Keeper of the Realms: The Dark Army (Book 2)

by Marcus Alexander

  ‘Just slide it between the straps of the satchel so it rests between your shoulders.’

  She sighed despondently, but did as he suggested.

  ‘OK, so are you going to give me some more info on these daemons? Like what do they look like and how do I stop them doing … well, whatever it is they do to little girls who trespass in the lower dominions.’

  ‘The Daemon Kindred are a jigsaw race. No two are the same and each has been modelled upon a nightmare. Legends speak of creatures and critters half-man and half-beast or half-man and half-insect. Some of the wilder stories suggest that they are even more versatile than this, maybe even half-elemental.’

  ‘Elemental?’

  ‘Half-man and half-smoke, or wind, or fire, or soil or –’

  ‘OK, I get it. Half-not-very-nice, then. I can hardly wait. But why are they all half-man, why not half-hedgehog and half … I don’t know … half-Tyrannosaurus rex?’

  ‘Some fables whisper that the Daemon Kindred strive to become that which they hate the most. Man.’

  ‘Yeah, is that Human, Treman or Stoman kinda man? I always get a little confused now that I’m in Bellania.’

  ‘Take your pick, each race is as capable of sin as the next.’

  ‘So you don’t know.’

  ‘I tell you what, young Keeper. Why don’t you take notes while you’re down there and then when you come back you can enlighten us all with your insights.’ He gave her another one of his measured looks – he seemed to have a lot of those to spare.

  ‘Right, well, then,’ said Charlie. ‘Any last words of advice for me, like what I should do after I have your “vessel”?’

  ‘I would run like you’ve got all the denizens of hell hot on your heels.’

  ‘Ha. Ha. Ha,’ grumbled Charlie with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

  ‘I do not joke about this, Charlie Keeper. Run and run for your life for all the Kindred will come for you. They always welcome those into Hell with deceit and wiles, but they will not so easily let you go. So run, Keeper, run back with my god as fast as you can.’

  ‘Run.’ Charlie nodded like it was the wisest thing in the world to do. Truth was, she was beginning to get scared. She had known that going to hell was part of the deal, but a large part of her mind hadn’t been able to accept the reality of it. She gripped the hilt of the useless Hell Sword to stop the sudden shaking in her hands. It didn’t help, but at least it hid her fear from the others. ‘Right, running I can do. Any other last words of wisdom?’

  ‘Yes. Your Will will not help you in the lower dominions.’

  ‘What!’ choked Charlie and Nibbler in unison.

  ‘Your Will will only get you through the Gate and back. Nothing more.’

  ‘Please tell me you’re joking. Please tell me that was just bad Stoman humour.’

  ‘As I have told you several times: I do not joke.’

  ‘No, no, of course you don’t,’ said Charlie, white-faced. The shakes were now starting in her arms and legs. ‘You don’t joke.’

  ‘Hold up,’ growled Nibbler. ‘Charlie, forget this. There’s no way you’re going in there. Not without me and not without your Will. Listen, Darkmount, the deal is off! Definitely off! What kind of idiot are you and what kind of idiots do you think we are? We don’t need this; we can find the location of the Gate another way. We don’t –’

  ‘A deal was made!’ said Darkmount, his angry voice crackling around the cavern. The shadows seemed to darken, the light grew dimmer and the bishop appeared to grow in size.

  ‘Yeah, well who makes deals like that with little girls?’ yelled Nibbler. ‘Got to be some kind of twisted person to pull a fast trick like that!’ He stared fiercely at the bishop. Small puffs of flame burst from his mouth.

  Darkmount jumped to his feet, his stonesong already building. Rage made the veins in his face and neck bulge. ‘So you would revoke a deal?’

  ‘That wasn’t a deal, that was a trick!’

  Nibbler, just as furious, reared up on his back legs, spread his wings wide and gushed out a torrent of bright flame that burned and flared across the room. Dark green and bright yellow flames crashed together with the explosive sound of a thunderclap.

  The two adversaries snarled and spat wordlessly at one another. Darkmount drew his arms over his head and increased the passion of his song. Nibbler sucked in a huge breath of air, widened his mouth and tensed his legs ready to jump forward.

  ‘Enough!’ screamed Charlie. Jumping upright she sent a sheet of golden Will between the two. ‘Enough! I will do it!’ she shouted. ‘I will do it. I will see this through. A deal is a deal and if this is what it takes to beat Bane then this is what I shall do.’

  ‘Charlie, are you sure?’ asked Nibbler as he settled back on to all four paws. ‘Are you sure this is what you want to do? There’s always another way.’

  ‘No, it’s not what I want to do. I’d rather be chilling at home with my parents or hanging with you, Jensen and Kelko back in Sylvaris, but this is what’s gotta be done. If we want to keep moving forward then this is the way.’ Charlie forced out a dry laugh. ‘This is the Will and the Way. Ha. You know Azariah would be laughing if he could only see me now.’

  Hands clenched by her sides, she swallowed her fear and prepared herself for what was to come.

  11

  A Lawyer’s Touch

  The crows cascaded through the air like a ragged scarf caught in the wind. Wheeling this way and that, their movement was fierce but discordant. Overhead, ominous clouds churned with the promise of thunder and lightning; below, the apparently never-ending grasslands of the Great Plains stretched as far as the eye could see.

  As the flock sped onward, their flight became more chaotic, more disorganized, as though they were having trouble acting as one. At the point when it seemed as though the birds would break off in different directions, an abrupt change came over them. Cawing nastily they spiralled downward and, nearing the ground, burst into one large flailing mass of inky feathers. With an odd sound of breaking glass Mr Crow stepped on to the grass.

  Still dressed in his suit and tie, and still slightly transparent after his battle royal with Nibbler – the distant horizon could be seen through his body – Charlie Keeper’s lanky lawyer and legal guardian looked very out of place.

  Truly, Mr Crow was a stranger in a strange land.

  Almost immediately he began to pace up and down. A perplexed expression crept across his face and as he strode back and forth with jerky motions his angular nose began to quiver.

  ‘What to do? What to do? What to do?’ he asked.

  Ignoring the fact that he could see the grass through his shoes and refusing to acknowledge that his fluttering fingers appeared more ghostly than Human, he began to gnaw at his knuckles.

  ‘What to do?’ he asked the grass.

  ‘What to do?’ he asked the clouds.

  ‘What to do? What to do?’

  Thoughts, fears and anxieties raced through Mr Crow’s brain. It was obvious that he had failed in his task. As far as he was aware, Charlie Keeper still ran free and still had that pesky pendant hanging round her smug little neck – a fact that would no doubt infuriate his master, Bane.

  And that was the crux of the matter.

  Mr Crow did not, under any circumstances, want to return to face an enraged Stoman Lord. He knew from his previous encounters how powerful, ferocious and unforgiving Bane was.

  The lawyer’s beady little eyes bulged with alarm. He really did not want to be ripped limb from limb or pummelled into a bloody pile of fleshy scraps – a fate that he suspected was waiting for him in the Western Mountains. He had no idea how he might return to Earth from Bellania, but he knew that even there he would not be safe from Bane’s wicked revenge. Something stronger than greed swelled inside Mr Crow’s soul.

  Cowardice.

  ‘WHAT TO DO?’ he screamed.

  The answer came to him, not in a flash of brilliance, but in a sluggish wave of gutlessness. />
  He would do nothing.

  He would hide and wait.

  Surely, thought Mr Crow, an opportunity would arise if he waited long enough or was patient enough?

  Having made his decision, he raced forward and leaped into the sky. Bursting into his alternative form, the cawing, shrieking crows sped across the grasslands beneath the tempestuous skies. Banking left and right they searched for miles and miles until they at last found what they wanted.

  A dank and dark cave.

  Circling round the entrance once, twice, three times, they flew back the way they had come until they hovered above a herd of wild cattle that they had seen while scouting for their hideout. Descending venomously, the flock pulled one of the cows kicking and bellowing into the air. Whipping round, they sped back to the cave and disappeared inside with their writhing catch.

  To wait.

  And to feed.

  Three Stoman generals entered the Throne Room, stamping past the guards and the long line of footmen. The rattle of their swords and the clink of their chainmail resounded across the great space, yet oddly didn’t echo back. Each man was grizzled and war-torn, but they wore their scars and marks from a hundred different battles proudly. Heads held high, hands on pommel or belt, they marched to the foot of the great dais. Slamming their feet together and holding clenched fists above their heads, they saluted.

  ‘My lord!’ they said, standing ramrod straight. Each of them knew the punishment for failure. Each had seen lesser men, beasts and creatures snapped across Bane’s knee or torn to shreds between his powerful hands for failing to deliver his wishes. But each cared not. They stared up at their master with shining eyes. Bane, the Stoman Lord, was the man who had led the forces of the Western Mountains to rule Bellania, and for this they would worship him forever.

  ‘Report,’ commanded Bane.

  ‘The Second has taken Alavis,’ said the general with a milky eye and a scar that curled his lip in a perpetual sneer.

  ‘The Third has taken Alacorn,’ said the one with the cleft in his jaw. ‘Both Human cities now lie beneath the shadow of your banner, my lord.’

  ‘Good,’ said Bane. ‘And do the Tremen still believe that our forces intend to use Alavis and Alacorn as launching posts from which to invade Deepforest and Sylvaris?’

  ‘Our spies report this to be so,’ said the milky-eyed general.

  Bane settled back into the Devouring Throne. He appeared pleased with the news. ‘Excellent. You will command both the Second and the Third to make preparations to move, but they are to take their time. Allow the Tremen to believe they will have weeks – if not months – in which to prepare for the arrival or war.’

  ‘As you wish, my lord.’ The milky-eyed and cleft-jawed generals both bowed their heads in acknowledgement of their orders.

  ‘And what of the First?’ growled Bane. ‘How does my prime army fare?’

  The last general, larger and more ferocious-looking than the others, peeled back his lips to reveal blackened teeth. ‘The First has already departed the Western Mountains, my lord. As you commanded, they will loop northward through the Great Plains to strike at Deepforest from an approach that the Tremen will not suspect.’

  ‘You have scouts and outriders scourging the way?’ asked Bane.

  ‘Yes, my lord. Once the army leaves our land and enters the Great Plains they have been instructed to butcher any who stands in the way. There will be no witnesses to warn the Tremen of our coming. Sylvaris will be caught unaware.’

  Bane rumbled in delight. The sound carried across the Throne Room and unlike the clink of the general’s armour it echoed back, growing louder and louder until it sounded like a war drum pounding out its malicious and blood-fuelled intent.

  12

  The Stubborn Citadel

  Keeping the image of Darkmount’s map of the Stubborn Citadel in her mind, Charlie summoned her Will, raised her hands high and tore open a Portal. It revealed a night-time landscape and a series of gently rolling hills that disappeared into the darkness. Darkmount eased his bulk through the Portal and after a quick look gave a nod of approval.

  ‘Good. This is the place.’ With a beckoning gesture he indicated that Charlie and Nibbler should join him.

  Jumping through, Charlie took a quick look at the hills then turned to see if the fortress lay behind them.

  ‘Oh,’ she murmured as she came face to face with a sheer cliff. She craned her neck back and there, at the very top, where her vision began to blur, she could make out the Stubborn Citadel.

  Charlie gulped. The place was huge. No army in its right mind would ever attempt to scale these walls. She was very glad that Darkmount would be doing the climbing.

  ‘Quick,’ hissed Darkmount. ‘Close the Portal. The light will give us away.’

  Charlie allowed the Portal to wink out of existence.

  ‘Right,’ continued Darkmount. ‘You –’ he pointed at Nibbler – ‘get going and remember to stop flapping your wings once you are over the citadel.’

  ‘Stop flapping my wings? Are you crazy? How am I supposed to stay airborne? Hold my breath and hope I float like a balloon?’

  ‘Idiot!’ snapped Darkmount. ‘Glide in! Gain enough altitude outside the fortress then glide down. Those big wings of yours make a lot of noise.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Nibbler, seeing the wisdom in his words. ‘OK, good idea.’

  ‘Well don’t stand there dawdling all day. Get on with it.’

  Charlie could see that Nibbler was hesitant. Not because of any concern for his own welfare, but fear for hers.

  ‘Don’t worry, Nibbler. I’ll be OK. We’ll meet up on the inside.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Charlie flashed him a nervous smile. ‘Yes.’

  The two of them exchanged a hug.

  ‘By Stone and Spit!’ cursed Darkmount. ‘This isn’t nursery school. Stop wasting time and get on with it.’

  Nibbler threw him a dirty look. Then with a hop and skip he launched himself into the night sky.

  Once Nibbler had disappeared Charlie turned to confront Darkmount, but before she could utter a word Darkmount held up his hand. ‘We’re not friends, we’re business partners. Nothing more. Best you remember that.’

  Anger seethed within Charlie. She wanted to say something, but knew that now wasn’t the time.

  Darkmount walked over to the cliff and knelt down. ‘Climb on,’ he said.

  Charlie twisted her sword belt so the Hell Sword rested against the back of her leg. Not caring if she pinched Darkmount in the process, Charlie clambered up the bishop’s broad back, hooked her arms round his thick neck and jammed her feet into the small of his back.

  Once Darkmount was certain she was secure and not likely to fall he stood and began to chant softly. His hands and feet glowed a soft dark green, which seemed to melt into the darkness. Charlie didn’t doubt that it would be hard to see from a distance.

  Darkmount plunged his hands and feet into the rock and with a surge of his powerful muscles began to climb effortlessly upward.

  Charlie swallowed as the ground dwindled into the distance. The fear of an imminent fall rushed through her and as their ascent continued her sense of vertigo only intensified. Even the bunch and tense of Darkmount’s prodigious muscles beneath his cloak didn’t reassure her, and as they climbed higher and higher she was sure that at any moment she would topple off and fall to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs.

  Darkmount’s gravelly voice shook her from her thoughts. ‘The cliff ends here and the wall begins. Hold on tight, the ride won’t be smooth.’

  Charlie’s stomach lurched as Darkmount began to push his hands into the stonework. Little flashes of dim light met his every contact and as he pushed his fist into the stone it seemed to resist. Charlie began to bounce and shake as the Stoman bishop did his best to climb smoothly.

  ‘They have treated the walls,’ hissed Darkmount through gritted teeth, ‘to make it resistant to stonesinging. We will have to hope
that no one sees the sparks.’

  ‘Are … are we going to fall?’ squeaked Charlie.

  But Darkmount refused to answer, instead saving his breath for the climb ahead.

  Higher and higher they went. As the ascent became increasingly difficult, Darkmount’s muscles started to ripple in an unsteady rhythm, making it harder for Charlie to maintain her grip round his neck. She soon felt her own muscles begin to cramp and tire.

  ‘Hold on,’ panted Darkmount, sensing her fatigue. ‘We are nearly there. Nearly there.’

  Charlie took one last look at the moon-drenched landscape that swayed hundreds of feet below and decided that now would be a good time to shut her eyes.

  A sudden lurch made her eyes spring open and she was terrified that they were about to fall. But instead of plummeting to their deaths she realized that Darkmount had heaved himself up and was now lowering his legs over the other side of the wall. He changed his song subtly and released his hold on the stone so that only the tips of his fingers and toes touched its surface, allowing them to slide rapidly downward.

  As they descended, Charlie had a brief view of the main citadel with its jutting battlements and jagged turrets, but before she could examine it further it fell out of sight behind a second wall.

  Darkmount’s feet touched the ground and, ducking low to hide their silhouette, he hastened to the next wall. Charlie, white-faced and high on adrenalin, clung to his back like a racehorse jockey. On reaching the far side Darkmount once again began to climb.

  Halfway up Charlie pounded on his back. ‘Guards!’ she whispered. ‘There’re guards.’

  ‘Where?’ growled Darkmount.

  ‘Below,’ she hissed, then realizing that was obvious added, ‘Down, to our left.’

  The two of them watched as a small troop of Stomen marched by. The tread of their feet and the clatter of armour echoed eerily into the night.

  They soon passed, allowing Darkmount to continue upward undetected.