edd has a point,” joked Rickard, trying to pull the leg of the man beside him.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have picked you up, but left you to lay naked beside your woman.” Allan had always been ahead of them in this regard.
“I seriously regret that,” replied Rickard, placing his hands within the pouch. “I should have stayed at home rather than wandering with the vagabonds. At least I would have stayed warm and comfortable with her.” The three laughed.
Allan seemed diligent, with restlessness beating down his chest and vibes of edginess running all over his body. He drove the car through the woods and straight to the gate where stood six of the guards, dressed in chocolate brown attires. They stood by the big iron gate, attached to the towering walls bordering the city which was on the extreme fringe of the world. It was their post, appointed by the President himself to prevent folks from getting past the barricade which would lead to nothing, but the end. However, many refused to believe it at once.
“Is there anything wrong Sir?” asked the stout one among the six.
Allan shook his head in pride. “We are here by the President’s accord. There is something he wants us to look after and that itself brings us to this place.”
There was dubiousness in the guard’s eyes, but he was helpless. He did not had the authority to interrogate a commandant. “Alright Sir!” he said, moving out of their way as the three got off their car. The gate was big, but unfortunately not that spacious to let a fancy car through. “There you go.”
The men didn’t turn around, not once, but walked past the gate and towards their destination.
We did it!” expressed Edd, as they proceeded in.
“I did it,” he reminded, sounding brash. “You would have been taking your ass back through the woods if it wouldn’t have been for me.”
“I might have taken some other way to get through,” said Rickard, sounding hilarious.
“Maybe if you would have offered them something noble, they might have let you in,” he replied.
Rickard looked dull. “What?”
“It appears to me that he was speaking of your noble wife,” mentioned Edd and laughed.
“Don’t you fucking say that.”
“I meant some noble reward or any noble deal,” he opposed. “Don’t listen to that moron. There are always women in his head.”
“Aaah women! The beautiful creation of God.” Edd seemed captivated remembering them. “I am a very religious man, my friend, and this itself makes me love the beautiful creation. This is the reason behind them being tucked deep within my mind.”
“And how many have you been with?” asked Rickard eagerly.
“To be honest, I have lost the count after seven!” Edd seemed to be proud of his so-called accomplishment. “What about you my friend?”
“I am loyal to my wife and I think of none besides her.”
“Who sounds like a moron now?” remarked Edd, and along with Allan laughed.
The conversations continued with their approaching footsteps. The winds were cold and disturbing, teasing every inch of their toned bodies. The men placed their hands in their pouches but it was still unbearable. Rickard was bothered. Something was not right, something unusual—the icy winds, the vast stretched ground covered with ferns and grasses, appearing like a green ocean, and the deep silence holding the place. It spoke of something alarming, perhaps atrocious, flashing in his mind that was layered with ignorance.
The ground seemed vast and endless, the only thing visible in every possible direction till the horizon. The tall dense trees pulled their attention. They were green and healthy, with no shedded leaves around anywhere which seemed anomalous, as it was already autumn in the land, the whole land, the whole Syneria, the whole of the Southern Continent; but the place was uninfluenced.
“Do you still consider it a right decision getting here?” asked Rickard, who had begun to turn suspicious.
“Is the greenery bothering you?” asked Allan insolently. Rickard did not speak.
Allan pushed himself down on his knees touching the grasses. It felt dry over his fingers, but appeared fine and green, unlike the touch. “I think this place has a lot to speak,” he said, wiggling his eyes which soon died under the howling winds.
They tramped endlessly, without a moment’s pause, through the small grasses and past those dense trees. Rickard’s feet had already begun to ache, his muscles stretching in pain, while his calf hurting with every single move. The man needed to rest, but unfortunately he couldn’t, as stopping was never an option, not really before Allan Will, who was strict in nature.
Rickard was weary, while Edd looked confused. But surprisingly, there was a completely different look around the face of Allan Will. The look reflecting his determination and stubbornness. The look that portrayed his willingness and insanity. Allan was venturous; his head held high in fortitude, while his audacious breath battling the hindering winds. He pulled himself with all the belligerence, moving ahead as far as possible. The other two companions were debilitated to his persistence, like an animal to its trainer.
“Look at that,” cried Allan, pointing towards something before him, his voice being carried away by the winds, echoing around everywhere.
“What’s that?” enquired Rickard, as he and Edd rushed towards their friend awating at the far. They reached his spot to notice the ancient ruins before their eyes. It was enthralling, a bit obscured and a little intimidating. The site was hallowed, with broken walls and destroyed houses which stood mute for ages. The halls were roofless and the ruptured floor seemed unevenly decorated with cavities. The cracked round pillars and charred walls had burning torches attached to it which threw enough light all over the place, bathing every object bright and clear. Some of the rooms and houses had its walls broken, while others had just a wall that remained. The walls were scorched and sloughed, with lichens growing over it. Grey stones rose from the land, and a couple of leafless trees with its long long dry branches stood firm surrounding the site.
Their faces washed blank with fear and confusion on watching the burning torches in a place visited by none. Every muscle of their body just froze, until Allan’s lips stretched with a sardonic grin. “It must be the guards,” he explained. “It looks like they are taking proper care of this place.”
Rickard pulled himself closer to the torches. His piercing eyes focused on the helve and his hands groped the strange attribute. Something within his eyes itched, causing an algid sensation following the touch. The torches had the symbol of a snake carved on its handle. He turned around to notice the large round pillars within the broken halls that had the symbol of a python’s head incised on it. It definitely looked appalling, eventhough he knew nothing about it.
“Looks abhorrent!” remarked Edd gravely, noticing the large emblem at the pillars glaring them.
“Let’s move,” said Rickard, who could bear it no further. His grey eyes, glaring out of the white mask of his face, were full of horror and astonishment as he gazed around the ancient ruins while walking through the disintegrated locality, before stopping by a large necropolis that laid beyond the site. The graveyard was almost thrice in area than that of the ancient ruins behind them.
“It might have been a graceful community once,” guessed Allan staring at the necropolis before them. “There might have been a large population of tribals once residing in this place, living a lavishing lifestyle. But here they are now, resting in their permanent homes. The community must have been destroyed by the enemies who might have been much stronger than them. The foes might have outnumbered them, killing every poor soul.” The expression over
his face had commiserated, and he looked pitied picturing the image in his mind.
“I think this place was covered in some plague or a curse. It must have been a return for their deeds which none could have survived,” explained Edd. They had varying assumptions regarding the downfall, and both argued among themselves, stressing on their own theories standing appropriate.
“That’s strange!” interfered Rickard astoundingly, breaking them in between, as he slowly began to proceed inside the necropolis.
“What are you up to?” asked Allan, and the two chased him, though none among them could debate about the configuration in his head.
“Just look at this,” pointed Rickard. “The ruins and the graveyard are quite ancient but look at these graves.” He bent down to touch the moist soil and it seemed ominous and abnormal. The graveyard was ancient enough, and the place was evacuated centuries ago. The entry here was strictly prohibited, leaving absolutely no way for the existence of new ones.
Some graves were recent, while each of it displayed the gravestones that had names of the deceased scribbled on it. They crossed a few, before stopping by an older one. ‘Simon Conred’ read the gravestone.
“I know him, Simon Conred,” said Allan, his heart leaped within him as he saw it. Something struck his mind all of a sudden, and his eyes gaped in shock. “He was once a General of Townslane before being appointed by the President to serve in the Capital. I have heard some tales about this man in Hustlecitis. He was one among the President’s most trusted men and had quite a significant role in the War of Syneria. People say that he hardly travelled south, especially after his delegation in the Capital. He was declared missing years ago, and here he is, dead and decaying.”
“Was he a believer?” asked Rickard staring at the large gravestone. There was something sceptical striking his senses all the while.
Allan shook his head, clinching all of the indecision with his single gesture.
“Should we proceed?” asked Rickard. He sounded cold and bothered. His eyes reflected the horrid sensation, while his voice shivered. He looked insecure, and the audacity and determination within him seemed to have vanished.