by Ben Hale
“That is the army coming to destroy your nation,” she said, “and your only hope is to gather every soul with the other races.”
Talfar knelt for a moment longer before he stood and squared his shoulders. “Is what I saw inevitable?” he asked.
Siarra shook her head. “No, what you saw is not certain, but it was a glimpse of what will happen if you remain here.”
Talfar looked at her with deep sadness. “Then we are lost.”
“Surely you will try to save your people?” Liri said, stepping forward.
The king looked at her and shook his head. “The balance between the gnomes and orcs is good for both our races. We prevent the orcs from fighting amongst themselves by giving them intelligent leadership, and they give us labor to build and grow.” He sighed and sank onto the couch. “Unfortunately, there is no way to convince these uneducated masses to leave. An attempt would be foolhardy and cause someone to consider my rule weak. Another would most certainly attempt to strike me down and take my place. It would not be the first time it has happened in this city.”
Siarra gave a small smile. “If we gave you a way, would you take it?”
Talfar leaned back and looked at the ceiling, considering her words before he spoke. “Yes, I believe I would. Unlike most of our two races I had the privilege of being educated by someone similar to yourself, and believe in an oracle’s ability—but my belief in your story is not enough.” He cocked his head to the side and frowned, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “But what did you have in mind?”
“We have the Ocleon.”
Talfar blinked and leaned forward. “How did you obtain the sacred stone?”
“We, convinced the thief to allow us to return it,” Siarra explained, causing Jack to shift.
The little king smiled for the first time. “Well that might change things, if we could persuade the high priest to go along with this.” Holding up a hand to forestall Siarra’s next comment he added, “But he is not a good gnome, and has more than a normal share of greed.”
“Is there anything we can do to convince him?” Liri asked, but the king seemed lost in thought.
After a moment he laughed to himself and said, “Perhaps you could, if the Oracle is any good with magic?” She bristled at his comment and he chuckled. “Good, then we might have a way.”
Leaning forward he began to lay out his plan. At first Taryn thought the idea was impossible, but when he took into consideration the superstitious nature of the orcs and gnomes, it appeared . . . plausible. If it were going to have a chance though, they had a great deal to do before dawn . . .
*****
Taryn sank deeper into the shadows next to the temple, wondering if their plan was mad. In his life he’d known few superstitious people, and their plan banked on two entire races believing an illusion. Grateful that his role was small, Taryn wondered again how Siarra could perform what she and Talfar had concocted.
Glancing skyward again he caught the first hint of daylight approaching and waited for the signal. A sudden blast of wind swept through the city, marking the start of their plan. Increasing in breadth and strength, the furious blast of air rolled through the city of Ryazan, blowing out every open flame. As if timed, light gathered on the horizon, but Taryn knew it to be Siarra simulating the dawn.
Cries of alarm and fear echoed around the city as orcs and gnomes alike began to pray. Glancing out from the darkened recess where he hid, he spotted several orcs in the street prostrating themselves on the ground. Without warning the fake dawn melted into darkness at the same time the wind ceased. Then a deep voice exploded throughout the city and surrounding region. His voice amplified by Siarra’s touch, Trin began to speak his lines.
“My little children, a darkness is coming that will wipe out the flame of your existence as easily as the wind.” Trin’s voice drifted across the area like a dangerous caress. Not overly loud, it touched every ear and struck every heart. As Trin continued to describe the impending destruction, the sound within the city began to swell. Faster and faster the chaos of frightened orcs and gnomes rose until it exploded into a fury.
Trin’s words ended and the terrified people of the city rushed to the only place they could think of for understanding, the temple. Flooding from all directions, the orcs and gnomes scrambled into the large square in front of the sacred edifice. The high priest gnome with most of his guards swept from the temple and raised his hands for silence. From Taryn’s vantage point, he saw the high priest’s expression as he looked around the mob crying out for direction. Somehow he’d managed to hide his fear but confusion had leaked onto his features.
After several minutes the noise began to diminish and the high priest stepped forward. In a flash Taryn raised his mother’s bow and sent an arrow streaking over the eastern wall, out of view from any onlookers. A second later Trin’s voice boomed, more intense than before, just as the high priest opened his mouth.
“You must leave my children, and gather with the other races in the west. Join them, and survive the coming destruction, or remain in the north and perish.”
The mob erupted into chaos with both races screaming for understanding. Some looked upward for answers but most looked to the high priest, who opened his mouth again. With his composure cracking under the pressure, he raised his voice and gaze to the heavens, “How soon should we leave?”
Taryn thought a moment, chose one of the predetermined responses, and then sent three arrows over the wall in quick succession. After a moment the voice boomed over the inhabitants of the city: “Immediately!” The crowd cowered to the ground. “If you wish to survive you must evacuate this very day!”
The high priest raised his hands skyward. “But how is this possible?”
Taryn almost laughed at the response that came as Talfar had predicted, almost to the word. Raising his bow once more, he sent two arrows over the wall.
“Fools!” Trin cried, his voice furious. “Your king will lead you to the gathering!”
Just then the rays of the real dawn broke the horizon and Trin’s voice boomed one last time. “To stay means eternal darkness. If you need further proof you will find the Ocleon returned to its resting place in the great hall of my temple. Go now before you perish.”
Taryn grinned to himself. Of course the sacred stone was back. Jack had returned it while everyone had been distracted. A scrape on stone below him caused him to look down and see the thief’s form scaling the wall. Reaching the top he said, “It’s done. Now let’s be gone before anyone suspects this has all been a trick.”
Taryn agreed heartily and the two of them darted to the back of the temple. Reaching the ropes that Liri had tied to the battlements, they scaled the rough bricks to the deserted wall top. As soon as they were over, they pulled the ropes up and lowered them on the outside of the city. With a sweep of his hand Taryn looped them over the tops of the logs that comprised the outer wall while Jack kept watch.
Jumping over, they slid down the ropes. As soon as they were both safe, Taryn shot two arrows into the knots at the top. Jack leapt forward to retrieve the falling cords and within moments they were fading into the trees to circle south. Picking up Mae and Liri, who’d passed on the arrow messages to Trin and Siarra, they found the Oracle and Trin ready to depart. Taryn glanced one last time at the city behind him and sent a prayer skyward that their plan would work.
Mounting his horse, he dug his heels in and galloped back to the eastern trail they had been following. With the pace set by Siarra, they covered several miles before she slowed them down for a moving breakfast. Reaching for his pack, Taryn grabbed a piece of salted meat and began to eat.
Trin was the first to begin laughing, but it quickly spread to all of them.
Chapter 18: Unknown Hero
Draif reached for the brush and hurried to rub down his horse. At best he had another ten minutes with the only thing that mattered to him. By then his father would be home and make him do other chores. Not for the first time he w
ondered what he would do next year when he turned eighteen and could leave the dank village known as Desekrin.
Thin and short, Draif was good at one thing, riding. Twice a year when the villages in the southeast held games of sport, Draif won every horse race event—and had won since he was nine. His skill with a horse had also been the sole reason the people in the village hadn’t forced him to join their wretched talks about dethroning king Drayson, but they never stopped trying to convince him. Just yesterday, when smoke had billowed up to the north of them, three people had pressured him to join their conspiracy.
“Draif, my boy,” the blacksmith had said, “that smoke could mean that someone has finally stood up to our fool king, and if we are to survive we have to join with whichever party will be the victor—especially if it means destroying this forsaken kingdom.”
Draif shook his head, causing his brown hair to fall into his eyes. He just couldn’t imagine believing such a thing, particularly when many of the villagers actively promoted the idea of joining with anyone causing destruction. Draif didn’t think Talinor was so bad, even if the taxes were a little higher than Griffin’s. Unfortunately, his older brothers and father were principals in the complaining, his mother having passed away when he was young.
Afraid of being whipped, he'd kept his own thoughts hidden, but their sullen ideas made him sick. There were many good things about Talinor, and its king, but the people of Desekrin were too focused on the detractions to notice. He frowned and wondered where he would go when he came of age. Bound until then, Draif tried to enjoy the only thing he loved, his horse Bose. A huge white stallion that he had saved for three years to buy, Bose was the fastest horse in the southeast, and Draif believed, the entire world of Lumineia. Only the older brother to Bose could have matched him, but Zel had been sold to a soldier in Griffin years ago.
A sudden squeak from the broken front door made him sigh and pat his horse. His father had returned, and would be angry if he was still out here. Putting the brush away he slipped from the shabby barn and strolled towards the leaning house. Entering, he was surprised to find everyone in the front room, listening to his father speak excitedly.
“Two men are here, claiming to be from the fifty-second cavalry. They told us that an army is invading and destroying the king's men. They should be here soon!”
The hopeful expressions on his family’s faces churned Draif’s stomach but he fought to keep the disappointment off his face, knowing it would cause an argument.
“How soon did they say the army will arrive?” Draif asked, working to keep his tone neutral.
His father’s face lit up. “They said they were only twenty or thirty minutes behind of them.”
Like a physical blow had struck him, Draif realized his family would never change. He had tried to ignore the signs, and believe they could adjust, but for some reason today it clicked. The family he belonged to was not a family he wanted.
Abusive, mean, and sullen, they were rotten to the core. Looking back, he noticed that his father and brothers had been tolerable only when Draif won races, and the glint in his father's eyes as he took Draif's winnings hung in his mind. The revelation caused him to stare at his father, and although he couldn't explain how, he knew that this moment had been building for some time.
It was time for him to leave.
He felt a pounding in his chest. Was he ready to do this? Was he ready to run? His father was not the type to let something get away, especially something that gave him gold. Was he prepared to go as far as it took? With a start he saw that he was, and that the two soldiers might be able to help. If an army was coming, he was going to need it.
“Are they still here?” he asked, reminding himself that he wasn't free yet.
His father gestured towards the village impatiently. “Perhaps. They decided to wait a couple of minutes to speak to the mayor. Apparently they are on some mission from the king.” His derisive tone when he mentioned King Drayson made Draif almost lose control. You are all crazy! he thought. And it will get you killed.
“I’m going to go see them,” Draif said, and his father pointed outside.
“Take my horse or they will want Bose,” he ordered. “They were demanding fresh horses.”
The young man nodded and slipped out of the room. Sprinting to the barn he yanked his racing saddle off the horn and threw it onto Bose. With practiced hands he cinched the belt and grabbed a cloak. In less than a minute he mounted and wheeled the white horse out of the barn.
A door slammed behind him and he heard a cry of protest. Ignoring it, he urged his horse to a faster pace. Normally at this point he would be enjoying the wind in his hair and the feeling of the powerful animal carrying him forward, but not this time. If his father had spoken truthfully, then only one emotion made sense, fear.
Yet at the same time he felt an emotion he had never felt before, the sensation of being inside a trap that was about to snap shut. Urging Bose to greater speed, he felt the powerful animal thunder across the ground and tried not to focus on the feeling of foreboding.
In less than five minutes he reached the town square and reined his horse in. Before Bose had even stopped moving Draif was on the ground and inside the tavern. Scanning the gloomy interior, he saw only familiar faces, so he dashed to the bartender.
“Where are the messengers from the king?” Draif asked, desperation creeping into his voice.
“They left a minute ago, heading east," he said, jerking his head in that direction. "They said something about trying to get around the southern tip of the army.” He growled and added, “They took two of my horses without paying.”
Draif leapt towards the door, barely hearing the bartender’s parting words.
“We are going to gather outside to welcome them if you want to join us . . .”
Draif stepped to his horse’s side and yanked himself into the saddle. Grasping the reins he stopped when he heard a bell chime. In moments villagers began gathering in the street.
“Are they here?”
“Who are they?”
“Anyone see them?”
The excited voices bubbling up on every side made his insides knot, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his father and brother ride into view on their own horses. The black look clouding his father’s face meant a severe whipping for Draif, but he found his terror of the attackers much more than his fear of his father’s staff.
Someone shouted from the northern side of the village and everyone began moving in that direction, talking in excited tones. Momentarily forgetting his son’s transgression, his father joined the crowd.
“This isn't right!” Draif shouted in desperation, but received glares in response.
Moments later he saw shadows flashing through the trees of Darkwood. Helpless, Draif sat rooted to his saddle and could only watch as the villagers raised their hands in welcome, many of them calling out a greeting.
A heartbeat later their shouting turned to screams as twisted black creatures bounded out of the trees and pounced. At first the people of Desekrin froze, stunned into immobility as the foremost were brutally slain. Then the dark horde hurtled towards the rest and they turned to run, screaming for their lives. If the black beings heard the cries for mercy, they gave no sign. Near the end, giant black dogs appeared, and darted through the massacre to drag the runners to their deaths.
With each killing Draif flinched, but couldn't bring himself to move. How had this happened? What sort of creatures would slaughter like this? Even his family, so wretched and cruel, didn't deserve such a thing. For a long moment, he stared at his father’s lifeless form, and felt only sadness.
Then Bose stomped his hoof, betraying his fear, and Draif snapped to alertness. He was the last one alive, and burning eyes were looking in his direction. Just as they began gliding towards him, Draif kicked his horse into action. In seconds the snarling dogs were flooding towards him and he fought to keep his seat. He threw a look back, but wished he hadn't. Many of the dogs
were shimmering red and howling in anger. Flying across the ground, the dogs closed on him—until Bose accelerated and hit his top speed.
Relief flooded through him as he saw the evil hounds losing ground. Thundering east after the two soldiers, Draif lifted his rump out of the saddle and gave Bose his head. Streaking down the road, he left his pursuers behind and caught up to the two men in minutes.
Arcing around a bend he caught sight of them and slowed Bose to ride beside them. Both men looked at him in surprise and opened their mouths. Before they could ask, Draif said, “Desekrin is gone."
The bald soldier’s eyes went wide. “Are they coming?”
A howl rent the air and all three kicked their horses. As one, they surged forward as the dogs appeared at their backs. Draif kept Bose from going full speed to remain at the two men’s side. “What are those things?”
“Fiends, come to kill us all,” the bald soldier shouted. “The kingdom is being evacuated to the west where the races are gathering to defend themselves.”
“Where is the king?” Draif yelled back.
“He’s with the rest of our company, trying to delay the invasion and give villagers more time to escape. We volunteered to try and flank the enemy to light the forest of Orláknia. It will slow them down.” He threw a look at Draif. “And what was with your friends back there? They seemed delighted by the news.”
Draif shook his head. “You don’t want to know." For some reason he felt guilty, like he was responsible.
“How far is Orláknia from here?” the other soldier yelled, glancing behind him as additional pursuers came into view, his voice and eyes betraying his mounting fear.
Draif looked back as well, and nearly lost his balance. The pack had swelled in size. Instead of a dozen of the things, now there were hundreds in the road and trees, all howling and shimmering red—and they were gaining on them. Swallowing against the sight, he resisted the urge to speed up. “About ten miles to the southern tip. At this rate we should be there soon, but what—”