A Dark Tyranny

by C. M. Pendleton

  “You just met me. You could get killed,” she whispered.

  “If anyone deserves to live … it's you. I'd rather die trying … than not at all. We have to be ready, though.”

  She shook her head that she understood. They sat in silence for the next three hours. The time laid hard on Finn. He began to doubt himself. He was one person amongst an army of gorgons. Would there even be a chance? He feared they would both die knowing he failed. The sun began to hint at rising. Light trickled in through the trees. The gorgon in red cracked his whip and everyone rose to their feet.

  “Stay by me,” Finn grabbed Nylah’s arm.

  Chapter 8

  A Messenger in the Night

  The horse was not bred for war; it was lean and agile. The gilding was dark gray. It caught a slight glimmer from the moon. The horse's hooves threw dirt and mud, as it pounded through the path. A boy rider carried a sealed note for the king. The lightest of boys and swiftest of horses were picked to be a bringer of the King’s Seal. This royal messenger carried a dire message to the King of the Eastern Realm. However, the horse and rider still had to make it through to forest’s edge.

  The Seat of the Eastern King was safely tucked in the mountain city of Horos. Horos was more of a fortress than a city. One had to make their way through the surrounding forests only to reach the mountains. Horos was nestled within a valley of almost impenetrable mountains. Protective walls encircled the city. They were made of granite and quartz. The city of Horos acted as a barrier to the castle. Castle Horos was primarily quartz with thick wooden beams from the forest trees. The mountains pulled all rain and water down into the valley. The grass was thick and the soil ripe for growing. The valley itself stretched for hundreds of miles. The Eastern Realm was the smallest of the four realms but its seat was highly sought after. Its forests were rich and the mountains full of fine stones and jewels. However, getting to Horos was another matter entirely. Rumors of forest creatures were dwarfed by the rumors of rock beasts within the mountaintops. One road led through the forest, up the mountain, and into the valley. The older villagers said that the road was guarded by more than just men. Beasts of forest and rock still roamed at night. Most dismissed these as stories to frighten wayward children. However, the road was still best traveled in daylight.

  The gray horse galloped through the night; its rider not caring of the noise he stirred in the depths of the darkness. The speed of his ride would be his best defense. They trampled down the path towards the opening of the forest. A slight rain began to fall. The rider steadfastly gripped the reins, his cloak pulled down tight. The horse charged through the rain.

  ___________

  “Do you see that? There ...,” a thin tower guard named Dowery pulled his cloak from his head to get a better look. He had a long mustache that dripped over his mouth. The rain caused it to splinter out over his bottom lip. He was thin, bedraggled, and wind burnt.

  “I can't see nothing in this mess but rain,” the older guard didn’t even bother to look.

  “I believe it’s a rider.”

  “Notch a bow then,” the old guard grumbled. “Make ‘em stop if he gets too close.”

  Dowery pulled a bow from the stone wall and gave arrow to string. He did not release but kept the arrow on the shadowy figure riding towards the gate.

  “That’s strange …,” said Dowery.

  “What?”

  “It’s just a horse,” Dowery said, almost to himself.

  “What do you mean just a horse?”

  The old guard moved to look down at the road.

  “It’s a horse. There’s no rider,” Dowery said again. It was true. A pale grey mare ran wildly through the sleeping village and towards the castle walls. An empty saddle flapped upon its back.

  “Turn the gate!” the old guard yelled down from their perch on the tower.

  Four men came out of a stone hut built against the interior wall of the castle. They pulled their cloaks around them, as they left their fire. A large wooden wheel with six handles was close to the iron gate. They each grabbed a handle and began to walk the wheel in circles. The gate screeched and ground, as metal scraped against metal. The gate rose showing its spikey teeth, as they left the muddy earth.

  “Keep your arrow on her,” the old guard instructed Dowery.

  The gray mare was frightened and wide-eyed. Her eyes rolled back, as the guards approached. She breathed heavily. The guards slowly approached the horse. It sidestepped, snorting and frothing.

  “Easy there, girl,” one man called out.

  Another man took hold of the bridle. He was able to grasp one of the loose reins before the horse reared and tried to run again. He was pulled down through the mud and into a wall. His collar bone cracked against the stone.

  “Release,” the old guard told Dowery. The arrow sliced through the rain and caught the horse in the neck. It reared back with a startled yelp. The horse fell to the ground. Another soldier removed his sword and put the horse out of its misery.

  “Any sign of the rider,” one of the men called out.

  “No,” yelled Dowery, “there’s no rider that I can see.”

  “I suspect we will happen upon him in daylight,” said the old guard.

  “There’s a satchel here with a royal seal,” said another guard, as he untied the wet leather satchel. It had an emblem of the Great Tree with swords for branches. It was made of ivory. The guard wiped mud from the satchel and took off one glove to open it. He then realized it wasn’t dirt or mud at all. “Blood,” he called to the others.

  ___________

  Malvern hurried up the stairs with the satchel. His old and frail frame reminded him of his age with each step. His head was bald with the exception of a few strands of gray hair littering his scalp. Malvern’s beard was long but patchy. His small face did not suit a beard. It seemed to pull his skin and face downward, making him appear even more exhausted than he actually was. His woolen robe was wet at the bottom. It stuck to his sandals and pulled against the cold stones of the castle. He could hear Easton’s heavy breathing before he reached the thick wooden door to the king’s quarters. The steady hum of women moaning lightly echoed down the stairwell. Malvern approached the door. He stood a moment to gather himself; he needed to regain his breathing. He stood, wiped his lips, and pulled down on his beard. Malvern lightly knocked on the door.

  “Your grace … I’m sorry to disturb you,” he tried to whisper, but it came out more like a rasp.

  Malvern stood quietly, trying to listen for the sounds of movement. He heard nothing so he lightly tapped on the door again. He knew the king would be upset.

  “Leave us, you wretch. Whatever it is can wait until morning,” a voice belted out from the room.

  “I am sorry, your grace. An urgent message has arrived.”

  “You are defying an order from the king.”

  “I beg your mercy, your grace. It bears the mark of the four realms.”

  There was silence. Malvern stood not quite knowing how the king would react. He rubbed his lower lip with his teeth. Suddenly, the door opened and the king stood in front of him. He was naked. Easton Welthorn had a stocky frame. What was once muscle had long since turned to flabby pale flesh. The king was in his mid-thirties but he had the look of an older man with a tired body. His hair was brown with a slight curl. He kept it closely cropped. His eyebrows were thick with wild stray hairs darting up. The king’s chest was a mass of hair that curled down past his belly to his groin like an unruly overgrowth of thick black weeds. Malvern saw two naked women sprawled across the king’s bed. One looked directly at him, while the other poured more wine into cups. She was already drunk and spilled most of it onto the silken sheets. Malvern pretended not to notice. Easton scratched the curly hairs amassed around his cock, as he stared at Malvern suspiciously.

  “Have you never seen two whores, Malvern? Where is this rider bearing a note?” said Easton. His breath stank of wine and sex.

  “There was no ride
r, just a horse. The guards say that there was blood and pieces of scalp and hair on the horse’s saddle. The satchel was soaked in blood. It has been cleaned to not dirty your grace’s hands.” Malvern held the satchel up for Easton to see. Easton opened the satchel pulling out a tightly coiled scroll. He let the stained bag fall to the ground, as he turned to read the message.

  “Summon my regency.”

  “At once, your grace … and what of Ellison?”

  “Leave my brother be. This is a regent matter.”

  “Of course, your grace. At once,” Malvern scurried from the room.

  The court regents were comprised of the Royal Treasurer, Captain of the Guard, Minister of Land, and two of the king’s Council Elect. The Council Elect were two men the village elected to give voice for the people during times of major decisions. Both men were in need of a bath. They reeked of old mead and vomit. King Easton was yet to find a Council Elect that did not want the luxury and comfort befitting the office and, of course, the women. There was always the women. The position was a joke, which was why Easton had allowed it. It would quell the village into submission and make him appear the better man.

  The rest of his regency was handpicked by the king himself. Jon Leland was the Royal Treasurer. His leather tunic was finely oiled with an expensively dyed red linen shirt underneath. His boots and pants were always clean. His beard was always trimmed into a fine point at the chin. Jon Leland’s hair was thinning and gray at the sides. The Minister of Land dealt with many offices of the realm. He was responsible for the sheriffs, bankers, and other officials of each region of the Eastern Kingdom. Riley Moore kept a pensive look about him. He was thin and astute. Haurice Marlon was the captain of the guard. His frame was stocky and well-muscled. Age had given Haurice a thin layer of fat over his muscles. He kept the kingdom defended and ready for war. Malvern was not part of the regency, but was always present by the king in times of counsel. Easton now wore pants with an unbuttoned tunic. He drank wine directly from the bottle.

  “They say the Red Castle has fallen,” said Haurice. He was not one to mince words. “Beasts and gorgons are raiding villages along the southern borders.”

  “They say that the skin clan is openly crossing borders,” said Jon.

  “Vile bastards.”

  “Did they take the castle? What are they taking from these villagers?” asked Easton.

  “We have not seen any of this first hand,” said Jon.

  “The castle was sacked but not taken. The beasts kill the villagers, while the snakes seem to take them,” said Haurice.

  “Take the villagers? For what?” Easton smirked.

  “Food most likely.”

  “The snakes will use some of them for weapons,” said Haurice.

  “Weapons?” one of the Council Elect was taken aback.

  “They will sacrifice them,” Haurice spoke very matter-of-fact.

  “This is all superstitious conjecture. The truth is that all we know is that Castle Red has fallen. We have reports and gossip about the other. Nothing more,” Riley Moore begin to pace.

  “We should begin to fortify immediately,” said Haurice.

  “I agree,” spoke Riley.

  “Your majesty, if I may,” Malvern spoke directly to Easton. He spoke in a manner that led others to think of his point before he actually said it. He had learned long ago that men will move on their own ideas at a much brisker pace. He would plant the seed; they would water his point.

  “We are convening, Malvern,” Easton retorted sarcastically, “this is the point. Speak.”

  “We are all learned men. History is known to us. If the supernatural are again at war …,” spoke Malvern. He made efforts to contain his enthusiasm.

  “We have no reason to believe this,” interrupted Jon Leland.

  “Indeed. But if they are … history will tell us what the future brings,” spoke Malvern.

  “Decimation,” uttered Haurice.

  “A kingdom broken into four parts … four rulers. It was just one before the first war,” Malvern wanted them to put the pieces together for themselves.

  “What are you suggesting?” Riley Moore stated very bluntly.

  Easton gulped down another mouth full of wine. It left his thick beard damp. Malvern could see he already knew; he had already agreed. Malvern need only continue to frame the idea.

  “We supply the castle and surrounding grounds with provisions for many months of barricade,” instructed Malvern.

  “Hide? This is your idea,” retorted Jon Leland.

  “He means to weather the coming storm,” Easton finally spoke.

  “We move food, armaments, soldiers, nobles, tradesman, pertinent supplies and people into the grounds. Let the principalities war amongst themselves,” suggested Malvern.

  “And reap the spoils of what is left,” Easton said, almost to himself.

  “What of your people? The outlying territories?” asked Jon Leland.

  “We cannot possibly hold them all within our walls” said Haurice, again bluntly.

  “Nor do we have enough provisions. It would take all the crops and livestock under your rule to simply feed an army for months on end,” stated Riley Moore.

  “We could requisition all the crops and livestock in the name of the king,” claimed a grinning Malvern.

  “You ask the people of the realm to hand you their life, Malvern,” retorted Jon Leland.

  “Not me. The king … King Welthorn asks them. Their king ... your king, Jon Leland,” said Malvern. He did not like to be questioned but tried to maintain his composure.

  “How will you make them?” asked Haurice. “They die by spear, starvation, or worse. You will be asking a man to choose his manner of death. This will be no easy task. It is one thing to threaten a man with death, but to threaten a dead man … this is another matter completely.”

  “Or … of course, we do nothing and wait for not just their death, but that of the entire kingdom and its king,” Malvern's words dripped of malice.

  “Since you are not our ruler, nor will ever be, I ask the king,” replied Haurice.

  “Indeed,” muttered Jon Leland.

  “I am the king,” spoke Easton. He looked at his regency. “Malvern is right in his thinking but his methods are flawed. The people will not choose death. We could make them but it would take time, of which we have very little,” his mind raced.

  This moment is destined. This plan … my plan. It is right.

  “These are dark times. The people would welcome a distraction, a celebration. This midnight message … it was nothing more than a response regarding my impending marriage,” said the king.

  “Ah. Excellent, your grace,” said Malvern. He knew immediately.

  “We tell the people I am to be married. It’s been long enough. I’m sure they would welcome another queen,” spoke Easton.

  “And who is this queen, your majesty?” asked Jon Leland.

  “There is no queen,” Riley Moore said plainly.

  “It will not matter. There will be no celebration. It will not come to that,” said Malvern.

  Jon Leland looked at the king paying no attention to Malvern. He knew his king was ridden with faults, but this?

  “I have no intention to marry. We begin placing large orders of supplies. We instruct the people to harvest early and surrender a portion of their yields to the crown. This, of course, due to the approaching marriage, festivities, and all that comes with it. They can more than regain the loss by selling to merchants, dignitaries, and other revelers staying within the realm for the ceremony and ongoing festivities.”

  “Of which, will never occur,” Jon Leland could not meet eyes with his king.

  “You now follow, Jon,” said the king, as he drank more wine. “The castle walls will be long shut before any truth is discovered.”

  “There will be women and children, your grace … standing by these gates. We are to watch them starve or be murdered by these enemies … of which, Malvern is so keen
to believe are ravaging the kingdom?” asked Jon Leland.

  “They die so others may live. Such is the way of war, Jon,” replied Malvern.

  “Your grace … is there no other way?” whispered Jon Leland.

  “What do you say, Haurice?” asked the king.

  “I am a soldier,” said Haurice, looking at the king. “I do as my king commands, as always.”

  Malvern was relieved. There was now only Jon Leland. The Council Elect made no difference. They were a token gesture by the king and their silence underscored that they knew their place.

  “Good,” spoke the king.

  “And your brother,” asked Riley Moore.

  “He is to know nothing about this. I am to get married. This is all he should be told. His sickness has made his steel weak in these matters.”

  “As you wish, your grace,” replied Riley Moore.

  “Your grace,” Malvern motioned to the two naked women asleep on the bed. “What of these two?”

  “Yes. Haurice please dispose of them,” the king said. He drank more wine.

  “As you wish,” replied Haurice.

  The rest of the regency left the room to begin putting plans to action. Haurice pulled a dagger from his belt.

  “I will also need you to dispose of the Council Elect,” said the king, putting down the empty bottle. “Men of that ilk cannot be trusted in times like these.”

  “Yes, your grace,” said Haurice. He approached the sleeping women. The steel blade glinted in the light.

  “And Haurice … Jon Leland as well.”

  Chapter 9

  A Nighteye No More

  Luras went southeast towards Kor. It had been two days since he left the High Woods. He had already passed the village of Breft and the small farming lands of Wellington. Luras reveled walking in daylight. He was able to see the large trees of the southeast. Their green leaves and heavy branches sprouted yellow and gold buds of the alchemist flower. They were quick to bloom and slowly broke away from the trees. Their petals carried in the breeze like a golden wind. Large rocks were scattered throughout the landscape. They were covered with the deep maroon leaves of the Evening Vine. Luras would eat the berries that grew along the vines. There were sweet and tart. The rocks would only get larger as he traveled closer to Kor. Soon the rocks would turn into mountains. For now, they lay scattered throughout the forest and fields. Luras would occasionally rest his legs by lying upon them. He would stare up towards the expanse of blue sky. The falling alchemist flowers would drift by like golden butterflies dancing in blue. Daylight was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.