Dark Moon Daughter

by J. Edward Neill

  “Rellen, no!” she screamed.

  Everything lost its meaning. Her voyage to Shivershore, her trek through Nightmare; all of it seemed bent to the warlock’s ends. He was the world’s manipulator, the pusher of pieces across the board of Thillria. Kill him! She wanted to shout at Rellen, but in her heart she knew it would not happen.

  Rellen coiled like a serpent and lashed out with his broadsword. The bright blade tore through the darkness, a stroke that might have sundered stone had it found its mark, but the moment his blade touched where the warlock appeared to be, the villain vanished.

  “I was never there.” His voice came from elsewhere in the night. “I was here.”

  She looked to her left and saw the fiend at the farthest reach of the fire’s waning light. The last of Hadryn’s raiment was gone, replaced with robes black and grey as ash. No… She wept for Rellen. Run, my love. You cannot win.

  Saul shouldered past Rellen. His battlestaff whirling, he sprinted through the smoke and swung for the warlock’s skull. Again the warlock disappeared. She whipped her gaze to the far right of the camp, nearest the thicket of daggerlike trees. She saw him, or at least his image, reappear in the midst of several Thillrian men, who scattered at the sight of him.

  “Or was I here?” The sound of his voice made many hundred leaves tumble from the trees.

  Faster than the warlock could mock him again, Rellen hurled his silver dagger at the warlock’s chest. The blade flashed like a falling star, screaming through the night. She hoped the third image of the warlock might be true, but the dagger, sharp as any on the earth, spun through the shadows and clattered against a tree. Another illusion. Her heart sank. No more killable than a cloud.

  The third image vanished, and from somewhere in the darkness, the warlock’s laughter arose. It crashed like cold waves against her ears, the darkness drowning her.

  “The way to the grave is easier if you do not resist, Lord Gryphon,” the warlock rumbled.

  Rellen’s fingers loosened around his blade. He glanced to the dying fire, whose violet light she slumped beneath. “Why, Ande?” he despaired. “Why did you help him? You told me magic died in Furyon. What are we supposed to do now?”

  Run, she wanted to scream. “Walk away, my love.” The words fell like poison from her lips. “I knew nothing. Jix told me this was to save Thillria.”

  “Walk away?” said Rellen. “Never.”

  “Do it or they will kill you. Please!” She faced the darkness, within which the warlock stood. “Hadryn, sorcerer, whatever your name is, I will submit to you if you spare them. Let them live, and I am yours. I beg you!”

  The warlock stalked closer to the fire. He looked taller than any man she had ever seen, his long black hair framing a face etched without emotion. He walked not alone in the night, but with his minions at his back. Somehow, in the brief moment she had shared with Rellen, a vast company of soldiers had surrounded the camp. But they are no Thillrians. Where did they come from?

  The ranks of dark-eyed men closed in on the camp. Their faces were ashen, their armor as grey as storm clouds, and their lusterless swords unsheathed and swaying in their gauntleted grasps. A hundred. She guessed their number, for their shoulders seemed to stretch forever into the night. No. A thousand.

  The warlock came for her. She slumped lower in the grass, her cheek turned to him. What remained of the fire burned blue and lavender behind her, though the flames failed to illuminate the warlock’s face. His eyes were too dark, his face too heavy with shadows.

  “I know what you want.” She trembled.

  “Good.” He snared her chin within his long, lean fingers. “This was the only way. You have a power in you, Andelusia. For all my magicks, you did something I never could have done.”

  Steal the Pages Black. She shivered in silence beneath him. You wanted the book for yourself. The Uylen never mattered.

  “Leave her be!” Rellen shouted.

  The warlock snapped his gaze at Saul and Rellen. In the darkness, the host of shadow men did the same. “As for you two,” the warlock growled, “it is unfortunate you did not remain at Aeth. I tried to persuade you, but you would not listen. Now you’ve seen too much. Lay down your weapons. Go quietly to the Undergrave.”

  The Undergrave? she flinched at the word.

  Rellen whispered something to Saul. Whatever words they shared, the warlock seemed able to hear. He tore his fingers from her cheek, pretending to play with puppet strings that no one else could see. “Oh your swordsman will not save you tonight.” He shot a hard look at Rellen before glancing at his grey-faced army. “Bring him out!”

  The grey soldiers parted. She knew what she would see even before she looked. They brought Garrett out, shoving him through their ranks like a dog. She saw his head hanging in shame, his wrists and ankles shackled by chains thick enough to bind a bear. His sword and bow were gone. Never, she thought as they pushed him nearer the fire. I have never seen him like this.

  And then she understood. Behind Garrett, a young woman sidled. Her cowl was thrown back, and her gaze, filled with quiet confidence, lay like a sword on Garrett’s back. Her hair was raven, her skin like moonlight. She reminded Andelusia…of myself.

  The crowd of dark soldiers swallowed Garrett back into their midst. The dark-haired girl walked demurely to the warlock’s side and pulled her hood over her eyes. “There is no fight here,” the warlock said to Rellen and Saul. “Even Ser Croft knows as much. Lay down your sword and staff. Go quietly with Grimwain.”

  That name again, she thought. What new horror awaits us?

  “Never,” said Rellen.

  “Not even if your army were twice as huge.” Saul whirled his staff.

  The warlock raised his hand over his head and snapped his fingers. The noise cracked the air like thunder. “Thillrians!” the warlock boomed. “Come out of hiding. You came here for soldiers’ pay, and now you’ll earn it. Wrest the weapons from these two fools, and I’ll send you home tonight, your pockets stuffed with Thillrian crowns.”

  She thought the Thillrians had run. But no, they were only hiding. One by one, they slunk out of the shadows and into the bare grass between Rellen, Saul, and the warlock’s mass of dark-armored men.

  “No!” She sprang to her feet. The black whispers tore ragged holes in her thoughts, but she shut her eyes and willed them to silence. “Get back!” she said to the Thillrians. “Run, Rellen. Run, Saul. Run, and never look back!

  “Take me instead.” She held her wrists toward the warlock. “I will not fight. Here, tie me up. Sling me over your arm. Do what you must, but do not kill them. I will come with you and serve in whatever abyss you call home. Just spare them.”

  “Ande, he’ll kill you too!” said Rellen. “He’s a liar! He means to murder us all.”

  She savored one last look upon her love. Through the Thillrians’ blades and the smoke streaming from the fire, she saw him. So handsome, so brave, so doomed. She cocked her head at him and showed him her frail, heartbroken smile, but then, as though commanded by a voice unheard, she retreated to the warlock’s side. She took her place next to him and the dark-haired girl as though it was where she had always belonged. “Forgive me,” She hung her head. “I must know the Pages Black.”

  She heard Rellen suck in a great breath of air. The whispers clouded her thoughts again, and darkness claimed her mind.

  Rellen and Saul charged. A dozen Thillrians intervened. She heard the crash of their steel, and though she expected Rellen to die and her heart to shatter on the spot, she felt only peace inside her. For if they must die, I will live. I will make meaning of this all.

  Rellen cracked the first Thillrian’s jaw with a wild punch and gutted the second with his sword. Saul broke the arms and skulls of another pair. Four Thillrians tumbled to the earth, thrashing like wounded deer in the grass, their blood gargling in their throats. Three more came for Rellen, carving great wounds in the smoke with their swords, but he clipped the hand from one and stuck the other
in the meat of his thigh. Saul slew the third, crushing the poor fool’s kneecaps and making pulp of his face. Any other eve, the sights would have sickened her, for she had never known the violence Rellen and Saul were capable of. But even as the Thillrians howled and toppled and bled, she swore she saw their souls fleeing their bodies, and she felt more peaceful still.

  “Listen to reason!” the fattest Thillrian panted, wagging his sword perilously close to Rellen’s neck. “He says he won’t kill you!”

  Rellen replied with a kick to the fat soldier’s groin, followed by a mash of his sword pommel upon the front of the Thillrian’s skull. Saul whirled his steel-shod staff and crushed the forearm of another. Both of the wounded whimpered and fell into the grass.

  “Any more?” Rellen crowed at the warlock, the Thillrians, and the mass of soldiers standing stoically in the darkness beyond the camp. “Any of you? No? None brave enough to protect poor Hadryn?”

  Only three Thillrians remained. Two dropped their swords. All three backed away.

  “No more!” whimpered one. “We give.”

  Just beside her, the warlock watched with a deepening frown. He swallowed hard and turned his nose to the night sky. “More blood, and so senseless,” he said. “Grimwain, be done with it!”

  She sensed what was next to come. Standing so meekly beside the warlock and the dark-haired girl, she ached to help Rellen, Saul, and Garrett. I could use my power, she knew. One wish, and we could be gone from here. But the Pages Black had taken hold of her heart. Between the crackles of fire, the wails of wounded Thillrians, and the hot breaths of men pouring into the night, I hear only the voices. Join the warlock, they say. Do not senselessly die. Learn the powers of the Pages. Let my love go. Earn my vengeance on a day long from now.

  From the warlock’s shadow host, the Captain emerged. Grimwain, she knew at last. Not the Captain any longer. His torn raiment was gone, and a black silken shirt and fresh breeches blowing loose in the wind over his limbs. His knot of hair was free and flowing, the dark shocks cascading to the middle of his back. Rellen and Saul glowered at him, and she finally saw him for who he was. Grimwain. Not a man. Not a Thillrian. A monster.

  Grimwain took three graceful strides toward the last three Thillrians. Like flowing water he moved, stripping his twin swords from their rotting scabbards. The Thillrians hardly made a sound in dying, for his sword strokes were like careful pinpricks, one quick skewer to each of their necks, their bellies, and their hearts. He made murder look horrifyingly easy. She tried, but she could not see the Thillrians bleed.

  Streaking forth, Saul spun his battlestaff and hammered the butt of it against Grimwain’s shoulder. Grimwain seemed not to notice. He stood from the steaming corpse of the last Thillrian and smiled at Saul as though at the visage of death. Thrice more Saul whirled to strike him, but Grimwain slapped each blow away with the flat of his left-hand sword. She began to understand how he had slain so many Uylen. He is faster than any man, faster even than Garrett, and he knows no pain.

  Saul swung for Grimwain’s head, but Grimwain let his blades fall to the earth and caught the spinning staff between his bare hands. Saul tried to wrench his weapon free, yet Grimwain held fast, his grip too powerful. For many breaths the two were locked, chin to chin, tooth to tooth, with only the staff quivering between them. She knew how it would end.

  “Go!” Saul coughed at Rellen through clenched teeth. “Kill the wizard! Get Garrett and Ande!”

  She glared at the warlock. He will not look at me, but he knows my mind. Kill them, and lose me. Spare them, and earn my service forever.

  Rellen and the warlock locked gazes. Rellen’s eyes were filled with hate and hurt, while the warlock’s expression was as cold and quiet as his grey-faced host of soldiers. Rellen was close enough to strike before the grey men could react, but the moment he hoisted his sword, gritted his teeth, and charged, he was thrown down. With his bare hands, Grimwain had torn Saul’s staff away, snapped the oaken thing in two, and hurled Saul through the air. She heard the crack as Saul and Rellen collided like mountains. The Uylen weighed nothing to the Captain. She remained motionless. And men weigh even less.

  Grimwain stood over both of the fallen men, his boot on Saul’s belly, his sword point resting on Rellen’s neck. Rellen reached out to retrieve his fallen sword, but Grimwain dragged the blade across his collar, drawing a thin river of blood.

  “Ona, bind them,” the warlock commanded.

  The dark-haired girl rushed to Rellen and Saul. From beneath her cloak she produced a short coil of hempen rope, thin as her nimble fingers, but too strong for any man to break. Deftly, she bound Rellen and Saul’s hands and feet, and afterward scurried back to the warlock’s side.

  Grimwain hauled the men to their knees, swaying one of his swords like a pendulum before their chins. “From the men who defeated Furyon,” he said without expression, “I expected more.”

  “All this for a book?” Rellen seethed at the warlock. “Why not do it yourself?”

  The warlock peered skyward. “I have no answer to please you, Rellen Gryphon. Your part in this is done. You will live out your days beneath the earth, toiling in the prisons I have prepared for those who resist the coming change. Be grateful to Andelusia. It’s her love for you that keeps you from Grim’s cold mercy.”

  Rather than face Rellen, Andelusia let her gaze fall into the grass, which danced like a sea of dark swords in the last of the firelight. ‘Do not look at him,’ the whispers in her head bid her. I will not, she promised. I cannot.

  “What did you do to her?” Rellen sat up, nearly impaling himself on Grimwain’s sword.

  The warlock said nothing. Grimwain sheathed his swords, grasped the backs of Rellen and Saul’s collars, and began to drag them toward the trees, like pigs for slaughter.

  “Look at me!” Rellen screamed at the warlock as Grimwain hauled him away. “How did you do it?”

  Grimwain halted. The warlock tore his stare out of the sky. She saw the storm brewing in both their gazes. “It was not so difficult,” said the warlock. “There was never a treaty between Grae and Thill, no reason for you to come here, and yet here you are. Wherever the girl goes, we knew you’d follow. In the last months, I played parts of all of you: King Orumna, your friends, even Lady Gryphon. You never knew me for who I really was, for I was all of you and none of you.”

  “You pretended to be my mother?” Rellen thrashed, but Grimwain held him down. “Graehelm will have your heads for this!”

  “Poor Rellen.” The warlock shook his head. “No soul of Graeland or Thillria knows you are alive. Your mother, your king, your countrymen…they weep for your death as told to them in a letter delivered only a few weeks ago. No one will come for you. To the world, you are lost.”

  Rellen twisted against his ropes again, but his only reward was to fall face first into the grass. He lay prone among the dancing black blades, Grimwain’s sword against his spine. “Don’t follow him, Ande!” he cursed. “This is not you! He told us you’re one of him! I won’t believe it!”

  His ragged cries tore her heart in half. She could not stand the sound of it. Go away. She clasped her hands over her ears. Please, just go. I will die of this. Take him to the Undergrave. Do it now, please.

  Heedless of Rellen’s howls, Grimwain snared his collar and Saul’s and began dragging again. The warlock’s grey soldiers filed in behind them. With eyes like unpolished steel and footsteps that barely disturbed the earth, the host crowded into the trees and vanished into the dark. The last she saw of them were the blades of their grey-steel spears floating into the night like the weapons of a ghostly army.

  She blinked when they were gone. She surveyed the emptiness of their wake, and found they had left Garrett behind. She was surprised to see him standing in the grass, chained and bleeding, staring back at her across the void.

  “Why not him?” Her question was only a whisper.