The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla

by Scott D. Muller

  He was weak, but struggled. The demon shrieked and raked its claws across his stomach. He screamed in pain and felt the welts form across the skin.

  Dra’kor was the first to see the claw marks form across his friend’s chest. “Look!” he screamed. “He is being attacked by something in his dreams.”

  Sheila turned pale. “It must be the darkness he’s always talking about. You know, the darkness that the girl Lana always warns him about.”

  Dra’kor conjured a spell against evil and let it flow into Men’ak’s body. He didn’t know if it would work, he had never used the old magic to cast it before. He was desperate and tried again, pushing more energy into the spell and laying his hands directly on Men’ak’s chest. Men’ak’s back arched and his mouth foamed.

  “You’re killing him,” Sheila screamed, as she tried to pull Dra’kor away.

  Toulereau stopped her, holding her tight from behind. “Leave him be…”

  Men’ak felt the spell, but he didn’t know what it was. The darkness swirled above him, sucking out his life-force. It didn’t like the spell and it shrieked in its displeasure. The second time Dra’kor cast, the beast pulled back. In that instant, Men’ak was free and his eyes fluttered open.

  “He’s back!” Sheila cried, as Toulereau let her free.

  Dra’kor cast the spell again and sent it surging through his friend’s weakened body.

  Men’ak cried in pain—not from the spell—but from the weakness. He tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come. He was too weak.

  “He can’t breathe,” Sheila shouted.

  Dra’kor grabbed Men’ak’s hands and fed healing energy into his friend, while Sheila cast a spell forcing air into his lungs. Men’ak’s chest rose and fell shallowly. Dra’kor continued his spell.

  “What is wrong with Men’ak,” Toulereau asked. “He should be awake by now.”

  Sheila sobbed, “He has been attacked in his dreams by something evil. He is too weak to breathe.”

  Toulereau pushed her out of the way and felt the mages forehead. “He’s freezing to death, bring me a warm blanket.”

  Sheila turned and quickly ran up the stairs, taking them two by two. She returned within seconds after grabbing the blanket that she had been using, and handed it to Toulereau. Toulereau waved his hands over the blanket and cast a simple spell to warm it.

  Dra’kor grimaced from the exertion. “I didn’t know you knew magic…”

  Toulereau shrugged and wrapped Men’ak in the wool, tucking it in at the sides. Men’ak’s teeth began to chatter. It was a good sign!

  “Cc.cc.cold,” he stammered.

  “Hang in there,” Dra’kor said as he fed more magic into his friend, both to strengthen him and to warm him.

  Toulereau took a look at the lad and saw how emaciated he was. He rushed away, heading to the fireplace. He grabbed the empty bowl that Dra’kor had set to the side, and filled it with the soup that was still warm in the pot over the coals. He handed it to Men’ak. “Here! You need to eat this.”

  Men’ak pushed it away weakly.

  “Eat!” he commanded and pushed the spoon into Men’ak’s protesting mouth.

  Men’ak nearly choked on the broth, but he managed to keep it down. After four or five spoons, he began eating of his own will. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was and he finished the entire bowl and asked for more. Toulereau was more than happy to oblige and filled the bowl to the brim, this time scraping the bottom and getting more meat and vegetables.

  Dra’kor had stepped back. Men’ak’s color was returning and he was able to eat on his own.

  “You gave us quite the scare,” Dra’kor quietly said.

  Men’ak nodded. “It was a demon. I didn’t know it at the time though...she looked more like an angel.”

  “I think that was the darkness that Lana always warned you about,” Sheila added.

  Men’ak nodded and stared at her. “Why are you naked?”

  Sheila blushed and tried to cover herself. Both Dra’kor and Toulereau snorted and gave each other a knowing look. Sheila threw her head back, turned and ran for the stairs. Dra’kor watched in admiration as her buttocks flexed as she ran up to their room.

  “How did it attack you?” Dra’kor asked, returning his attention to his friend.

  Men’ak blushed. “I’d rather not say.”

  Toulereau rubbed his chin, “Did you have your wards set? It shouldn’t have been able to get through your wards.

  Men’ak’s face went pale. “I’ve never set wards when I visit the dream world.

  Toulereau’s eyes went wide and he cuffed the mage in the side of his head. “Stupid!”

  “Ouch!” Men’ak yelled, lowering his gaze. “I’m going to be all right.”

  Dra’kor was angry. “Only because all of us were here to save you.”

  Men’ak’s expression said it all. He knew how lucky he had been.

  “I was so tired from walking the dreams,” he confessed. “I shouldn’t have gone back into the dream world when I was that tired. I knew better.”

  None of the group noticed that Sheila had returned. She had slipped on her leather pants and was standing behind the group.

  “You walked the dreams?” Sheila said, realizing what that meant.

  Men’ak nodded. “I found Ja’tar. He’s alive.”

  “Alive?” Dra’kor stammered, as he grabbed Men’ak by the shoulders.

  Men’ak nodded. “He’s with Rua’tor, and a dragon named Voltaire.”

  Dra’kor’s eye widened. “Where? Did he say where he was?”

  Men’ak shook his head. “No, but he said to tell Toulereau that he was going to the Wilds. He said he would know what that meant.”

  Men’ak looked at Toulereau. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  Toulereau nodded. “It does. I think he goes to find the witches...”

  Dra’kor looked at Sheila and they all shared glances. “Is that a good thing?” Dra’kor asked.

  “It may be,” Toulereau said, with worry written all over his face, “or it may not…”

  Sheila furled her brow, “Care to explain?”

  Toulereau shrugged. “The Wilds are filled with untrained wizards that wouldn’t bend a knee to the Guild. The Wilds also is the home to the seven witches. They guard and foretell prophecy. If anyone knows what is happening, it would be they.”

  Men’ak smiled, “So this is a good thing!”

  Toulereau snorted.

  Dra’kor’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  Toulereau looked up. “The witches hate the Keep.”

  “What…?” Dra’kor sputtered. “Why?”

  “Wizards have not treated the witches kindly over the years. They especially hate the Keeper. Ja’tar has no friends there.”

  Dra’kor pounded his fist and swore like a Randorian sailor.

  Toulereau looked at him and burst into laughter.

  “It’s not funny,” he roared.

  Toulereau grinned widely, “But it is…”

  Just an Elf

  The storm passed quickly and the next day warmed up and melted most of the snow. Bal’kor stooped low and grabbed another handful of the ripe berries from a bush and dropped them into his clay bowl. He popped one in his mouth and felt his mouth pucker from the sour juice as it ran down his throat. He bent over to pluck another, but never made it.

  He heard a growl that raised the hackles on the back of his neck, and took several steps in the direction of the sound. Now that he was listening, he heard the sound of grunts and the clang of steel. He rushed down the well-trampled path in the direction of the sound and came upon an elf being attacked by heart-hounds; he was hugely outnumbered.

  The elf wielded two blades, one that was twice the length of the curved shorter. He parried the attacks with the larger, and sliced with the second. The beasts were cut about their faces and had large gashes along their sides. To Bal’kor’s amazement, the elf appeared to anticipate how the attacks were c
oming and easily side-stepped in just the nick of time, while angling his blade and getting in another deep cut.

  The hounds howled in frustration, bared their teeth and snapped at his blade. The long-haired elf was holding his own, but was growing visibly weary. The elf rolled to his side, narrowly being missed by the slashing teeth of the largest beast. He twisted to his side and extended his blade, slicing through the hound’s side. The beast yowled in agony, but maintained its feet and turned to attack again. Bal’kor could see the sweat beading on his brow and the concentration in his eyes. Without thinking Bal’kor charged in yelling loudly and waving his spear.

  He didn’t really affect the outcome, but his selflessness earned him favor, as the hounds lost their focus for split seconds, turning to see what was charging at them from the woods. Before they could even move, the elf lunged and delivered a death blow to two of the beasts. He plunged his sword deep into the side of the larger beast and ran his blade across the others throat. The third jumped atop the elf, desperate to end the prolonged battle. It met a swift end by a blade most expertly wielded as the elf rolled out from under the pounce and ran the blade across the hound’s belly, spilling its guts to the dirt.

  Bal’kor approached the elf as he pulled his small blade free from one of the beasts and wiped it off on the hide before sheathing it. His clothes were rather simple, a tight fitting set of leggings and an overcoat cinched at the waste. He appeared rather frail and ageless. He was barely four foot tall.

  “You stomp like a bear and have no balance,” said the elf smugly. “I’m surprised you didn’t get eaten!”

  Bal’kor feigned a smile. The elf was not very thankful for his help. Bear indeed!

  Bal’kor ignored the dig. “May I keep the dead animals?”

  The elf shrugged. “Feel free!”

  Bal’kor knelt down and began to skin the fist. The elf joined him, watching as Bal’kor deftly removed the hides and tendons.

  “I’m going to tan these. They’ll make a nice pair of pants or maybe a nice jacket,” Bal’kor said. “Winter is coming and I find myself without any outerwear.”

  Smiling, he started to cut up the meat.

  “Stop! You cannot eat these, the evil permeates the meat,” the elf said. “You would be one step closer to becoming one of them.”

  Bal’kor’s eyes got wide as he stood and stepped back from the carcass. “Thanks…um, elf…ah, I didn’t know.”

  The elf stared at him.

  Bal’kor extended his hand. “I’m Bal’kor.”

  “I’m D’rel,” said the elf, meeting his grip.

  “Pleased to meet you, D’rel.”

  D’rel nodded and pulled some dried meat from his pouch and tossed apiece to Bal’kor. Bal’kor took it quickly and bit off a large mouthful and chewed slowly.

  “It’s nice to have someone to talk to…”

  “I cannot stay,” the elf said, taking a small bite of his jerky. “I’m off to find a mage who just arrived from the Keep. Time is of the essence!”

  “I just arrived a few days ago,” he stated, “I haven’t seen any other mages. Maybe they have come to rescue me!”

  D’rel blinked. “Rescue you? I doubt it. They have far more pressing issues than worrying about you.”

  “What do you mean? Why else would they be here?” Bal’kor asked as his mouth fell open.

  “The Keep is under assault by the demons and the battle is not going well. I don’t know why they would be here.”

  “Under assault? I should be there! I..I..I could help,” Bal’kor stammered with worry in his eyes.

  The elf smirks, “You? Ha!”

  “I’m a mage,” he blurted out. “I could help. I could do something!”

  “Ha! Get yourself or somebody else killed more likely! You are no mage.”

  Bal’kor didn’t know how to respond.

  “Yet, I can detect something hidden deep. Why did you not use magic, if you are convinced you are a mage?”

  Bal’kor lowered his head. “Sadly, I cannot do much magic.”

  The elf, surprised, extends his hand and read the young mage. “Magic is what you are. Not being able to do magic is like saying you cannot breathe!”

  “I wish,” he said, shaking his head from side to side, “I have been trying forever. From my earliest memory, I have been training. I can remember the spells, master the movements, but nothing ever happens. They make me clean the Keep. I’m an embarrassment.”

  D’rel shook his jerky at the boy. “Your problem is your center is out of balance and your mind is clouded, and unable to focus.”

  “Of course,” he muttered.

  The elf opened his satchel. “Here, let me help you with your focus.”

  The elf pulled out a small green crystal and spun it, telling Bal’kor to watch the crystal while he spoke several incantations. He stopped spinning the crystal and told him to try a small spell.

  Bal’kor tried a spell while the elf observes. “See, nothing!”

  D’rel placed his hands on Bal’kor’s face and pushed hard. He felt the pressure all the way to his core. He had a very vivid flashback of his mother when he was learning his first spell. She was chanting. Bal’kor recognized the spell and knew then that it was his mother’s spell that prevented him from casting magic. Bal’kor’s eyes filled with tears.

  The elf drew him back to the present and asked him to try again. Again he spun the crystal and chanted. Suddenly, Bal’kor felt flushed and the flow of power filled him. The energy radiated down his arms to the tips of his fingers and he saw a small flame dancing at the end of his fingers. He became so ecstatic he lost concentration and the flame winked out. Bal’kor jumped up and hugged D’rel, who pushed him away and grumbled to himself. Bal’kor danced in a circle, while the elf watched in amusement.

  He thanked the elf profusely.

  “Oh, Bal’kor…what have you done,” he heard his mother say.

  “The gods,” he stammered! “I have tried since I was born to make a single small flame.” Tears flowed down his cheeks and sobs escape his throat; he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

  “Now they will know that you are a mage and they will come for you.

  “Why?” he begged.

  “Because you were hidden until you could grow in power.”

  “You were trying to protect me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “If you knew, the spell would fade and not work.”

  Bal’kor nodded to himself.

  “Who are talking to?” D’rel asked.

  “My mother,” Bal’kor said.

  D’rel looked around, puzzled because no one was around.

  Bal’kor held out his arm and showed D’rel the bracelet. “She’s in here…she talks to me sometimes.”

  D’rel’s eyes went wide when he saw the bal’achar.

  The elf turned his back to put away his crystal.

  “I think that you are the one I seek,” the elf said, under his breath as he pondered the possibility. He shook his head. This young mage was not ready for the challenges. He was but a boy with his head filled with boyish thoughts. He cursed. He didn’t want to preside over the funeral of another wizard. “You are not what I expected…”

  “It’s okay, Brock was disappointed in me too. I’m used to it…”

  “Brock?”

  Bal’kor raised a brow. “You know him? He showed up two days ago but I haven’t seen him since.”

  “I didn’t know his family still watched…” the elf said.

  “Do you watch?”

  The elf nodded. “I do, but I am the Guide for the next challenge. I came by to meet those who had been sent.”

  “I wasn’t sent,” Bal’kor professed. “I arrived here by accident. A demon tricked me.”

  “A demon? Then you are lucky to still be alive.”

  Bal’kor’s face turned red. “… she said she would…you know…show me things. I don’t know why she didn’t kill me.”

  “She?”

&n
bsp; Bal’kor looked at the elf and D’rel could see the disgusted look on his face.

  “Oh, I see. You didn’t know she was a demon…”

  Bal’kor knew, but decided not to say anything.

  “Well, you are here. There is only one way out. If you wish to survive, you should really learn how to better move and fight...”

  “But I have my magic now,” Bal’kor complained. “I can slay any demon with a simple spell.”

  Bal’kor raised his hand and called up a ball of wizard’s fire. D’rel smiled. He had not expected such a powerful ball of energy from one so young. He was rather impressed, but decided not to show it. Given the boys conversation with his mother, D’rel figured she had good reason to shield her own son.

  “Magic cannot always be used. It becomes a crutch. It is not the natural way of things.”

  Bal’kor pleaded. “If I can’t use magic, can you teach me to fight with a sword?”

  D’rel didn’t answer right away. He stared at the young mage, trying to gauge his constitution. The boy seemed sincere enough and determined. The last time he had trained one such as this, things did not turn out so well—but that was a very long time ago.

  “I can…but you must do as I say and practice what I teach. Do you promise to do so?”

  Bal’kor grinned widely. “I do. I promise.”

  The elf flashed a very thin smile. “We shall see how you feel about this tomorrow after a full day of training. I have not decided whether I will instruct you or not. I reserve the right to change my mind at any time.”

  “Brock said he couldn’t help me. How is it that you can.”

  D’rel snorted. “I’m not helping you with any of the challenges. You misunderstand. I am only going to help you learn skills of survival. The rest will be up to you!”

  Bal’kor smiled. How hard could it possibly be?

  The next morning Bal’kor woke to the elf shaking his shoulder.

  “Get up! You are wasting the day.” D’rel yelled.