A Darkness Unleashed (Book 2)

by J. T. Hartke

  The shock at his simple words did not register in Jaerd’s brain for several moments. Then it dawned on him that the world had changed, no matter the outcome of the battle. The man who had reined since before Jaerd’s father was born now lay dead somewhere on the battlefield. He held his breath. Then he looked up at the earl he knew as his commander.

  “Then it is your field, My Lord.” Jaerd bowed his head at the man almost everyone in the kingdom knew was Arathan’s son. “What would you have us do?”

  Boris’ chin faltered, but only for a second. Then the earl lifted his head. “We must abandon the battle. We are overmatched and outnumbered. Nothing will be left of us if we don’t make it back across the Gallond.” He turned to the men behind him. “Pass the word. Retreat to the wagons. Make it organized, but make it hasty. We’ll regroup on the other side and make them come at us.” Boris shifted in his saddle to look at Jaerd and Tallen. “I’ll need you two to help me break through to the Battlemages. Joslyn can then—”

  A low horn broke the earl’s words while his messengers darted off to different parts of the battlefield. The orcs surged forward and another rumble broke from out of their trenches. Jaerd swung to find its source, fearing that dragons had been loosed upon them now.

  Not more than a hundred yards from where they stood, a mass of horses shot up out of the trenchworks. Clinging to their bridles and manes were orc warriors, each with their face painted as black as their armor. They whooped and shouted, and the horses threw their heads about, as wild as their riders.

  “Great Balance!” Boris’ thick jaw hung loose in disbelief. “What is this madness?”

  The orc cavalry charged straight for them. The horses thrashed and many of the riders lost their mounts. Tallen threw fire among them to further startle the horses, some catching their manes and tails aflame.

  “That’s a Highspur saddle,” Jaerd whispered to himself as they neared. “Come on men! Let’s break these fools.”

  As he turned to lead the cavalry forward, the few mounted orcs that had come closest threw strange, reflective objects into the air. An orc with a boar banner flying over his head tossed one directly at Jaerd. He held up the buckler on his reins hand and the object crashed against it. Another struck near Tallen’s feet, breaking into shards of broken glass. More crashed into Boris and his men, one struck the earl on his face, shattering and leaving a small trickle of blood.

  “What the—” Jaerd felt a sudden sickness in his stomach and his sense of balance fled him. He swayed in his saddle and his vision tunneled. “Wh—”

  The muddy ground rushed up to smash into his numbed face.

  The vagaries of Hadonese politics and the twisted intertwining of their royal and sub-royal families were far more complicated than the relationships between the noble houses of Gannon. Dozens of ambassadors have spent years taking apart their histories, with little success in weeding out all the connections. The current emperor, Jahram Alari il’Hasin, is descended from two of the oldest of these families, House Alari and House Hasin. Both have seated emperors in Hadon’s long history. Many hope that with the eventual succession of his newborn eldest son, who adds in a third powerful house through his mother, a great deal of this historical tension and bloodshed will be abated. – “History of Gannon, Appendix B” by Elyn Bravano

  Khalem Shadar smelled Daynon before its first docks appeared along the twisted delta of the Great River Andon. Fish and fires, sweat and spices, urine and sewers and all the flowers of spring. The only thing missing is the smell of dust and sand, or I might think I was home.

  “A great city has a scent of its own, my friend.” He nudged the elf beside him. “And each one is different. Gavanor smells more of grain and horse than sea. My home is much like this, though not nearly so wet a stench.” He shrugged. “After almost nine years on the frontier, I suppose any city feels like home.”

  Gael Calais lifted a white eyebrow. “Was not your mother from Katharoon?”

  Khalem nodded, though thoughts of his mother washed the smile from his features. “Yes. However, I was only allowed to travel along the Jungle Rivers once before she died.” He stared over the riverboat’s prow. “My father forbade it.”

  “I am sorry, Khalem. Many of us pay for the sins of our fathers, Elf and Human alike.”

  His inquisitive nature taking hold of him, Khalem leaned against the rail. “Your father is an icon of history. Did you know him well?”

  Gael shook his head. “I was his last child. He did not live long after my birth. He invested so much life in his children. When Varana’s mother died during the Cataclysm, it changed him.” The elf picked at a small splinter of wood. “The singing of A’Valen took a great deal of life from him as well. He was already frail when he took my mother as his new wife, though I don’t think he truly loved her. He just felt a dire need to have more children before he passed.”

  Sympathy welling up inside him for another prodigal son, Khalem patted the elf’s shoulder. “I am the child of a second marriage as well. I know some of what you mean.”

  Gael smiled. “We do have much in common, despite the sour history between our peoples. Perhaps there is a greater lesson in that.”

  Turning back to the swiftly approaching docks, Khalem reflected on Gael’s words. I have served with this elf for near a decade, and I know so little of him. The dark water slid by, and before he realized it, the soft bump of the boat against the wharf drew him from his reverie.

  “Come,” Gael said with a wave at the myriad of boats and ships surrounding them. “I will find the nearest elven ship and it will take us on our journey – first to my homeland, and then it will take you on to yours.”

  Khalem laughed. “Unless we find a stout Hadonese voyager first. Then it will take us with even greater haste to our destinations.”

  The first few steps onto the wharves took some getting used to when Khalem left the slow swaying of the riverboat. Gael seemed to need no such time, for his steady strides never stalled from boat to dock. He looked back at Khalem and gave him a moment to catch his legs.

  They walked along the main pier, careful to avoid the stevedores as they unloaded the cargoes of a dozen nations. But the dockmen did not chant their usual rhythmic songs, and the watchmen held their weapons at the ready. No children splashed in the empty boat slips, and no old men cast fishing lines into the waters. “King Arathan’s march west has left a quieter capital than I remember when last I was here.”

  “It has been even longer for me,” Gael replied, “though I do remember far more bustle. Having seen Arathan’s force when we passed through Gavanor, I have little doubt that a great deal of the population of Daynon are now marching through the Wastes.”

  Khalem shook his head. A warning tingle itched at the back of his neck. “It’s something else, too. I cannot point my dagger to it. Perhaps it is just the worry of folks at home while loved ones go to war.” He examined the wharves, noting the many empty berths. “Even commerce knows war is at hand.” Something else nagged at the corner of his perception. “We should have passed a half dozen Hadonese ships by now. I’ve seen Jahadi, Yurians, Jade Islanders – even one ship flying Dwarven colors, but none of my own people.”

  “That is strange. The Empire does more trade here than anyone.” Gael squinted, examining the rows of docked ships in Daynon harbor. “I see a ship from Valen two piers down. Let us go there and I will question her captain and crew.”

  His sense of unease only grew as Khalem followed the elf past hundreds of workers and their ships. Half a dozen flavors of Common shouted at one another, yet none of the voices were in his native tongue. More than a few sailors glared at him. When they approached the bone-white lifewood ship, a cluster of Elf sailors stood on the docks to meet them.

  Gael offered them a wave of greeting. “Hail, Bolaris Draevin, Captain of the Stormspray. It has been long decades since I last stood upon her polished de
cks. In the name of my brother, Prince Adaan Calais, I require that we set sail as immediately as you can weigh anchor.” He inclined his head toward the already glowering sailors. “A great tragedy has befallen in the west, as you likely know. We must both be taken to our homelands so that we may raise armies to aid the men of Gannon.”

  Khalem lowered into a deep bow, even though hateful demeanor of the elves followed him. “I am Khalem Shadar il’Hasin, youngest legitimate son of Emperor Jahram Alari il’Hasin. I will—”

  The elf captain took a half step forward, his hand dipping to his dagger. “You are the son of the bloody Emperor himself?”

  His squint shifting to an angry scowl, Gael placed his hand on Khalem’s forearm. “Captain! I will insist you offer more respect to my friend. Not only is he royalty, but he is also a hero of Highspur, and a messenger from its dead garrison.” He sliced his hand through the air. “You will not insult him.”

  Captain Draevin bowed his head. “I am sorry, my Lord. I meant no disrespect to you or your honored family. Nor do I doubt the heroism of those who died at Highspur.” He lifted his eyes toward Gael, a fire lit in their turquoise glow. “But I cannot offer respect to the son of a murderer – a slayer of children.”

  Khalem stepped back. “Captain, few know my father’s potential for cruelty more than I, but why do you speak of him with such venom?”

  The captain looked back to Gael, the rage in his expression fading only slightly. “Valen burns, my Lord, and it is the Empire of Hadon that burns it.”

  Khalem shifted on the hard plank. Though grained and shaped like wood, it felt like fine porcelain to the touch and hardest stone to a punch. The rawness on his knuckles attested to that.

  A knock came at the lifewood door just a few inches from his face.

  “I have never heard of a jailor knocking, but I suppose you had just as well enter.”

  Gael stood behind the door when it opened out. A worried frown nestled on his smooth elven brow. “I am sorry, my friend. At least I convinced them not to use the chains. Even forged of lifewood, they are a cruel affair.” He handed Khalem a waterskin and a small satchel. “Cheese and dried fish…and some dates, I believe from your homeland.” Gael’s face dipped even further. “I doubt the crew would eat them now anyway.”

  Khalem took a careful sip of water, moving with the sway of the ship. “Do you know what has happened on Valen?” He wiped his chin with a sleeve. “Have my people truly invaded the Verdant Isle?”

  Uncertainty and fear played on Gael’s normally stoic face. “A few days ago they landed on the southern shores near Faegull. That city was taken, and now a large force of Sunguard roam the southern vineyards.”

  A sense of doom creeping up from his gut, Khalem searched Gael’s face. “And now we sail for Valen.”

  “Not yet.” Gael tapped his finger on the lifewood planks. “Our mission is to first hunt for any more Hadonese ships. Apparently their fleet was broken up by a large storm and only about half made landing. The rest were scattered across the Bay of Hope.” He looked at every part of the cell except for Khalem’s face. “The mission of the Stormspray is to hunt down and sink any Hadonese vessel they can find between Daynon and Deephaven.”

  His aching heart pounding heavily in his chest, Khalem reached out to Gael. “Please, my friend, you must convince your captain to take me to Valen. I will meet with whoever commands this army and negotiate a peace.” He leaned forward, almost grasping at Gael’s tunic. “There must be some dreadful mistake.”

  As the words came out of his mouth, Khalem knew them to be untrue. Father could easily have ordered this. It is no worse than what he did to my mother’s father and his people.

  Sad images of his mother played through his mind, blurry with time. He thought of the story she had told him once, on a dark night when he was very young – the story of a young girl, hiding while listening to her mother and brother being killed in the next room. And then the old emperor took her to wife, to claim my grandfather’s kingdom.

  Khalem looked up at the sad expression on Gael’s face. “I am sorry, my friend. I swear, by Krina of my mother’s people and High Madrahn of my father’s, I will do whatever I can to stop this atrocity.”

  Gael clenched his hands around the white bars. “I don’t know if one man, even a prince, will be enough.”

  A loud boom shook the timbers of the elven ship. A bell began to ring on deck.

  His eyes spreading wide, Gael looked behind him, down the long hold on the bottom deck. “It looks like we may have already found one of your people’s ships.” Another boom rattled the planks. “I must get up there.”

  Khalem sighed. “Go. Help your people. I would help them too, but they seem to want to cut my throat as much as take a glass of water from me.”

  Gael bowed his head and then closed the brig door.

  A few moments later another boom rang out, bouncing Khalem in his seat. He reached out against the door to steady himself and it swung open. Gael did not set the latch…

  He pushed it farther open to get a look. Only a few beams of light filtered into the lower hold from the gangway. Khalem searched the dimness, seeing nothing but stacked casks and crates. He slipped down the narrow path in between the cargo and up the first few steps.

  Two explosions followed in quick succession in the distance. Must be mages on both ships.

  On the second level, he heard the shouts of battle and smelled smoke. Before he could mount the final stairs up to the deck, a loud crash sounded from above, ripping away a chunk of the deck. Two elves fell through, one dead from a shattered plank through his heart, the other lolling on the edge of consciousness. Khalem pulled him up against a sack and helped him to a sip from his waterskin.

  Another explosion shook the ship, and the elf blinked. Khalem realized it was the captain.

  “Hadoner!” The captain spat blood onto the white deck planking. “You…you are free.”

  The clear ring of metal on metal sounded from above, as well as the thud of feet landing on the upper deck.

  Khalem handed the waterskin to Captain Draevin, stood, and pulled a cutlass from a rack nearby. “I will show you that honor lives in Hadon.”

  He dashed up onto the foredeck into the middle of chaos. Hadonese Sunguard fought hand to hand with elves armored in shining steel. Mages on raised platforms shot fire back and forth between the two ships, which were almost close enough to leap from deck to deck without the aid of boarding ropes. The Hadonese cog burned in several places, while the hard lifewood of the elven ship had blackened in only one spot.

  Shock and fear welling within him to the point of panic, Khalem searched about, hoping to find Gael. He saw the elf lord close pressed by two of Khalem’s countrymen armed with spears. Gael’s knives ripped through the air, catching both spears at every stab.

  Charging the attackers, Khalem knocked one of the Sunguard spears away. “Stop! I command it!”

  The man’s grimace of rage shifted to a startled look when he realized he did not face an elf. “Who are you to command me thus?”

  His heart thumping, Khalem shouted out in his native version of Common. “I am Prince Khalem Shadar il’Hasin, son of your emperor, and I command you to halt this attack!”

  The soldier paused, as did his companion, the expressions on their faces unreadable. Gael stepped closer to Khalem, his knives still on guard.

  “But you are dead,” the second soldier answered.

  Khalem grinned. “Not anymore.”

  The first guard drew back his spear. “Not for long.” He drove the weapon forward. “Faroud!”

  Parrying the spear with one swift move, Khalem turned to riposte and drove his cutlass into the man’s skull. The second spearman moved at him, but Gael cut the man down with a swift dodge and stabs to the throat.

  The next few minutes remained a blur for Khalem. He cut down two more
of his countrymen before the battle ended, barely holding his gorge as he did so. When the fight was over, he ran to the rail and lost what little food he had eaten. The burning Hadonese cog, floating away and belching black smoke, eventually collapsed and sank beneath the waves. Several bodies bobbed alongside among the flotsam. Khalem straightened to avoid seeing their faces.

  Gael stood close by, a sympathetic expression on his face. The captain hobbled up from below with the help of one of his mates. He scowled in Khalem’s general direction, but his relief at seeing his ship still intact won over.

  Gael turned to the wounded elf. “I don’t think there is a need to keep my friend locked up any longer.” Before the captain could respond, he looked to Khalem. “The one shouted ‘Faroud’. Do you know what that means?”

  The exhilaration of battle ended with a dreadful certainty of what Khalem had done. His heart sank as he looked down at the Hadonese soldier he had killed. A great uneasiness swelled up into his chest, and he clasped his hand as it began to shake. “It means my entire family is betrayed. Somehow my foul cousin has come to leadership within the Empire. This is not good. He makes my father look like a pristine monk.” Khalem chewed on his lip. “I have allowed myself to be exiled for far too long.”

  Nodding his head, Gael cleaned and sheathed his weapons. “Once again, the same could be said for us both.”

  Many doubt me or call me a madman, but I tell you dragons do still exist. – “The Tarmor Bestiary” by Dorias Ravenhawke

  Groovax stretched his wings against the breeze, gaining a little more altitude. Had there been any clouds he would have risen above them, but the sky was as blue as the sea far below etched with tiny ripples, like million faceted sapphire. The sun reflected off his golden scales, and he stretched his wings to take in its warmth.

  In the distance, a small hump of darkness rose out of the endless ocean. A craggy promontory of black volcanic stone covered with the deep green of tropical forest resolved itself, and Groovax veered towards it. The sea winds gave him such speed that he soon closed in on the lonely island. He banked and slowed, using a trickle of his power to ease himself into a spiral that slowly descended into the smoking mouth of the ancient volcano.