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

by Michael S. Gormley

  Bolgor planned to use these tunnels to sneak deep into the royal district and tunnel his way into the baron’s royal treasury. With that, we would be the richest dwarves in the city… or, more likely, wherever we traveled to avoid the king’s wrath.

  If Bolgor only knew it, they wouldn’t make it out of those possessed tunnels with their lives.

  At least thirty moons crept through the night sky before we comforted the entire company of dwarves with the painstaking details of the plan. Sneak in, pack our bags, sneak out. Although, the entirety was much more complex.

  Arriving at the hollowed entrance of the mineshaft was my first visit to the location. I felt like I knew the area by heart from the previous month’s worth of planning, but seeing the sight with my own keen eyes sent my stomach clenching. I didn’t let Bolgor see, but I fear that he felt the same as I had.

  The mining company had constructed makeshift cabins. They were pillars with patchy roofs enclosing the bedrolls tucked beneath, but it made do for the rambunctious dwarves. A torch was lit on either side of the gaping hole dug into the mountainside, casting an ominous shadow over the opening. It was the mountain’s mouth, prepared to devour us whole.

  Little did we know, the seven of us, that it was more than a frivolous metaphor. The tiresome trek to the catacombs took nearly two hours, and I realized why Bolgor thoroughly insisted on initiating the heist as soon as the sun fell below the highest rooftop of the city in the distance.

  The path was rocky and unnatural. Sharp rocks jutted in every direction and slow, trickling streams of water created terrain as slippery and dangerous as dark ice. The dwarves didn’t take the initiative to solidify their path in the mining expedition. For them, there were three steps: dig, fill their mining sacks, fill their coin purse. The extra time needed to secure their environment was an unnecessary task in their eyes.

  When we reached the entrance to the catacombs, the only light within the festering cavern was our fervent vision. Two statues within stood on either side of a large hole—created by some home-brewed explosives—representing what looked to be old kings, guarding the cryptic halls.

  Bolgor, leading the anxious group, stopped before the entrance, looking around hastily. “Did ye hear that?” he asked the group, not making eye-contact as he glanced at his surroundings.

  None responded. The company looked at each other, unable to hear anything.

  “The voice,” Bolgor continued. “It’s… in me head!” He grasped either side of his long, blond hair. “They be in the walls!”

  Still, nothing was heard throughout the company, but out of the corner of my keen eyes, I saw a twitching in the darkness, and a large, protruding boulder shook violently. I stood my ground, ready to warn the rest of the company that the entire cavern was ready to collapse on us, though, that was not the case.

  The vibrating rock fell to the ground at which we stood, but it denied all laws of gravity. It descended slow as a feather, rolling gracefully against the cavern wall.

  A second rock on the opposite side followed the first’s slow fall, nearly in perfect unison.

  The entire company stood speechless, watching the slowly descending rocks in disbelief.

  Bolgor, still clutching the sides of his head, mumbled to himself under his breath, no longer discernable, adding a more ominous presence to the terrifying situation.

  As the rocks finally landed upon the ground, level with our trembling boots—there was no hiding our mutual fear—they began to crack from top to bottom. Each crack revealed a deep, molten glow from within and out sprawled giant spider-like legs. Each large rock—bigger than any of us dwarves—had four legs and skittered to and fro, as if they were getting used to their newly-acquired appendages.

  Eventually, the entire rock cracked open with a burst of molten red light, as if the stone were nothing more than a shell to whatever beast we had so naively stumbled upon. The face of the beast was set with eight menacing, deep-violet eyes—perhaps even more—peering at us through the darkness. Though, the creatures’ bodies still resembled that of the stone shell they’d broken out of.

  With a slight hesitation, I unbuckled the axe fixed to my leather sack and planted my boots into the dirt below my feet.

  My doing so seemed to appropriately snap the company out of their quick rapture of fear, and they all followed my lead. All except Bolgor.

  His incoherent stammering slowly turned into a deep, slow, echoing laugh, as he turned to face the company he was so recently leading. As he broke his stare from the ground, his eyes pulsated, and flame-like streams streaked from his eyes, glowing the same dark-violet as the creatures standing on either side of him.

  Bolgor’s frantic stare turned into a menacing grimace. “I have been summoned before you,” he said in a voice not his own. It was more proper than even the king himself, and lower than most of the dwarven tones I’d ever heard. “This unsuitable host was chosen only by chance, that he was first to awaken my minions,” it continued. “It will not do, in the end, but for now…” Bolgor, or whatever he’d become, drew his weapon. As he did, a glowing red light pulsed throughout the veins in his arms and face.

  Instead of making an advance on the now slightly smaller company of dwarves, Bolgor raised both hands, palms facing the cavern ceiling, and the dagger he’d drawn slit the opposite palm. Magma-red blood poured from the fresh wound.

  Bolgor turned both hands upside down, allowing the deep blood to drip swiftly to the ground below. As it landed, the blood coursed swiftly through specifically chosen paths in the dirt as if they were the veins of the mountain itself.

  What I saw next, I still find nearly impossible to explain, but I’m almost sure that Bolgor—or whatever possessed him—opened a portal to Hell itself. The ground shook viciously. Then, it began splitting beneath our feet. Small cracks at first, but widening enough to separate half of the company from the other.

  I watched in horror as our oldest dwarven companion fell into the opening with a fading scream. I didn’t even learn his name.

  “Malhaim! Yer boot!” one of them on the other side of the chasm called to me.

  Looking down, shadowy hands crept up from the darkness of the pit. They were countless. The edge of the freshly formed crack was lined with an army of dark, featureless hands, desperately working to pull themselves from the pit.

  I could still hear Bolgor chuckling, his uneasy pets awaiting their command to strike. I stomped my heavy boots down on the hands that clawed at me, and a piercing howl whipped through the cavern, bringing with it a fierce gust of air.

  Tolgor—Bolgor’s younger brother—was knocked from his feet, but as I reached out for him, he jerked away from my grasp, knowing he would have pulled me into the endless abyss with him. I watched as he disappeared into the pit of shadowy hands below. There was no sound of him hitting the bottom. No sound of anything after his scream faded into the distance of whatever lay below.

  I was the only dwarf remaining on my side of the tear. Whatever had taken control of Bolgor showed no sympathy or sadness for the loss of Tolgor, and was only focused on the dwarven members of the company.

  Bolgor seemed to lose his patience, and with a snap of his fingers, the dark violet in his eyes pulsed in harmony with the creatures at his side. Two quick pounces, two more dead dwarves.

  The creatures landed on two of them, piercing their sharp legs through the dwarves’ chests as they landed. Hissing breath came from their fang-filled mouths as they rattled together their stalactite fangs. They dipped their rock-like fangs slowly into the dwarves’ necks, silencing their agonizing screams, and ending their fearful suffering.

  Bolgor looked towards me, still holding the content grimace on his face. “I will come for you,” he said to me. His mouth didn’t move, but I heard the voice fill my already cluttered mind. “I will feed on your fear, and when it is too much to bear,” he continued, “too much that you want to end your own suffering, I will be there to end it for you.”

  I don�
�t remember my axe falling from my trembling hands. All I remember is running from the cavern. Whatever we’d come across in the dark cavern had spared me.

  It has been months. Bolgor, or what he’d become, has not been seen within the city. I don’t know if the remaining dwarves, poor souls, made it from the cavern with their lives. But, with the ease and disgusting pleasure that the creatures so quickly ended the others, I don’t have much hope.

  Now, I spend my days hiding. Waiting. I subside my fear, or hide it the best that I can, in hopes that what comes for me will wait as well.

  ***

  Iafi slowly raised his head from the book, shutting it softly. He stared round the table speechless.

  “I did not want to believe,” Northal said, breaking the silence. “Though, the necromancers have returned.”

  King Ulzrich nodded solemnly. “It was their masters that I have seen in Stalholm, servants of their bidding.” He rose from the table and turned his back to the council, letting the shadows from the fire engulf his face. “The Dark Times have returned.”

  Chapter Six

  A Narrow Pass

  In his chambers, Kyrn drew the laces of his boots tight and sat back in his chair. Beside him lay his pack he’d recently prepared. His head was starting to ache, now that most of the city’s commotion was settling and the revelations of the council meeting were beginning to set in.

  The Dark Ones, Kyrn thought. Northal had explained to him that it was a power so ancient and so dark that it had been long left out of Einroth’s lore, save for the Great Study atop the Caltros Mountains. Few still possessed the memories of the Wars of Old, yet the elder Northal was one of the few to know fragments, and even the little he knew was enough to frighten the council. Kyrn understood why his father wanted it kept quiet.

  He slung his pack across his shoulder and scooped his bow from his bed just as the door was flung open. In walked Abellia, followed by Elrich, who held a much more spring-ful step than his older sister.

  “I planned to say farewell,” Kyrn lied, not wanting the hardship of leaving behind his family. He tried to skirt around his siblings, but they wouldn’t allow him out the door. Kyrn let his pack slip from his shoulder and drop to the floor with a thud. He could no longer hide from this, and, Kyrn assumed, that would be true for many things to come.

  “That’s not what we’re here for,” Abellia began. “Well, not entirely.” She rested her hand upon Elrich’s shoulder before continuing. “Surely, we must say our good byes, but it’s more, even, than that.”

  Kyrn could see Abellia was fighting back tears, and he, too, began to feel a familiar lump form in the back of his throat.

  “Kyrn!” Elrich burst out, unable to control his enthusiasm any longer. “We’re going to Stalholm! Abellia and I.”

  Kyrn looked at his sister, confused, and she nodded. The confusion made Kyrn forget his sadness entirely.

  It had been three long and dark days since the goblins had raided, commanded by the man cloaked in black, and they’d learned of the Dark Ones in the High Council chambers. Three days in which the elder Northal kept Kyrn locked within his study, reviewing maps of Einroth that Kyrn had never seen the likes of in all his studies. First, they’d reviewed all of Einroth; the mountains surrounding Grimmrich, the forest of Castrolyl, where the elves once flourished, and, finally, the dark Valhulan mountains, far away to the south-eastern most portion of Einroth. It was then that Northal began to tell Kyrn of the Valhulan mountains and their black rock stone. It was, to the extent of the elder’s knowledge, where the Dark Ones had first massed their army so long ago.

  Regarding the Dark Ones, elder Northal would say no more. Instead, he spent a clear majority of the three days studying an old and yellowed map of the forest of Castrolyl, showing Kyrn what seemed to be the safest passage.

  Kyrn forced himself back into his present situation, to his family standing before him now; the family that he was so suddenly leaving behind. “To Stalholm?” he repeated, more so to help himself understand.

  “Yes,” answered Abellia. “Now that Baron Vougn has passed, father has granted me rule over the city.” She dropped her eyes to her feet. “At least until this dreadful nightmare has passed. I don’t feel as confident as I should. Father has prepared me well, with my time seated on the High Council, but a city like Stalholm is unlike anything I know.”

  “Abellia,” Kyrn said sternly, taking hold of his sister by the shoulders. “Baron Vougn didn’t pass on, he was murdered. What’s Father thinking, sending the two of you there alone? Especially at a time like this.”

  Abellia forced herself free from Kyrn’s grasp, again looking him sternly in the eyes. “Elrich and I can take care of ourselves,” she snarled. “I worry how the people of Stalholm will react to my being there, that I am sure of, but it is you, off on your own in lands unknown to you, that concerns me.” She let her tears flow freely and embraced Kyrn.

  “You shouldn’t worry for me,” Kyrn lied. “You must watch over the city, and I will return as soon as I have found the elves.” Kyrn released Abellia from his arms. “They’ll take over from there.” He turned to his younger brother. “You’ll watch over her, right?” he asked with a wink.

  Elrich only nodded with a fake smile, afraid that speaking would allow his weakness to show.

  Kyrn picked up his pack and the old beggar’s cane that he’d kept, afraid to let go of something that saved his life, and gasped a brief sigh. “Well,” he said, “I shouldn’t keep Father waiting any longer. We’ll meet again before you know.” And with that, Kyrn left his chambers and his family, forcing himself not to look back.

  ***

  King Ulzrich was standing beside Aldir at the front gates of Grimmrich when Kyrn finally arrived. Seeing Aldir in the day’s light, Kyrn was reminded of the man’s rugged features.

  Aldir leaned against a post, veiled by a wolf’s fur-lined, grey cloak, matching Kyrn’s. His face was rough, the depth of his scars blended in with his ebony skin and grey beard—which seemed trimmed more than normal, ostensibly for the long journey ahead—as he listened, undistracted, to his king.

  “Kyrn,” said Ulzrich, as his son approached, “you’re late, as I expected.”

  Kyrn brushed past his father, standing closer to Aldir. “Sorry, Father,” he said, filled with no trace of apology. “I was saying my farewells to Abellia and Elrich.” He noticed his father tense, and it was a common movement he had observed Ulzrich perform when he tried to mask his guilt.

  “I was going to tell you, Kyrn,” Ulzrich said. “You had too much to preoccupy you with Northal.” Ulzrich rested his hand upon Kyrn’s shoulder, not knowing how tired Kyrn had become of these fake condolences. “They will be fine, Kyrn. That, I assure you.” He pulled from his cloak a locket, attached to a thick, silver chain, and hung it around his son’s neck.

  Kyrn lifted the trinket, examining it. It was surely of foreign make, with rough, boxy edges, in the shape of a scarab.

  “This amulet is bound to one very similar hung around the neck of your sister,” Ulzrich said. “It will let her know that you’re safe, and, if need be, where you may be found.”

  As Kyrn held the scarab amulet, its small wings fluttered weakly, and he sensed that Abellia, too, was holding hers the same.

  “Which,” the king continued, “is why Abellia must remain in Stalholm. Should these Dark Ones learn of the amulet, they would seek out Abellia’s necklace to find you.”

  “Then I should not wear it,” Kyrn said, beginning to remove the necklace.

  Aldir quickly stopped him from doing so. “You’ll face dangers along your journey, regardless, but you’ll be thankful that we know of where you are, should they become too great.”

  “Are you not coming with me then?” Kyrn asked.

  “Of course, I will see you off.” Aldir smiled. “But eventually, our paths must diverge. The elves cannot be our only hope of gaining an advantage over the Dark Ones.”

  With that, Kyrn was reminded of his
task. “No one has informed me of how I will find the elves within the forest of Castrolyl.” He tucked the amulet beneath his shirt as he spoke and wrapped his cloak tight. “It’s been countless years since anyone has had contact, even the few elves that still remain in Einroth.”

  “We heed the elder Northal’s words,” Aldir said. “It is not how or where to find them, but when. If the elves have become learned of the Dark Ones’ revival, and surely, they can sense the Dark magics, they will reveal themselves, and there is no one better that I can fathom than a prince of the lands to reveal themselves to.”

  Everything made sense to Kyrn; all of what they’d said, everything elder Northal had said. Yet, of course, nothing had fully seemed to fit into place.

  Ulzrich pulled his son in for a quick, but stern embrace. “This is not to prove yourself,” the king whispered to his son. “You have nothing to prove to me, Kyrn, as your king or your father. You’re different than your siblings. You feel the noble life does not encompass you.” Ulzrich smiled at his son. “You’ll learn what you must soon.”

  Kyrn dropped his jaw to argue with his father, that he was indeed strong enough for the noble life. He was strong enough to rule. Instead, he hugged his father one last time, knowing that Ulzrich was right. It wasn’t about strength, it was about difference, and Kyrn knew he was different.

  He quickly turned, being the first to walk through the gates of Grimmrich.

  Kyrn had nothing to prove to his father, but everything to lose for Einroth.

  ***

  For the remainder of the day, Kyrn and Aldir traveled through the snow-covered plains on the outskirts of the city. They should’ve reached the mountains before the sun fell behind their great peaks, but the two traveled at a slow and easy-going pace, knowing that the journey through the mountain’s cracks would be wearisome.

  The city walls were just a fleck of light to Kyrn as he glanced behind to where they’d so recently left, and the mountains now loomed over them.