by Caden Nantes
His terrified face stared back at Barind for a moment before he swallowed and said, "The other generals request your presence. They will say no more until you are there, only that it is of utmost importance,"
Barind frowned as he spun his axe until it was battle-axe size again. He slung it across his back and nodded to the dwarf. "Lead the way,"
The dwarf lead him through the winding hallways of Marrugdan, home of the dwarves. Murals of dwarves battling great beasts adorned the walls. Under them were the names of various dwarves, such as 'Girran the Great' and 'Bryrin the Brawn'. Barind stopped beside Bryrin's mural of the dwarf rushing into battle against a huge basilisk. He wielded a battle axe in one hand, a shield in the other. As Barind watched, the battle axe changed to a war axe, and then a pole-axe. Such was the magic of the murals, and his great-great-grandfather's weaponry.
He shook his head and hurried to catch up to the small dwarf, who turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Turning the same corner, Barind came upon a large wooden door, which the smaller dwarf was straining to open.
Barind stepped forward and pushed the door open, causing the other dwarf to involuntarily stumble inside. Axes and other weaponry were shown inside glass displays mounted to the wall, with wording under them much like the murals. Several tables lay scattered about the room, with various maps and trinkets laying upon them.
What drew Barind's attention was the large stone table in the center of the room. Battle plans were strewn across its surface, and stone chairs bearing angry dwarves sat around it. The dwarves shouted at each other all at once, so Barind couldn't hear a single word.
He cleared his throat. When nothing happened, he did it again, only much louder. Every dwarf froze. Slowly, they turned to look at him. Then they all started shouting again. Barind grit his teeth and yowled, "Be quiet!"
The yelling stopped, and Barind continued. "You're all acting like halfling infants, not dwarven generals!"
With that, a few gazes dropped, and others turned guilty. To the ones that did neither, Barind said, "Why did you summon me? And why are ya'all shoutin'? The last time this happened was when we made an alliance with the elves during the Great War!"
One of the dwarves, Drerund, curled his lip. "This is the exact opposite. In fact, instead of fightin' orcs 'n ogres, we're fightin' the elves!"
Barind was taken aback. "What? Why? What're you talking about?"
"What he's talking about," said Bralgdin, one of the other generals. "Is that the elves have attacked. We prepare for war,"
∆∆∆
Barind shoved his helm down over his face, and turned back toward the door. He buckled his shield onto his arm, and tightened his grip on his mace. Taking a deep breath, he exited his chambers and strode down corridor after corridor. Eventually, he came to a stone door, which he pushed open.
Chaos. That was the only word for what he saw as he stepped through the doorway and entered the daylight. Dwarves ran from place to place, scrambling to put on their armor or sling up their weapons. Commanders barked out orders to the soldiers, who seemed bewildered as they raced out the open gate, forming a defensive barrier in front of their mountain home.
Barind wasted no time talking to the other generals or commanders. He simply trudged to the front lines. What he saw took his breath away. Not because he was scared. Not because he was in awe. Because he was surprised. He doubled over in laughter at what he saw. No more than three hundred elves marched toward them.
He shook his head. "Don't fret. There's nothing to worry about. Either they were invaded and they are seeking aid, or the elves have gotten even more insane than last I saw them,"
He was still muffling chuckles when the arrows came. Not regular arrows. Arrows of pure blackness. So black they seemed to absorb the sun's rays. The elves were still hundreds of feet away, yet the arrows flew toward them. One struck a dwarf next to him, who started to shake uncontrollably as blackness spread through his body, and finally enveloped him completely. When it receded, in the dwarf's place was a black form.
It hovered there in the air, taking no shape. Letting out a horrible shriek, it raced forward and slammed into a dwarf, who started to shake and shudder. He dissolved into dust, and in his place was another shadowy form.
Barind gaped. What are these beasts? He tightened his grip on his great-great-grandfather's mace. Bryrin, lend me your strength. As if in response, the mace warmed in his hand, and it's head began to pulsate a light-gray light. Deciding not to pay it attention, he let out a battle cry and charged one of the shadow-creatures.
When he swung his mace, which was now glowing brightly, the creature dissolved into nothingness. Barind looked at the mace with a newfound respect. Let's whip these thing's behinds! On instinct, he spun around, raising his shield as an orb of pure black rushed toward him.
His shield glowed with the same light as his mace, and as soon as the orb touched it, it dissolved. I'm starting to like these things!
He noticed three shadows lined up almost in a row as they fought —if you could even call it that— the dwarves. Barind narrowed his eyes, wound up his mace, and released. This'd better work! Sure enough, each beast it touched dissolved into nothingness. His victory was short lived as a weight slammed into his side.
He lay flat on his back, gulping in lungfuls of air. What just happened? He stood, staring at his side. A mini-battle seemed to be going on between the inky-blackness of the orbs and shadows, and the grayish light that his great-great-grandfather's armor was emitting.
Barind grinned. "Yeah!" He pumped his fist in the air. That's when he realized his mace was over dozens of feet away. He was going to go retrieve it when he thought of something. He took his axe from his back, his grin growing wider when he saw it emitted gray light.
Barind swung at shadow after shadow, each of them dissolving in turn. He was starting to wonder why no one was applauding when he turned back toward the gates of Marrugdan. There was hardly anyone left to applaud. Almost all the dwarfs had been turned into shadow-beasts or were battling the elves, which had somehow traveled hundreds of feet in less than fifteen minutes.
Barind let out a roar and raised his axe over his head. He slammed it down into the ground, causing cracks to form along the stone. They pulsated the same color as his weapons, and as they slammed into elves and shadows, they burst into nothingness.
Barind slung his shield over his back and elongated his axe to its full length. "For Marrugdan!"
∆∆∆
Barind was spinning. Bright light was all around him. His head felt like it was going to rip off. He spun around and around, until he lost any sense of which way was up or down. Not that there was any up or down, anyway. Just searing, mind numbing light. He felt almost weightless as the light swirled around him. Was he even the one spinning? Or was it that all-encompassing, grayish light.
Suddenly, everything was black. No, not black. Just dark, dark green. All around him were trees, and the night sky. So he lay there, with only the stars as his companions, and thought back to what had happened before the light.
∆∆∆
Barind bared his teeth at the elf in front of him. The pointy-eared fiend wore pitch-black robes, and wielded a staff in his hand. Everywhere were more elves and the shadow-beasts. No dwarves remained, save for Barind. He tightened his grip on the pole-axe in his hands.
The elf curled his lip. "I've never seen a weapon that can defeat the shadows," he sneered. "Not in a long, long time,"
So that was what they were called. Shadows. Not that it mattered. Soon, he would die anyway, and with him, the dwarves of Marrugdan. But he would defeat this sneering elf, first, who seemed like a powerful figure. The crystal encrusted into the center of his staff did the opposite of glow. In fact, it absorbed all light around it, so that it seemed like a small black crater.
He'd seen the elf firing beams of darkness out of that staff, turning dwarves into dust. Rage filled his body, and Barind swung his axe. It slammed into a shield of darkne
ss, conjured by the elf. Snarling, Barind hacked, sliced, and jabbed, but to no avail. Finally, he raised his axe up over his head, and slammed it into the elf's shield.
The axe's blade glowed with light as cracks formed across the shield. "Impossible!" shouted the elf. Barind brought his axe down again, and again, until the shield shattered into a dozen shards of darkness. He slammed the butt of his axe into the elf's skull, causing him to stagger backward, clutching at his head. The elf growled as a beam of darkness shot toward Barind.
It hit his armor, throwing him backward and through a shadow. Pain lanced through his body as the ground blasted into him. Spots danced in front of his line of vision, and he groaned. Forcing himself to his feet, he looked around him. Shadows surrounded him in a full circle, with the elf just in front of him.
"Well, well, well, it seems that you possess the armor of one of the Chosen. No matter, you will be rid of it soon enough." He nodded toward the shadows, and they began closing in on Barind. He spun around, searching for a way out. Not finding one, he faced the shadows.
Acting on some hidden instinct, he raised his axe above his head and jabbed it into the ground. Bright light burst out from him as everything went white, and he found himself spiraling through a void.
Chapter Eleven
Shifting Shadows
Sylin watched from behind the cover of the forest as Tristan and Anthony galloped toward him, a half dozen fully-armed men on their tails. He cursed and drew a throwing dagger, shifting his gaze to Aeyn. He had dismounted, and was hastily buckling his cuirass on. "Never again," he muttered.
Sylin turned his attention back toward Anthony and Tristan, who had his longbow out and was shooting arrows at their pursuers. The men behind them hefted large crossbows as they returned fire. Anthony sped into the safety of the trees, with Tristan right behind him. Sylin remounted his horse and galloped after them.
The greens and browns of the forest rushed by in a blur as they raced through the dense foliage, pitch-black arrows narrowly missing them. Sylin's eyes traced one of those arrows back to its owner. Black eyes stared back at him as an elf sprang out of hiding, firing arrows toward Sylin and company as well as the humans pursuing them. Whose side are these guys on?
An arrow nicked his ear, and profound pain sprung up from the wound. He gasped as he felt his ear, finding no blood. Gritting his teeth, he urged his horse to go faster. Their pursuers were starting to get further and further away when Sylin and his horse were rocketed into the air. Out of instinct, the thief leapt off Night and slammed into the ground.
All air was driven out of his lungs as he lay there, gasping for breath. His horse was suspended in a net high above him, nickering and whining as it lay there. Sylin sighed and drew one of the strange throwing knives he'd found in the elves' armory. They were shaped like a star, sharp all around and perfect for getting a horse out of a net.
He flicked his wrist, the blade whizzing through the air and slicing through the net. Night came tumbling out, the ground greeting the horse's side with enthusiasm. Sylin stood up and made his way over to the horse, which was now shaking uncontrollably. He pulled the arrow out of its flank and took off his cloak, procuring a blue vial from one of its pockets. Pouring it into the wound, he watched intently.
Black veins spiraled out from the injury, evidence of strong poison. Sylin bit his lip, letting out a breath as the veins started to recede. Suddenly, they burst outward again, stronger than ever and nearly reaching the horse's neck.
"No!" shouted Sylin as Night took one last shuddering breath, and then lay limp.
"Great. Just great." He rummaged through the saddlebags, throwing as much as he could fit into his bulging pack. He stood up and started to hike North, toward his friends and their horses.
A shadowy form dropped in front of him, blocking his path. Instantly, two daggers were out and met with the crossed blades of the form. Sylin twirled his wrists and fingers effortlessly as the cloaked figure parried and blocked. The thief launched a dagger forward, and the form crumpled to the floor as it embedded itself into its ribcage.
It ripped out the weapon and stood, pushing back its cloak to reveal the face of a male elf. Sylin was just about to spring forward when the face changed, turning into first a dwarf, then a halfling, and a human, and finally the pitch-black figures of a drow. Sylin's mouth dropped open as he stared at the shapeshifter.
"You can do this too," it said in a deep voice. Then it sped into the trees, blinking out of sight.
What was that thing? What did it mean 'you can do this too'? Sylin shook his head as he retrieved his dagger and continued marching north.
∆∆∆
Sylin sat beside the small campfire in front of him. Aeyn and Tristan were on either side of him, and Anthony sat on the opposite side of the fire. After trekking for a few hours straight with no more unexpected interruptions from shapeshifting elves, his friends had found him. They'd eventually made camp in the forest, deciding it was the only course of action, as they couldn't trot through the night with one of their number riding double.
Sylin sighed and scooted back as to lean against a small tree, which was rare in this forest of giant green monoliths. He thought back to what the magic scroll had said to him. He could remember every word as if the parchment were right there in front of him.
Great sorcerer of a different breed, I greet you. If you are reading this message, it means I am no longer meant for this world. Know that your message will be different from your companions. You may cage the darkness, but sometime before you read this, it will have broken free. Try to hide it you may, but eventually the Forgotten Magick will show itself. Those closest to you will gape at you, at first thinking you evil for embracing your Shadow-Self. But soon they will learn, they too must embrace the darkness, or all will be lost.
The foliage rustled, bringing Sylin out of his reverie as Aeyn leapt to his feet, one hand on his sword.
A dwarf in pristine battle armor marched forward, smiling at them. "Mind if I join you?"
∆∆∆
It was near sunset the next morning when they exited the forest and the Highpoint Mountains came into view. Great towering monoliths of stone, over ten times the height of the tallest tree in the Sheirwil forest. The horses trotted over rocky canyons and sparse patches of grass as the sun painted alluring pictures of red, orange, and gold across the sky. There was little purple in the expanse of blue sky, causing the colors to bathe the already reddish canyons in orange. The result was an astounding view, but that wasn't what was capturing most of Sylin's attention.
No, he was staring at the strange dwarf riding at Aeyn's side. He had introduced himself as Barind, and asked to come on their journey. He'd said his homeland had been destroyed by fierce elves wearing black garb, but would give no more information to the extensive proddings of Sylin nor Tristan. The others were contented to ride along with the suspicious figure.
"Let's see if we can reach the pass by nightfall, shall we?" asked Anthony, a grin on his face. "Last one there gets the moldy rations!" his horse lurched into a gallop.
Sylin shook his head at the boy's receding form. Aeyn shrugged at him. "I suppose he's never gotten the chance to have much fun, being a stableboy and all,"
"Former stableboy." Sylin reminded him as Tristan snapped the reigns to their mount, and they jolted forward into a full gallop, Aeyn and the dwarf on their heels.
They reached the pass a little past nightfall, with Aeyn and Barind being the last ones to reach the mountain. Thankfully for them, there were actually no moldy rations, save for a crust of bread the dwarf cobble up with enthusiasm. Sylin shook his head. "It's almost as if he likes it."
He helped set up the tent which Barind had procured, saying he'd gotten it from a small town before he'd met them.
Aeyn and Sylin slipped through the fabric door, with Tristan, Anthony, and Barind saying they preferred the open sky. Sylin left them to it as he curled up in his bedroll. Soon he heard the soft snores of Aeyn and
Tristan, and after that the much louder ones of the dwarf.
Sylin lay there, thoughts of the day before and the loud snores of Barind keeping him awake until well past what must have been midnight, when he heard the wails.
Chapter Twelve
Falcon’s Prey
Anthony jolted awake. Terrible wails cut through the night air, and fear gripped his body. Freezing him from the inside out, cold terror swept through his veins and clutched his mind in its icy claws. It drew his eyes open wide, and kept him frozen on the stone floor of the Dropstone Pass.
He was able to push past it just enough to turn his head toward the source of the wails. Immediately, he wished he hadn't. A huge form lumbered toward the camp, long arms swinging dully by its sides as it walked. Sharp talons adorned its gnarled hands, and a twisted beak jutted out of its face.
Its mouth was open impossibly wide, and torn and battered wings hung limply behind its back. Horribly contorted, its face was wreathed in scars and claw marks. It stood nine feet tall, with dark gray feathers scattered about its body. Where there were no feathers, there was leathery gray skin with huge boils spread across it. Barind slid out of his bedroll, in full battle-gear. He unslung his axe from his back and taunted the beast. "Come on, ugly!"
Aeyn ducked out of the tent, wearing only a tunic and cotton pants. He held a sword in his hand as he yowled at the monster. "What're you doing? Barind can move faster than you, and that's saying something!"
The beast's wail turned to roar as it sped toward Aeyn, who gulped. "I suppose that was a complement then, dwarf," he said to Barind, who was giving him the evil eye.
As soon as the monster started to roar, the terror in Anthony's body receded, and he stood up, although his body still shook uncontrollably. He drew a spear from beside his pack, and threw it toward the beast. Long claws lashed out, slicing the spear in half before it even reached the creature. Anthony snatched up another spear and was turning to throw it when the wails started again. He fell to his knees, dropping the weapon as terror lanced through his body once again.