Uprising: A Darklight Chronicle (prequel to Darklight)

by Greg L. Turnquist

  If only he could close his eyes and shut out the suffering. Would the images ever go away? Or would the faces of the massacred haunt him even should he make it through this?

  Focus. He had a job to do. Just ahead, the corridor would intersect with the palace’s central hallway. What would they find? Another ambush?

  Creak!

  Footsteps on the other side of the door to the central hallway raised the hairs on Gavin’s neck. He tightened his grip on his weapons and drew a finger to his lips. As he motioned, his men moved to the side.

  He raised his cross sword and nodded for the soldier to the right to pull the handle.

  The private jerked the door open.

  Wide, familiar eyes met Gavin’s.

  “Sir!”

  Gavin shuddered as he stayed his hand. Sergeant Milner’s features relaxed, easing Gavin’s nerves. The captain took a breath he didn’t realize he’d held.

  “Sergeant, what are you doing here?” Glancing around, Gavin waved the sergeant and the two soldiers with him into a bedroom.

  “Sir, we were surrounded and attacked less than ten minutes outside Kelmar. It was bad.” Milner shook his head, looking at the floor.

  The thin cut down the side of his face and along his jaw oozed slightly.

  “We were cut to pieces. I don’t know how many, if any, of my men made it. Figured things couldn’t be good back here, so I double-timed it. Managed to find a couple of our men.” He jerked his thumb at the others.

  “You’re right.” Gavin nodded. “It’s bad. Very bad. They’ve already killed King Bainerd.”

  “They what?” A woman’s shriek pierced Gavin’s ears.

  “Who’s that?” He peered around the room, his eyes locking onto the bed. Gripping his dagger, Gavin knelt and looked underneath. He gestured the sergeant over. Jerking his arms toward himself, he motioned for Milner to pull the figure from her hiding place.

  Milner stepped to the other side of the bed, then crouched and watched his captain.

  Gavin dropped his hand.

  Another shrill cry filled the room as the woman was dragged out.

  Milner had her on her feet in a moment. “What’s your name?”

  The young, slender woman squared her shoulders and tossed her golden hair. “Clarel, daughter of...member of the royal family.”

  Gavin shook his head. This might slow things down. It was no matter. She would have to keep up if she wanted to live. He had more pressing challenges. Like taking back the palace. “Sergeant, do you have any other information?”

  The woman’s head snapped around, her eyes met his. Her icy glare was not missed on him.

  Milner stepped around Clarel. “When we were attacked, they chanted the name ‘Melicose’.”

  “Who?” Gavin furrowed his brows.

  “I don’t know. But they acted like zealots. One thing’s for certain: there are more of them than us. If we’d known they were rallying so many, we could have been building up our own forces. But that minister you argue with all the time...somehow this has got to be his fault.”

  The minister had been slippery with his domestic policies. Could he stoop to such levels?

  Gavin squinted. “I commanded two other units to try and secure the east and west wings. Based on what you’ve said, we must combine if we ever hope to drive them back.”

  Milner nodded, his sword drawn and by Gavin’s side. “We might want to head that way.” The sergeant pointed left. “We could come up on the west wing–“

  “We aren’t going anywhere until you tell me exactly what’s happening.” The young woman shoved her way past the sergeant, closing in on Gavin, eyes pinning him.

  Babysitting a royal was not on his list of priorities. “Excuse me, miss, but–“

  “Lady Clarel.” She folded her arms and blinked.

  “Excuse me, Lady Clarel, but if we don’t move quickly, there will be little to share. I suggest you stay behind the sergeant.” Gavin smirked. “And out of my way.” He nodded at Milner.

  The sergeant rolled his eyes as he pulled Lady Clarel behind himself.

  She huffed as she stumbled, righting herself soon enough. To her credit, she kept any retort to herself.

  “As I was saying, sir,” Milner picked up step with Gavin. “If we approach the west wing from the service access side, it gives us a better chance of not walking into an ambush.”

  Gavin nodded. The man’s ability to think on his feet just might work.

  * * * *

  SLIPPING INTO THE servant’s hallway and moving through a couple turns, Gavin and his men approached the door to the great hall. Milner’s plan might work. It had to.

  He glanced at the others and nodded.

  They drew weapons. The late afternoon sun soon shown through a small window and reflected off their blades.

  A sharp intake of breath drew his attention toward Lady Clarel. She hunched in the back, against a wall.

  Gavin shoved his way through the door as his troop of five hugged in formation. They shifted into a semi-circle, ready to defend against any of the marauders.

  But there was no attack. No enemy to fight off.

  His mouth fell agape at the visage before him.

  Bodies splayed throughout the room. Blood everywhere.

  Gavin’s stomach turned.

  Had the entire royal court been savaged? This wasn’t war. It was mass execution.

  Thud.

  Probably a dagger dropping to the floor behind him.

  The soldier to his right knelt. Out of shock? Or to retrieve the dagger?

  Gavin scowled. If only he could give his men time to recover. But time was a luxury they did not have.

  “Spread out,” he barked, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Search for survivors.”

  As the soldiers combed the room, Gavin glance caught sight of Lady Clarel. She had stepped into the room. And stopped there.

  A tear ran down her face. Trudging in a few more steps, she fell to her knees.

  Something about her sadness tugged at Gavin. He took a step toward her.

  “I found something,” Milner shouted.

  Gavin turned and squinted.

  “This one’s breathing,” the sergeant said. “Help me roll him.”

  Gavin joined Milner and helped lift and turn the survivor.

  “Minister Farthing,” Gavin said, his words forming on a quick intake of air.

  The man’s eyes opened.

  “Him!” Milner ground his teeth. “Tell me, minister, does it now feel like something to concern yourself with?” Milner spat his words.

  Gavin pushed him back. “Sergeant...”But Gavin did not have it in him to admonish the man further, not after what had happened today.

  Milner bit his lip and stepped back.

  Gavin leaned in.

  “Captain, I–“ The man erupted into a coughing fit. After several seconds, he caught his breath. “What about…the king?” The minister lay in a pool of blood.

  “He’s dead.” Massaged reports and polished speeches were never in Gavin’s repertoire.

  The minister’s face twisted. “No more need to talk up any economic news.” His edge of his mouth twitched as if to form a smile before more coughing ensued.

  Gavin’s features relaxed into a semblance of a grin. Probably the first time he had ever done so for this man.

  Clang!

  A giant battle-axe clamored to the ground at the back of the hall.

  Gavin jumped to his feet, turning to find the cause.

  A tapestry enveloped him, blocking his view and dampening his senses.

  “Stop him!” Gavin shouted.

  Milner fought alongside him to yank off the giant decorative hanging. Was he trapped too? Before they could free themselves, a door slammed.

  “After him...whoever that was!”

  As Gavin finally thrust the tapestry, clearing his view, the private next to the door was rushing through it. Gavin was not far behind, the sergeant soon after.

  T
he flitting figure turned at a stairwell farther ahead and jumped the railing to the lower level.

  Gavin growled. Attempting the same while carrying weapons could prove fatal. They had no choice but to take the stairs. By the time he and his men reached the landing, they had lost all sign of their quarry.

  Making his way back to the great hall, Gavin checked on Minister Farthing. The man’s eyes were locked on the ceiling, his lips trembling.

  Bending over, Gavin put his ear closer. “Say again.”

  “You were right,” was all the man could manage.

  “It was never about being right, Minister.”

  Minister Farthing’s eyes rolled to one side before they stopped.

  Gavin reached over and closed the man’s eyelids. For the first time, he felt an emotional connection to the minister. Sparring with political opponents was never something Gavin enjoyed, though Minister Farthing had seemed to relish it.

  No, this man and Gavin had both been united in service to King Bainerd. And being cut down by these thugs stoked the heat within Gavin’s chest.

  “Where are they? The other units?” Gavin’s lips tightened as he stared at Milner.

  The sergeant quirked an eyebrow. “Must have gotten caught up elsewhere, sir.”

  * * * *

  SEARCHING CAUTIOUSLY FOR signs of the units Gavin had commanded, his small contingency finally found their way to the east wing.

  Entering, his jaw dropped.

  A vicious battle had been fought. Too many of his men fallen, too few of the invaders. How had this happened?

  “We must persist.” Gavin extended a fist. “There are surely others that have escaped the palace. We must find them, and–“

  “And flee.” The somber words from Lady Clarel pierced Gavin.

  “What?” He turned and glared at her.

  “We must flee. The king’s troops are clearly no match.”

  He stepped closer to the young woman, stopping inches from her. “These aren’t just troops. Many are my friends.”

  Lady Clarel did not so much as flinch under his scrutiny. Her voice was calm, soft even. “I know. I can see.” Then her voice became firmer. “But it’s clear your men are suited for keeping the peace, not repelling an invasion. And that is why we must flee while we can. Today is not our day.” She looked at the floor before lifting her eyes to match his.

  Gavin looked away. What she suggested was…treasonous? Perhaps not.

  Still, it didn’t feel honorable. Or right.

  He took several steps away from her. “No. No! We will fight until the bitter end. These followers of Melicose must be destroyed. Them or us.”

  “And then what? Let him crush the people of Kelmar?” Lady Clarel stepped closer and stared at Gavin with an intensity he hadn’t experienced before. This royalist spoke with clarity.

  Gavin licked his lips. What she suggested was something he’d never done. “You speak of forming a resistance?”

  She nodded.

  Gavin’s gaze moved to Milner. He had never been slow to make command decisions, but the choice before him was grave.

  “In case anyone wanted my opinion, not that’s it needed.” The sergeant paused a moment, looking around. No one interrupted. “I just…” He took in a long breath. “I agree with Lady Clarel.” Milner glanced at Gavin, his head tilted. “Today’s battle is lost, sir. Maybe we can lay low. Find sympathizers. Melicose may have rallied fighting men, but there must be others that have suffered at his hands.”

  Gavin flattened his lips and nodded. Not so much to Clarel and Milner, but more to himself.

  Sheathing his cross sword, he slumped his shoulders.

  “It won’t be easy.” Gavin looked at Lady Clarel and Milner. “We must vacate the palace and slip out of the city.”

  “After dusk?” The sergeant stowed his dagger.

  Gavin nodded. “Our best bet is to converge in the forest to the east.”

  A plan was forming.

  Would it succeed?

  DARKLIGHT - CHAPTER 1

  * * * *

  SNITCH MOVED AS fast as she could in the dark toward the southern edge of the city-state of Kelmar, desperate to not draw attention to herself. Fortunately, rain had caused a haze to fall.

  He was coming. Snitch couldn’t believe it. She had to get this information back to the Undergrounders if they were to have any chance to escape.

  Her knowledge of this part of the city told her to keep a sharp lookout for rival gangs; gangs that had risen to fill the power vacuum left behind when Melicose purged Kelmar’s palace of all of its nobility.

  As she exited an alley, a gust of wind made her clutch the edge of her coat and pull it tight. Steeling herself, she pressed on.

  Melicose was coming, according to one of her contacts. What were they going to do?

  She approached a familiar corner and slowed when she recognized members of the Raiders. Glancing back, she gulped. Too late to find another route.

  “Snitch,” Marlon boomed. “What are you doing here?”

  He was the Raiders’ second lieutenant or something. She couldn’t keep track of the ever-changing titles.

  “I didn’t know you guys had moved into this block.” Her lips pressed flat as she shifted her weight between her feet. “I was trying to stay off your turf.”

  Tall and dark, he crept closer, eyeing her. The others drifted in behind him. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Snitch knew Marlon wouldn’t take kindly to any sort of brush off. She’d heard enough stories of people crossing street gangs, and the last thing she wanted was to become another story.

  “I was hooking up with one of my associates to hit a shop. No moonlight, hazy night, perfect opportunity, right?” Snitch had an offer to work such a job. Two weeks ago.

  “You know, I believe you. You do shoot for easy hits. But you still crossed onto our turf.”

  Hearing where this was headed, her stomach sank. Gang respect was so juvenile . . . and expensive.

  Marlon smiled with his square jaw, revealing a couple of teeth missing. “I have to maintain control, or Boss won’t trust me. What kind of job are you doing?”

  Without pause, she replied, “A pawn shop. Cheap stuff, but easy to fence. Maybe worth a couple thousand credits.”

  “The going rate when you cross turf is ten percent.” Marlon tipped his hat back as his goons formed a wall behind him.

  “I don’t have that much on me. And the last time it was five percent.”

  “You trade sharp. I’ll tell you what, Snitch, you haven’t crossed us, and your jobs have fed us in the past. Give me a hundred credits, and we can ignore this.”

  Snitch fumbled in her pockets, when Marlon stepped up next to her with a short blade. Sweat beaded up on her forehead.

  “Watch it there. You’ve been good to us, but there is still a proper way.” He snapped his fingers. “Green, get over here. Check her pockets.”

  Snitch pulled out her hands and held them up.

  Green rifled through her pockets, pulling out bits of junk along with a crushed-up wad of money. Grinning, he handed it over to Marlon.

  “Looks like . . . a hundred and twenty-five credits. I remember you coming up short last time. This should cover it. Now get out of here.” Marlon pocketed the money as the corner of his mouth rose.

  Green pushed her to the side and Snitch huffed.

  The Raiders laughed and talked to each other as she stumbled away. After getting around the corner, she picked up her pace, miffed. How many jobs would it take to make up for that?

  Snitch stopped. The money wasn’t important. Not like it used to be. Getting back to Base with the information she had gleaned from one of her contacts was more critical than the next job. Indeed, it might prove crucial for the Undergrounders’ resistance.

  She entered the district of Rawley. The sagging beams over the storefronts combined with their worn edges made Snitch confident she could slip out of view without anyone noticing. Most importan
t of all, Melicose’s thug soldiers. Getting caught without a pass would invite too many questions.

  The back alley behind Fifth Avenue was her planned destination. Despite all the drunks sleeping on the streets and garbage strewn everywhere, her instincts told her not to rush. It was always better to case things out first.

  Snitch slowed to a comfortable walk before spotting one of the troops at the end of the street. Without changing pace, she ducked into the next pub.

  Grabbing a seat at the far end of the cracked, wooden bar, she folded her arms and stared at the entrance. Hushed conversations, low lights, and clouds of tobacco smoke eased the tension in her stomach, a little. When the bartender came by, she ordered a drink and fished out a few coins Green had missed. The man handed her a short glass filled with brown liquid. Hunkering down, she sipped, hoping to melt into the background.

  A minute later, the soldier she had spotted entered. He scanned the room.

  Knots formed in Snitch’s gut. “Has he been here before?” she whispered to the man next to her, but his drunken stupor barred any answer.

  As the soldier walked through the establishment, a wake of silence followed.

  The bartender came by Snitch’s end.

  She leaned in and whispered, “Has he been in here already?”

  The bartender looked up and replied with a slight nod.

  Snitch snuck a look at the soldier, worried that her lack of proper ID would result in a very long conversation somewhere less desirable.

  The soldier’s eyes connected with hers at that exact moment. His brows furrowed before he looked from side to side. Returning his gaze to her, his eyes narrowed as his jaw clenched.

  Snitch jumped out of her seat and ran to the back door, an exit she had spotted upon first entry.

  The soldier gave chase.

  Cutting through the kitchen, she stumbled into the alley. The sound of the soldier crashing into things gave her hope. By the time he got outside, she had gained half a block.

  But now he ran full speed, gaining on her.

  Her breathing heightened as her hands shook. Passing a slim area between two of the sagging buildings, she stopped. With her slender profile, she squeezed through. While this sliver of space appeared too small to be of any use to local business owners, it afforded her a possible escape.