A Dark Tyranny

by C. M. Pendleton

  I am outside.

  The night was dark. There were no stars in the sky. There was only the low light of the moon reflecting down from between clouds. They roamed like lost animals in the night sky. Matthias felt a wave of coldness descend around him. His skin prickled, causing the hair on his neck to rise.

  I am not alone.

  “Reveal yourself,” Matthias said into the night.

  Matthias turned in circles, watching the darkness around him. He looked for any movement.

  “Reveal?” a low guttural voice hissed. “I have revealed myself. You are here are you not?”

  “Show yourself.”

  “Such strong words for one with no weapon or means of order,” the voice rumbled. “How does one even strike out at a shadow?”

  “This is sorcery,” said Matthias.

  “Sorcery? Sorcery is for the weak and feeble minded,” hissed the voice. A shadow attached itself to the voice. It flickered in shape. It appeared human, but drifted in and out of form. It would take the shape of a human, only to dissipate back to a mass of darkness. There were no eyes, only the contours of a face could be seen in short glimpses.

  “Who are you?” Matthias asked.

  “Why are you here, Matthias?” the voice rasped.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Your questions and orders are tiresome. What will you get out of this?”

  “Out of what?”

  “You are no Acolyte,” it spoke with disdain.

  “Why am I of concern?”

  “You are all of concern … but our concern is with you, at present,” it said. The shadow broke into two versions of a human and then drifted back to one.

  “Leave me,” ordered Matthias.

  “We would gladly leave you … should you leave them.”

  “I plan to,” Matthias spoke, almost to himself.

  “Or … come with us.”

  “Come with you where?”

  “You preyed upon this rabble … now you are chosen … for this? He laughs at you,” the voice hissed with disgust.

  “I am done with war,” said Matthias.

  “He took your family and now gave you this … servitude. Your family taken and you a slave. He takes with one hand and then takes more with the other. Go north, Matthias … to us. Finish off this rabble you are with. Kill this cursed Bourne and the rest.”

  “I want no part in any of this.”

  “It will happen to you or for you. Make no mistake … he will enslave you. Come to us, Matthias … for your family,” the voice hissed.

  “My wife and son … they are long dead.”

  “Are they?” the voice gargled.

  “If you know my name, then you know of the north.”

  “Let us help you take your revenge. First, kill the Bourne … then, you unleash your revenge. Your realms deserve no mercy. You, of all people, know this. First, kill the Bourne,” it hissed.

  “No.”

  “Kill the Bourne. Kill him … kill him … kill him. Kill the Bourne,” the shadow yelled. It split into two shadowy figures, then three and kept morphing into more dark forms. A mass of dark figures stood around Matthias.

  “I will not kill these people!” declared Matthias.

  “Kill the Bourne! KILL THEM ALL,” the sound of a thousand voices echoed into the night. The forms shook and twisted with rage. They moved into one formless dark void and then back into many. They flickered and yelled. Suddenly, the shadows dissolved into the night like mist. Matthias could still hear the echo of their voices in his ears.

  Kill the Bourne.

  “Matthias,” a familiar voice spoke. “Matthias, wake up. Everyone is leaving.”

  Matthias opened his eyes. He was back inside the tavern sitting in the chair. The earliest rays of the sun passed through the cracks in the boarded up windows. Luras stood over him.

  “Everyone is leaving,” said Luras.

  Matthias nodded. He rubbed his eyes and stood looking around the room. He picked up his greatsword and began to strap the sheath to his back.

  “Are you all right?” asked Luras.

  “Yes … yes,” replied Matthias.

  “They are packed. Everyone will be leaving soon. They are going west, just as you. It seems you will have company after all.”

  Matthias watched as a villager began to etch letters into the outside of the tavern door. He was a weathered old man with piercing blue eyes. It took what strength he had to chip away at the wood.

  “Letting the others know where we've gone … in case they return. We have others' wives and children here,” said the old man.

  “Let us hope those wolves cannot read,” said Matthias, as he walked past the man and into the daylight.

  “Do you think they will come back?” asked the elderly man.

  “The wolves? Yes, I'm sure of it,” replied Matthias.

  “The others … the other villagers,” the man said. He stared directly into Matthias' eyes looking for some type of hope.

  “That … I cannot answer,” replied Matthias.

  “Well, I will leave this message in hopes they do,” the man replied. A sadness was in his eyes. He continued to etch and chip away at the door with all his strength.

  The villagers had put what supplies they had in one wagon. Two more wagons held the children and those too old to walk a great distance. The wagons were hitched to two gangly oxen and one was hitched to a mule. The remaining villagers stood by the wagons, waiting for the start of a long journey on foot.

  “Keep them safe,” Luras spoke to Matthias.

  “I have decided to go north,” said Matthias.

  “North?”

  “That is what I said.”

  “What has changed?”

  “I don't know, Luras. I do not claim to be an Acolyte or part of some grand scheme or plan … but going north seems to make sense to me … at least for now.”

  “For whatever reason, I am glad to hear it,” said Luras.

  “Besides, I think I've grown fond of seeing you glow red and kill things,” replied Matthias.

  Wreth walked along the wagons checking the harnesses of the animals. He ensured the hitching was done properly. The children watched him as he walked past. Some of them held wooden rain flowers, others held wooden swords. Wreth winked at them as he passed.

  “Are you ready for an adventure?” Wreth said. He smiled at the children.

  “Wreth,” Matthias called out. He approached with Luras.

  “Matthias, you will be coming along then?” asked Wreth.

  “I am going north with Luras.”

  “I thought you were traveling west,” said Wreth.

  “As did I. I’m sorry.”

  “Someone needs to keep this Bourne from jumping into a pack of wolves,” said Matthias.

  “Do you have enough supplies for the journey?” asked Luras.

  “If all goes well, yes. I hope to catch a deer or boar along the way as well,” replied Wreth.

  “Use your arrows sparingly,” warned Matthias.

  “Aye,” Wreth nodded.

  “Trust no one along the road. No fires at night. Pull the wagon from the road when you make camp. Don't be in sight of any other travelers … or worse,” said Luras.

  “You have precious cargo in these wagons. Do not hesitate to use that bow when needed. It’s better to question a dead person’s motives than to find out while dying,” said Matthias.

  “I understand,” replied Wreth.

  “It is a dark road that awaits … north … west … makes no difference,” warned Luras.

  “Safe travels, my friend,” said Matthias.

  “And to you both,” replied Wreth.

  Chapter 22

  Night at Lake Lune

  It was late in Timball. A thin layer of fog had gathered around the village. A light wind and sprinkling of rain kept it at bay. A dim light from the moon lit the village. Clouds slowly migrated across the sky. The village was no longer vibrant. It was quite
empty. The only movement was of feral cats and stray dogs rummaging for food. The villagers that remained stayed locked securely in their homes. The city guards no longer patrolled the streets. The village was left to its occupants. The chaos of martial law had dissipated. Castle Horos seemed like another realm entirely. Provisions, supplies, and those individuals deemed of value by the king now safely resided within the walls of the castle. Looting had not yet begun, but the villagers were left with little stores for winter. Those that stayed in the village felt that the time would come soon enough. However, the majority of villagers had packed their remaining supplies and left for the lake. Word had traveled fast that a caravan would leave that night. They would go north hoping to find refuge with King Tellos in the Northern Realm.

  Ellison stood looking at Lake Lune. On a normal night, the glassy surface of the lake would reflect the moon. He remembered swimming in it. As a child, Ellison had more freedom at night. The sun had always been especially harsh on his white skin. There were also less eyes at the lake at night. He remembered how he would slowly sink into the water, as to not make ripples or waves. The moon's reflection would lay over the still lake. Ellison swam into the moon and lay on his back floating in the water. He would stare up at the moon, as he drifted in its image. It was one of the happier memories he had. On a dark night, the stars would always be in the water. It was a stunning sight. However, this night was different. The lake's surface caught the falling rain, causing small circles to form and grow outward. It was like an unplanned series of patterns playing out over top of each other. Ellison watched the rain hit the lake. There was no moon, just a black void of water that pulled in the rain and devoured it. There was a wooden deck that had been built. Small boats were tied to its posts. There was a wooden canoe sitting face down atop the deck. It was old and chipped. Ellison pulled his cloak tighter to keep out the rain. The hood of his cloak stopped just above his dull red eyes.

  Villagers were already there and more continued to arrive. They came with their arms and backs full of possessions. Some had wheelbarrows full of items they did not want to leave behind. There were also those that only carried their children and the clothes on their backs. The villagers looked worried and confused. No one quite knew who was leading them or where they should stand. The only thing they were sure of was that they did not want to be left behind.

  “We were able to get three wagons. Jon believes that he can get another wagon. That will give us four, a half dead horse, and three old cows. It will be a slow journey, at best,” said Cal Mossy, as he approached. He wore a large cloak that barely fit over his bulky frame. His faded boots were muddy. A simple forester axe was strapped to his back.

  Ellison nodded and continued to study the lake.

  “We will announce our presence wherever we go … slow and loud. I've walked through the crowd. Some of them are very frail … others are already sick,” said Cal.

  “Where else do they have to go? There is no medicine or a healing table in Timball … not anymore,” replied Ellison.

  Ellison turned and began to walk towards the growing caravan.

  “What's troubling you, Ellison?” asked Cal.

  “The world is falling apart. We will move from one danger likely to only find another. We are like fish jumping from a boiling pot … only to land on the plate,” said Ellison.

  “Do you no longer agree to go north?” asked Cal.

  “There is nothing here. It doesn't matter where we go … just that we go. North is as best an option as any,” replied Ellison.

  “Each person here comes on their own. We are strength in numbers … but no one was forced. No one's fate is in your hands,” said Cal.

  “No … but it should have been,” Ellison spoke, almost to himself.

  “You would have done better … been better … but this is a different time. We live out what we're given” said Cal.

  Ellison tightened his cloak again. He looked over the caravan.

  “When Jon returns, we should leave at once. The children should ride in one wagon. Their parents can walk beside it, if need be. Supplies in one wagon and the other for the sick. If supplies are with those that are sick … make sure it's not food. We don't want everyone getting sick at once,” said Ellison.

  “Aye. We need to leave before this storm arrives,” Cal said, as he looked to the sky. “Also, before your brother catches wind of our departure.”

  “My brother has what he wanted. I doubt he cares any longer,” said Ellison.

  The rain began to grow. It was no longer a light sprinkling. Thunder rumbled in the distance causing the cows to grow restless. The wagons were hitched. The children sat together in the back of one wagon. An old gray mare with a sloping back stood ready to pull them. The thunder made the children huddle together tightly. Animal skins and spare cloaks had been given to them to fight off the rain. The villagers stood by the wagons. They were both anxious and frightened for the journey. Cal Mossy walked the line of the caravan. Ellison stood at the front.

  “No word from Jon,” Cal called out to Ellison, as he made his way to the front of the caravan. “He should be here.”

  “The storm is growing. We need to leave while we can,” answered Ellison.

  “What about Jon ….the other wagon?” asked Cal.

  “You said yourself … we will travel slowly. He will be able to catch up to us.”

  Cal looked into the distance for any sign of Jon or the wagon.

  “Something doesn't seem right,” said Cal.

  “All the more reason that we should leave … now.”

  “You are right. We should leave,” Cal said. He continued to look into the distance.

  “Everyone! Listen!” announced Ellison. “We are leaving. Try to stay together. It will be a wet start, but this will not last. Stay together and try not to fall behind. If you grow tired or ill, we have a wagon here to allow time to rest.”

  The caravan slowly began to move. The wheels of the wagons splashed through puddles as they rolled to life. The villagers were glad to start moving.

  “Are you armed?” asked Cal.

  “No. I have only what you see,” answered Ellison.

  “Take this,” said Cal, as he handed a dagger to Ellison. “It's for hunting but it's better than nothing at all.”

  “Where are the swords from the soldiers?” asked Ellison.

  “Jon has one. I gave the other to Sam Hemling. He is walking last man in the caravan,” answered Cal.

  “This storm will be on top of us soon,” said Ellison.

  “At least people will know what lays ahead. It's a long journey … best to remove any delusions now,” answered Cal.

  Cal turned and looked into the night. The forest was dense and black compared to the lake behind them.

  “Did you see that?” asked Cal.

  “What?”

  Ellison put one hand over his brow to block the rain.

  “I thought I saw movement.”

  “Jon?” asked Ellison.

  “I don't know. I don't see it now. It … there!” Cal yelled, as he pointed.

  “What was it? I saw it for a moment. It was moving too fast. It couldn't have been a wagon. We'd still see it,” said Ellison.

  “Something is not right. We need to move faster.”

  “He could be on a horse.”

  “If that were true, why would he be coming from there instead of the road?” asked Ellison. “Since when does a horse run in and out of shadows?”

  “There is something out there. It's Jon … being pursued, perhaps … or not Jon at all,” said Cal.

  “Let's not find out,” said Ellison.

  “We need to move faster!” Cal yelled to the caravan.

  The rain picked up. Ellison watched as the caravan moved past him.

  “We are not moving fast enough. I am going to check on the wagons. Keep your eyes on whatever that is,” said Ellison.

  “Aye. Tell Sam to not let anyone fall behind. Perhaps, they're just scou
ts … your brother keeping his eyes on us,” said Cal.

  “I don't think he cares that much. I … God and kings,” Ellison muttered.

  There was a rumble and lightning splintered across the sky. For a brief moment, the world around them was full of light. Darkness was lifted and everything was exposed.

  “My God,” muttered Cal, “there are hundreds of them. Run!”

  “Run! Everyone go! Leave whatever you have! Run!” yelled Ellison.

  Ellison ran to the caravan. Suddenly, the supply wagon ripped apart. Supplies and wood flew to the air knocking back everyone around it. Wood fragments ripped through flesh. People fell screaming. An enormous beast stood over the wagon. It stood on two legs and howled into the night. It stood beside a massive rip in the ground. Jagged roots and rock twisted from the hole like severed veins. Other beasts followed from the open gash in the earth. Villagers ran. Storm Wolves came from all directions. Some ran on all fours while others stood upright. Their eyes gleamed red and their matted fur stood up from their muscled frames. They were enormous compared to the frail villagers. Very few people had weapons and they were all tired. They stood no chance. The wolves barreled into them easily knocking them to the ground. Others grabbed the villagers while continuing to run. Their teeth sank into flesh with ease. Ellison stood watching the chaos.

  What do I do?

  “Ellison!” yelled Cal.

  Cal was swinging his axe at anything that came near him. He sliced through the wolves as they ran. They howled and rolled to the ground.

  “The children! We need to get them to the castle!” yelled Cal.

  My God … the children.

  Ellison turned and ran to the wagon with the children. They were laying down flat in the wagon.

  The wolves had not seen them yet … or they will wait until everyone else is dead.

  Ellison ran through the wolves and villagers. Wounded villagers yelled out while they hobbled or laid on the wet earth. Others lay dead with wolves tearing muscles from bone. A wolf ran past Ellison. Its shoulder slammed into his leg causing him to fall. He hit the earth hard. The wind flew out of his lungs. Ellison put one of his arms up to block the wolf and the other scavenged for the dagger at his hip. However, the wolf never stopped. Ellison turned to get up. The ground was wet with rain and blood. His heart raced.