A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1)

by Michael S. Gormley

  Ezroch.

  “Dear me.” The old man jumped from his chair, his mind fixated on the sole word. He paced skittishly to the window, moving as if he were ninety years younger. A table sat next to the fogged window, holding three bird cages, two of which were empty, their doors swinging in the breeze. The third contained a small brown bird, hopping about, side to side, as it chirped at the weary old man.

  “My dear old friend, Skoval.” The old man crushed some of his stale breadcrumbs into the cage and the bird scooped them into its sharp beak. “Your brothers have yet to return,” he said as he scribbled a note on the table next to the cages. “I trust you’ll not underestimate the urgency of this message.” He rolled it up and attached it to Skoval’s talons. “Please, skip the dilly dally that your brothers are so fond of.” The old man gently raised the bird from its cage and walked it to the window.

  “Now, Skoval. With haste. To the land of Grimmrich!” He released the bird and it circled around his nappy grey hair.

  “Fly, Skoval! Make haste, you foolish bird.” The wizard winced as the bird squawked and flew through the open window into the darkening sky. A storm was rolling over the Caltros Mountains.

  The old man hurried back to his book. “Darkness approaches.”

  Chapter Four

  Goblins for Hire

  Beneath the solid-black sky, lightened only by the spontaneous bursts of fireworks coming from further in the city, Kyrn slowly backed away from the approaching goblins. His first arrow marvelously found its mark in the murderous goblin’s temple, as it slowly crept upon the frightened young woman. Once its swift death had overtaken it, the goblin fell before the woman, and she ran in terror as the remainder of the goblin group turned their attention to Kyrn, the slayer of their captain.

  Now there were four.

  Each of which drew their rusted swords. Although they were small enough for Kyrn to consider daggers, he winced at the thought of the cold steel slipping between his ribs if the goblins overtook him.

  No, he could not allow that. Only for a second, Kyrn regretted sending off his little brother. But he could only hope Elrich had found their sister safely. The four goblins were getting too close, and Kyrn had to shake the thoughts of his family aside. Again, and quickly, he drew another arrow from the quiver on his back, fitted it with his bow, and set it free. It pierced one of the rear goblins through the shoulder, though the force of the arrow alone was enough to kill it.

  There were three.

  Each of the remaining goblins snickered, cursing Kyrn in guttural grunts—which Kyrn did not understand—unfazed by another fallen ally.

  Kyrn hadn’t the time for another shot. The goblins were getting too close, and he couldn’t ensure a fatal shot from this close range. He deeply regretted not bringing along his sword, but his father forbid them from carrying their weapons through the streets of Grimmrich.

  All he could do was slowly back away from the goblins. Until, in the blackness of the alley, Kyrn’s foot caught upon something on the street, and he nearly fell to his back; however, knowing that falling would surely lead to the goblin’s attack, he caught himself. At his feet, sat a beggar; an old, ragged man with short, curly-matted grey hair, leaned upon the wall. Either asleep or too drunk to notice, the man didn’t move under Kyrn’s weight.

  The closest goblin licked its lips and raised its sword, believing that its time had finally come. It would use Kyrn, and its soon disposing of the young boy, to show the other goblins that it would now take their fallen captain’s place.

  Kyrn had no other options.

  With a quick swooping maneuver, the young noble knelt low and picked up a hand-carved, wooden cane, laid beside the beggar, bringing it up and above his head just in time to block the goblin’s downward swing. Had the foul creatures’ swords been better kept, or well crafted in the first place, it would have sliced the cane in two. The cane withheld the blow from the rusted weapon.

  Kyrn swiftly raised one end of the cane, sending the goblin sword clanking against the far wall, and, before the confused goblin could regain its composure, he hammered the end of the cane into its throat.

  The nasty creature was off balance and fell to one knee, gasping for air. When the other two began to comprehend that they had to work for their kill, they let out a high-pitched battle cry and charged Kyrn, swerving around their incapacitated counterpart, one on either side.

  “Let us end this quick,” Kyrn sneered at the goblins, attempting to regain the confidence that he’d held in his sparring sessions with Aldir, his quartermaster. He allowed his mind a brief delve into the memory of his lessons over the years. As each swing of the goblins’ swords fell, he blocked—roughly—but enough to avoid their cold sting nonetheless.

  Again and again the goblins hopped back and forth, thrusting staggered jabs towards Kyrn.

  Kyrn soon saw that they were beginning to tire. He seized his opportunity and knocked the goblin on his right over the head, hard enough to send it sprawling to the ground like a tossed grain sack.

  The sole goblin left standing hesitated, twitching forward as it contemplated whether or not it wanted to combat the young noble alone.

  Surprisingly, the creature made the proper decision—for a creature of such low intelligence—and began to scurry away down the alley, closer to the town square.

  Kyrn began to follow, but stopped at the goblin still kneeling, clutching at its throat. He pressed the end of the cane firmly against its forehead and toppled the goblin to its back.

  “How many are you?” he spat down at the goblin, pressing the cane against its chest.

  The goblin shot back with a noise that sounded only like a crackling choke, forcing its best wicked smile through its pain.

  “Who sent you?” Kyrn asked, hoping that when he found his father, he’d have any information to present to the king. Certain that he’d attain nothing from the beast, he raised the cane high and brought it down swiftly upon the goblin’s head, ending its squirming.

  ***

  Elrich knelt quietly against the alley wall, looking up the set of stairs leading to the High Council chambers. The tall, white building was bright, even in the veil of night, and its domed roof glowed beneath the continuous fireworks. Halfway up the stairs, Elrich saw his sister, Abellia, fall to her knees as two small goblins grabbed viciously at her dress.

  “An attack?” Elrich muttered under his breath. Was that why Kyrn had his bow? Had he known?

  Elrich had never seen a goblin before, and found them far uglier, tenfold even, than that of Cecelia’s descriptions in her stories.

  He hadn’t time for wondering of his brother, though. He needed to get his sister inside the council chambers, quickly.

  He leaped from the shadows. “Over here!” he shouted, picking up his pace as he watched the goblins turn to him. He slid to a halt at the bottom of the stone steps, ensuring that both of the creatures were following him, away from his sister.

  “Elrich, run!” Abellia shouted, as the goblins leaped and bounded down the steps, more satisfied with this victim than their prior.

  Elrich began to flee, but turned back remembering his brother’s orders. “Get in the council chambers,” he shouted to Abellia. “I will draw them away and meet you inside. Kyrn is to meet us here.”

  “Move!” was all Abellia responded, paying more attention than her littlest brother.

  But it was too late.

  The goblins leaped off the final step and landed upon Elrich, laying him flat on his back. Luckily for Elrich, the goblins were unarmed, other than their dirty, sharp claws that sunk into the young boy’s shoulders as they clung to him.

  Elrich struggled, a goblin tabard gripped tightly in each of his clenched fists to hold the rank creatures’ snapping jaws even an inch or two away from his face. He could taste their putrid breath and smell the scent of rotted flesh on their lips. Their teeth were yellowed and sharp, like old tips of arrows, clamping together in desperate hopes of their first bite.r />
  As he fought to hold them back, feeling as if the muscles in his thin arms would soon tear, he heard the clanking of feet against stone and knew that Abellia was racing down towards him and his attackers.

  “No!” he cried. “Get inside. I will meet you there!”

  Abellia was already tugging on the back of one of the small creatures. “I can’t leave you here,” she said, fighting back her tears. As she pulled the goblin harder, its claws slowly slid from Elrich’s shoulder, and she let her tears fly as she heard her brother shriek.

  Abellia and the creature fell backwards to the street and a tiny spurt of blood speckled Elrich’s face. It tasted rusty and metallic, and Elrich wondered if it would be the last time he would ever taste his own blood.

  There they were; Abellia and Elrich, brother and sister, laying on their backs each fighting a hungry goblin.

  And, just as quickly, two brisk waves pierced the air.

  Whoosh, whoosh.

  The siblings saw an arrow sticking from each of the goblins’ heads, though they had not seen it enter, and the creatures fell to the snowy ground, dead.

  As they lay on their backs staring at the fireworks above, a firm hand tugged Abellia and Elrich to their feet.

  Elrich stood face-to-face with Iafi, Grimmrich’s butcher, though he was adorned in gold-trimmed, steel dwarven armor, rather than his usual leather apron. Abellia rose, and she towered over the dwarf and fell again to a knee, embracing him in a tight hug.

  “All’s well an’ good,” Iafi grumbled, blushing as he pulled himself out of her embrace. “Where’s Kyrn?” he asked, looking around the empty streets.

  “He ran off towards the square,” answered Elrich. “Told me to find Abellia and wait in the High Council chambers.”

  The dwarf grumbled and stroked his studded, black beard. “Be a smart one, yer brother,” he said. “The two of yes best be gettin’ inside now. I’ll find yer brother and the king, an’ we’ll be back for yes soon. Lodan here’ll keep watch.” He pointed to a Grimmrich guardsman sitting atop his brown steed, bow still readied in hand.

  Iafi began to push the two nobles up the steps of the High Council.

  “What’s happening, Iafi?” Abellia asked.

  “Agh.” Iafi laughed. “We’re just killin’ goblins.”

  ***

  Kyrn rushed swiftly through the alleyways, the chilling wind occasionally ruffling his long brown hair. He had it plaited, just in case of events such as this. His father would have scolded him for having it up for the night’s festivities, but, with the recent turn of events, Kyrn did not think he’d even notice.

  The fireworks were still exploding into magical bursts of color, and Kyrn hoped the infestation hadn’t reached the town square. Though, he also didn’t think he’d be so lucky. He looked towards the rooftops, praying that he’d not again find exactly what he had; another pack of shadows scurrying along the tops of the buildings. Then, to the right, yet another.

  They were multiplying, and fast.

  But where had they come from, he wondered. Grimmrich was surrounded by vast fields for miles and miles, until reaching either the Grey Sea to the west or the mountains to the east. The guardsmen at their posts surely would’ve noticed this number of creatures, that is, unless they were partaking in this particular night’s drinking; however, Kyrn couldn’t convince himself that any guard in Grimmrich could muster the courage to do such a thing on the night of their king’s return.

  Kyrn began to slip his bow from over his shoulder, but, instead, decided it more vital to reach the town’s square before the quick-approaching goblins. So, on he ran.

  ***

  The town square was not as he had expected. Still, as if their lives depended on them, the fireworks continued to rise, burst, and gracefully fall. The square was complete madness. In a hectic sea of crazed townsfolk, occupying every inch around the circular pedestal in the center, villagers fled, knocking into one another, and trampling over fallen town’s mates.

  There were goblins this way and that, frantic in their glee of upheaval; some clung to the backs of terrified villagers, others tackling small children, and some still leaping from the roofs above.

  Kyrn spotted one, in particular, hovering over an older woman as she shouted in terror. The goblin raised its dagger in both hands, as if she were the key piece in its sacrificial offering. Kyrn dropped the cane to the ground and flung his bow into his hands with one deft swoop. He quickly drew an arrow and let it fly with such force that the recent snowfall swirled around him, striking the goblin through the back of its neck, though it wasn’t before the twisted creature plunged the dagger through the woman’s heart.

  Together, woman and beast laid still upon the snow.

  From the opposite end of the square came the clop of galloping hooves and deep-bolstered battle cries. King Ulzrich broke through the goblin lines upon his steed, sword held high. The dwarf, Iafi, rode at his side, holding his two-handed battle axe as he rode upon his horse without holding the reigns. Kyrn’s trainer, Aldir, fought at their side.

  Kyrn had never seen the dwarf beneath such armor, and none as fine as the gold-crested steel he adorned.

  Together, Iafi, Aldir, and Ulzrich rode round the center pedestal, cleaving the heads clean off goblins’ shoulders. Iafi, of his short stature (tall, though, for a dwarf, he would surely correct), nearly hung all the way to the side of his horse to reach the small villains.

  Two of the goblins, in a desperate need of quick thinking, pulled a rope tight, tripping the horse of King Ulzrich, sending him sprawling across the cobblestones, and just as quickly, the goblins hopped upon the horse, ending its petrified neighing with their dirty claws. They leaped towards the king.

  Ulzrich kicked the both of them back, reaching out for his fallen sword; Ellenroth, he called it.

  Before he had time, Kyrn was already upon the goblins, cracking down upon them with his newfound cane. As they stood, shocked by the unexpected, unorthodox attack, Kyrn quickly rapped the two on the backs of their knees, and, as they were down, tugged an arrow from his quiver and jammed it through their heads, one after another.

  Just for a moment, Ulzrich looked stunned. “Kyrn,” the king gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “I was attacked in the alley,” he replied. “I hoped to find you before it came to this.”

  Ulzrich did not move from the ground, despite the ensuing chaos around him. “Abellia, Elrich, are they safe?” he asked, his eyes widened by the thought.

  “I sent Elrich away to find Abellia,” he said, “and meet us in the High Council chambers.”

  Ulzrich nodded in approval, but he didn’t seem satisfied by the answer.

  From where the king had arrived, a mass of guardsmen trampled through the goblins and began clearing out the remaining townsfolk.

  Iafi halted his horse beside Ulzrich and his son and hopped to the ground. “Ye all right, me King?” he asked, helping Ulzrich to his feet.

  “I’m fine,” Ulzrich grunted. “Though, I’m not as young as I once was.”

  Iafi let out a bellowing laugh from deep within his stomach. “Lucky for ye to have a son around then,” he said, and rested his hand upon Kyrn’s shoulder. “Interestin’ choice of weapon there, lad.”

  Kyrn glanced down at the cane and shrugged.

  “You’ve done well,” Ulzrich said to the young noble. “We must keep moving. The guards will handle the filth here. Let us regroup at the High Council and draw out a plan of action. There is much to be discussed.”

  Iafi hoisted Kyrn upon his horse and climbed up after him.

  The king halted a guard, commandeering his horse.

  They began to take off towards the High Council when a blast of the strongest winds nearly knocked them from their steeds. The two horses bucked, and as they settled, the three noticed something strange in the center of the square.

  Above the circular, stone pedestal, a shimmer of light began rippling through the air, slowly at first, but growing v
iolent. Suddenly, the spasms of light ceased, and there, hung in the air as if it were some form of magic—there was no other explanation—was an ovular shape of what looked like a silver liquid.

  Kyrn didn’t understand what it was, only that it resembled the shape of the mirror in his chambers.

  As they admired it, an image began to form. At first, it looked to be a simple room showing through, then they could make out what seemed to be a library of sorts. Two figures, stocky and short, like dwarves, peered through, hunched as if they were struggling to see through a fogged window, until they were shoved aside.

  Behind them came a taller figure, much clearer, for his attunement with the magic must have been much stronger. So much that it seemed as if he walked through and was standing within Grimmrich.

  He seemed so real that a few of the guardsmen—those who were not still killing goblins—began to fire arrows at the figure cloaked completely in black, though they whooshed through like the figure had been made of water.

  King Ulzrich held up a fist and shouted, “Cease!”

  They did.

  The black-cloaked figured laughed, looking left and right at the chaos of the city. Then he spoke. “You see, I assure you my relic works wonders.” It was as if he were talking to some other in the room with him, through the silvery portal, and not to the people of Grimmrich. With only a brisk turn on his heel, the cloaked man was gone, and the simmering mirror vanished.

  Kyrn looked at his father, confused. When he saw Ulzrich’s bewildered face, Kyrn didn’t expect any answers.

  “It’s as I feared,” Ulzrich whispered. “The power of the Dark Ones grows again. We are soon to be at war.”

  Chapter Five

  A Council

  Inside the High Council chambers, Elrich grew impatient. He and Abellia awaited the return of Iafi—hopefully with the king and their brother—for what seemed entirely too long. Abellia had recently started a fire in the hearth, now that the sky outside fell completely black with the halting of the fireworks.