A Dark Tyranny

by C. M. Pendleton

  “These are not shadows,” said Luras.

  “Matthias,” hissed a voice in a low murmur. It sounded like hundreds of small voices whispering as one.

  The shadows on the walls began to ripple, as they crossed over the stones. They slowly detached from the walls. They were no longer shadows. They appeared like drifting voids of darkness. They slowly prowled through the air around them. Luras raised one of his sabers, while still holding the lantern. One of the shadows floated past the sword. The blade split it in two sections but it easily regained its form.

  “Don't leave me,” said the boy.

  “No,” replied Matthias. “I'm here.”

  The shadows converged together to form a large void in the room. The darkness slowly pulsed and swelled. It molded into the shape of man. His face flowed in out of the void like black water. The form flickered, causing multiple shadowy figures to briefly appear. They would flicker and dissolve back into one body. The shadowy figure put his hand on the boy's shoulder. Its hand lacked structure. It dissolved like smoke, as it rolled across the boy's shoulder.

  “Matthias,” said Luras, “we must go.”

  “I can't leave him,” replied Matthias. “Not again.”

  “That is not Wylin. This is sorcery - not your son.”

  “Yet, there he stands before you,” hissed the figure.

  “Mama is there,” said the boy. “Please, come with me.”

  “They will only take you to darkness,” said Luras.

  “Have these Acolytes taken you in?” hissed the dark figure. “Have you been embraced by the realms? What has been given to you, Matthias - that has not been stripped away?”

  “These are lies,” said Luras.

  I have nothing. No trust from the Acolytes, nor the realms. Wylin …

  “This boy is an illusion,” said Luras.

  “How can an illusion feel so real?” asked Matthias.

  “Come with him. To her. There is much to be done,” said the dark figure.

  “Do you think they mean to let you be? You will be a slave to them - to darkness,” Luras pleaded with Matthias.

  Matthias stood. He walked to Luras and put one hand on the Bourne's shoulder.

  “You have been a better friend than I deserved,” whispered Matthias.

  “You will be in league with the enemy. Matthias, think about this. You don't know what they will demand of you.”

  “I can't leave them, not again. I'm sorry,” said Matthias, as he embraced Luras. “I didn't think this was possible. I thought they were lies.”

  “What do you mean? Have they spoken to you before? Matthias, they are lies. They are confusing you. Wylin is dead. This is not him. Your wife is dead. She isn't waiting for you. Think about this,” said Luras.

  “There is one thing they demand of me,” said Matthias.

  “What?” asked Luras. He felt a slow searing pain just below his chest. His legs became weak. He dropped the lantern. Glass broke against the stone floor. The oil spilled bringing a small lake of flames with it.

  “I'm so sorry, Luras,” whispered Matthias. He stepped away from Luras.

  Luras was confused. He looked down at Matthias' dagger pushed deeply into his body. Blood began to flow from the wound. It stained his tunic and dripped down his leg. Luras dropped his saber, as he fell to one knee. He pulled the blade out. It fell against the stones with a high pitched raddle. Luras fell backwards hitting his back against the wall. He leaned against the stones starring up at Matthias in shock.

  “Matthias,” said Luras, as he put his hand over the wound. Blood began to seep through his crossed fingers.

  The dark figure behind them flicked and pulsed. The shadows lit with a dark energy. There was a depth to the shadows. The boy took Matthias by his hand. They turned back to the dark void behind them. The boy walked into the void. Matthias followed. Luras watched, as the darkness engulfed them. The blue aura of Matthias' eyes dimmed. It was replaced with a blackness that subdued the blue glow, like oil dripping into water. The void faded and dissolved. It took Matthias and the boy with it. The room was empty except for Luras. The blade had cut deep. He felt weak and tired.

  If I close my eyes … I will die.

  Luras grabbed hold of the saber beside him. He kept one hand on his wound, as he gathered his strength. He did his best to stand.

  Chapter 35

  Fury

  Finn was on his knees in the circular landing of the altar room. He stared at the cracked stone floor, oblivious to the world around him. His tears had dried. They left streaks of clean skin under his eyes and along his cheeks. Ghuls slowly picked and tore at the dying gorgon that laid on the edge of the landing. They pulled and fought over him like jackals. Some of the Ghuls circled Finn. They reached at him with their spiny fingers of black bone. They hissed and rumbled at each other with greed and anticipation. Finn was lost in himself; he only thought of Nylah. He felt sick and his head ached. He thought of every action that led to that very moment. His hands began to tremble.

  I failed her. It should never have come to this ...there is nothing left.

  “I am so sorry,” Finn spoke aloud.

  “Finn!” Borman called out from the hole in the ceiling above. He stood over the gray stonework looking down from the main hall above.

  Finn remained silent.

  “Finn! Behind you!” yelled Borman.

  Finn could hear the deep rasping breathing of the second Fire-Hain. The Ghuls scurried back into the walls. It entered the far end of the room. It walked along the center pathway towards Finn. A massive two-handed scimitar was in its hand. The fiery beast's armor glowed a molten red. Its scaled talon's gripped the stones with each step. Finn remained on his knees with his back to the approaching beast.

  Borman had no more arrows. He struggled to his feet, holding the wound on his chest. Blood ran down his tunic and over his hands. The hole in the floor was too high for him to jump. He slowly staggered towards the far corner of the room. He could descend to the floor the same as Finn. He would use the column that pierced through the room.

  “What is this?” rasped the creature.

  The deep bellow of the Fire-Hain's voice ate at Finn. The tone and authority of its voice planted a seed of rage within him. He thought of Nylah. He thought of his life as a slave and then a captive. He had loved her. Finn thought of her last moments before the fire. Tears began to well again. However, they were the product of blind fury and anger. Finn felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. His face was flush. Finn stood. He took hold of a sword that leaned against the altar. He gripped it tightly and turned to face the Fire-Hain.

  “Have I upset you, little one?” it growled.

  “I am no child,” said Finn.

  “All humans are children,” said the Fire-Hain. “Drop your sword.”

  “I may die today, but it will not come without a fight. This is not your land. They were not your people, you seething bastard,” said Finn.

  “You will claim no death today. Your soul - I will make claim against it. I might imbue it in the very sword you hold. You will live out your days at the hip of a gorgon or buried in the flesh of your own kind.”

  Finn lunged at the Fire-Hain. He swung his blade wildly. The Fire-Hain stepped out of the way of his blows. It blocked and parried each strike with ease. Finn grew angrier with each failed strike. He breathed heavily. The heat from the fire burned his lungs. The Fire-Hain had not even swung at him. The red beast looked down with amusement.

  “Is this your first time wielding a sword, boy?” laughed the Fire-Hain.

  Finn swung at the fiery beast in a rage. His lungs ached; his muscles were tired. The Fire-Hain again parried the blows with its scimitar. Finn feinted a strike at the beast. It moved to block the blade. Finn then swung at the beast with all his strength. His blade tore through the top of its shoulder. Molten blood spilled down the beasts arm. The Fire-Hain roared in anger. It thrust its scimitar at Finn. He tried to parry the blow, but the blade was swung w
ith an overwhelming force. His sword flew from his hands, rattling against the ground. Finn turned to get another weapon from the altar. However, the Fire-Hain grabbed him by the back of his head. It was too strong for Finn to escape. Finn felt the beasts steaming blood drip off its hand and down his neck. The beast threw Finn forward. He hit the stone altar and fell to the ground. He did not move. The Fire-Hain towered over him.

  “Stop!” yelled a voice from behind the red beast.

  The Fire-Hain turned to see Luras standing on the center pathway at the back of the room. He held his wound with one hand and a saber in the other. Blood soaked his tunic and dripped down his pant leg. He struggled to keep himself afoot. The Fire-Hain left Finn and walked towards the Bourne. The beast stared in bewilderment.

  “Leave him be,” said Luras. “If you require a fight, you need look no further.”

  “A Bourne?” rasped the Fire-Hain. “It seems you are not in the position to make such demands.”

  “I do not need an ample body to strike you down,” said Luras, as he fell to one knee.

  “Are you an Acolyte? We were allies - the Fire-Hain and the Bourne. You disgrace your people,” said the red beast.

  “There is but one Bourne walking this world and he is not in league with you,” replied Luras. He struggled to his feet.

  “You're a traitor to your own kind,” growled the Fire-Hain.

  “I'm tired of talking. I haven't the patience. What you have to say means nothing to me. I don't care. Leave him be. If you want a death, come closer,” said Luras.

  The Fire-Hain raised its giant scimitar. The blade's razor-sharp edge reflected the fire that burned around them. Luras drew his other saber. He stood motionless waiting for the beast to attack. The Fire-Hain swung hard at Luras. Its blade cut the air. Luras pivoted to one side, missing the blow. Luras then erupted in a flurry of blades. Sparks flew as their swords clashed. The Fire-Hain tried frantically to block and parry the blows. The Bourne used his blades with deadly precision. The red beast was overwhelmed by Luras' onslaught. Luras' blades caught the Fire-Hain on the arm and leg. They shaved skin and muscle. Blood flowed from the wounds. It steamed and dripped like molten iron. The Fire-Hain let out a frustrated roar. It sliced back at Luras with its scimitar. The large blade ripped through the air. The Fire-Hain continued to swing in a tantrum like flurry. Luras moved from the blade. He parried the blows. However, he did not block them. The Fire-Hain was too strong. Instead, Luras used the force of the blows to his advantage. He directed the scimitar with each parry. It hit the stones with a line of sparks. Luras slashed his sabers along the Fire-Hain with each parry. The red beast grew hot with rage. Molten blood dripped over its arms, legs and hands.

  Luras' wound began to sear with pain. His legs grew weak and unsteady. He fell to one knee. The Fire-Hain swung at the Bourne. Luras stood again. He parried the blow while dragging a blade across the beast's fiery skin. The Fire-Hain stumbled backwards. Luras again fell to one knee. He could feel his wound pulsing. A steady flow of blood streamed from it. Matthias' dagger had cut him deeply. The Fire-Hain walked back towards Luras, leaving a trail of smoking blood in its wake. The beast raised its sword to strike. Luras tried to stand, but he was too weak. He fell back to one knee. He dropped one saber to the stone floor and held his wound. He kept the other saber pointing at the Fire-Hain. The red beast was riddled with the effects of Luras' blades. It started to bring its scimitar down to end Luras. The Bourne slid his saber into the knee of the Fire-Hain. It easily cut through skin and bone. Steaming blood erupted from the beast's knee. Luras pulled his saber out sideways cutting more skin and tendons. The Fire-Hain cried out in pain. It was seething with rage. The beast did not even look at its knee. Instead, it raised its scimitar high above its head. Luras tried to use his saber to push himself back up. However, he had lost too much blood. He lacked the strength and fell back to one knee. He used his saber to keep his balance. He stared up at the Fire-Hain.

  I die from betrayal … not this blade.

  There was a shriek from above. Stones fell from the ceiling. They crashed into the fire below causing splashes of flame and smoke. The hole above the landing cracked and crumbled, as the great falcon soared down into the room. Stones and dust were left in its wake. Sunlight spilled in from the gaping hole. Each stroke of the falcon's wings sent swells of liquid fire rocketing against the stone walls. The falcon dived towards the Fire-Hain with its razor talons outstretched. The red beast turned from Luras, bracing itself for the falcon's attack. It was too late. The Fire-Hain jerked up, as the great bird's talons cut through his armor and sank deeply into his chest. Molten blood erupted from this torso. He dropped the scimitar. It hit the stone pathway and slid into the fire, melting as it sank. The Blood Falcon lifted the red beast off the ground. Its wings sent the liquid fire pummeling against the walls. It dripped off the stones, leaving charred rock and smoke. The Fire-Hain struggled to free himself from the bird's grasp. The great falcon closed its talons. The red beast's chest imploded with a snapping of bone. The Fire-Hain went limp. It slid off the falcon's talons. Its head hit the stone pathway, as it fell into the fire. Flames consumed the red beast. The flames ran across the its body melting skin and armor. The Fire-Hain slowly sank away into the fiery depths.

  Luras leaned back against the stone pathway. He struggled to keep his eyes open. The world around him wanted to fade to darkness.

  I want to sleep.

  He saw Borman jump down from the column above. He ran towards Luras. The Blood Falcon perched itself upon the altar above Finn. Luras could no longer fight it. He closed his eyes to sleep.

  Chapter 36

  The War Begins

  A cool wind drifted through the tent. It took the stench of blood and sweat from the room. Men laid on straw mats. Others laid on bunks hastily made from wood and canvas. Most of the men slept. Others quietly moaned, as they were too scared to sleep. They worried they might not wake. The sun was still up. It came in through the openings of the tent and illuminated the canvas walls. Luras laid on a bunk in the corner of the room. A coarse canvas bandage wrapped his chest. It was stained with blood. He drifted in and out of sleep. Luras strained to keep his eyes opens. His vision was tired and blurry, but it slowly sharpened. He turned his head to take in his surroundings. His wound stung with every movement. He heard footsteps approaching him.

  “Easy,” said Nelos.

  “Where am I?” asked Luras.

  “Back at the camp. You are lucky you lived. You were cut deep.”

  “Matthias?”

  “He is not here. You spoke of him in your sleep,” replied Nelos.

  “How did I get here?”

  “A stone giant. He and another man brought you here.”

  “Water,” said Luras.

  “Go tell the commander that he is awake,” Nelos said to another Acolyte. “Of course, let me get you some.”

  Nelos poured water into a wooden cup and held it to Luras' lips.

  “Slow,” said Nelos. “You were cut deeply.”

  Ryland Heams entered the tent with Captain Dowr. The commander looked much older and tired than the day before. He looked at the other wounded men, as he walked towards Luras. He had the look of personal responsibility and sorrow for each man. Captain Dowr nodded to Nelos as they approached. Nelos retrieved a wooden stool and placed it by Luras. Ryland Heams slowly sat on the it with the caution of an elderly man.

  “Thank you, Nelos,” said Ryland Heams.

  “His wound is healing. It is serious. Cauterized and stitched. He needs to rest but he'll recover,” said Nelos.

  “Good,” replied Ryland Heams. “I would ask you how you feel, but I fear I already know the answer.”

  “I have been better,” replied Luras.

  “And what of Commander Thorne?” asked Ryland Heams.

  “He’s gone,” replied Luras.

  “Gone? Gone where?” asked Ryland Heams.

  “Some type of illusion. I don’t know. His son was there or
a version of him. He left with them both,” said Luras.

  “Them both?” asked Captain Dowr.

  “A man made of shadows or shadows appearing to be a man. They left through some type of portal. It was made of darkness. Blackness. He left with them, but not before this,” said Luras, putting a hand upon his bandages.

  “So, Commander Thorne is now with the enemy,” said Ryland Heams. “This is not good at all.”

  “I do not think he is with them. He is confused,” said Luras.

  “Regardless, he is with them now,” said Ryland Heams.

  “Most likely further north. Across the sea,” said Captain Dowr.

  “Then that is where I will go,” said Luras.

  “This isn't about Commander Thorne. This was just a battle. Our entry into the war. There is a much larger war afoot. We need everyone. Chasing after the man that betrayed you does not help the cause,” said Ryland Heams.

  “I would not be pursuing him out of betrayal. He's lost.”

  “I have different plans for you, Luras. I ask that you hear me out,” said Ryland Heams.

  “You may find they coincide,” said Captain Dowr.

  “We are moving. I am breaking the Acolytes into squads. I am sending them to different parts of the realms. We are to keep the lands safe enough for others to rise up. It will not happen here. King Tellos has amassed his armies to shut off the north. He had planned to start with us. It seems our camp is somewhat of an oddity of late. His villagers have come in droves to see those that were freed. Some of them had family taken. Then, there's the Stone Giants. One brought you here,” said Ryland Heams.

  “There is also a Blood Falcon,” said Nelos.

  “Yes. All these things have brought many villagers to our camp. King Tellos is cruel but smart enough to not kill the hands that feed him. I sent word to him that we are leaving. I plan to go with a group east to speak with King Welthorn. They are calling him a traitor king. He may be open to us … given his situation,” said Ryland Heams.