Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  Above, the skies grew lighter and the clouds slowly dispersed, melting away to reveal the natural pale blue sky. The land surrounding the fortress was bathed in bright sunlight—except for the fortress. The fortress remained shrouded in shadow. But there were no more clouds in the sky; evil disrupted the sunlight, bending it away from the building.

  ***

  The scouts from Ubert watched in amazement as the clouds evaporated, revealing pale blue skies, and the sun again baked the land. They slowed their march when they reached the Steppes. The ground beneath them started to change; from lush green grass to sparse, coarse shrubs scattered on the wind-eroded sand. In the distance, through the heat haze, was a mirage—a huge building made of sand.

  “It cannot be a building. There has never been a building there before,” said Captain Verun adamantly.

  “It’s a building, I tell you,” snapped the scout returning from patrolling ahead.

  “There’s no building there,” insisted another scout.

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” said the captain. “Let’s take a closer look.” With great care the men rode through the sand, towards the distant hazy image.

  ***

  Dax, his comrades, and the Kharnack clansmen slowly made their way east through the snowstorm, unaware of the occurrence on the Steppes. Tanas led the way, fighting the strong wind. Gan-Goran rode ahead of Dax and wrapped his cloak tight around his bony frame. Behind him rode Thade, blinking as the icy flakes swirled around him, trying to stop them stinging his face and eyes.

  Kavlon announced that his father’s camp should be to the north of the Kingdom outpost called Ubert. They were still over two days’ ride from the camp and supplies were running low. As night again descended, the men sought a suitable campsite to shelter them from the wind. Luck was not on their side, however, so they decided to continue to ride until they found a cave. To stop would mean certain death. Through the bitterly cold, icy wind the men continued their trek. Now in the darkness of night without stars to guide them, they could only hope they were heading east.

  ***

  The Chosen had much to prepare and, from the message in his dream, little time to do so. Following this dream, Rowet summoned Master Armourer Platos and instructed him to create new weapons. No explanation was given.

  Two days later, having come to terms with what he had been through, the Chosen decided to tell the man of the threat to the Empire.

  The Chosen had taken an instant liking to Platos for his courage, personal honour, and pride, not to mention his sword design that was second to none. The Chosen was pleased to discover Platos was quite creative with weapon making and decided he would tap the man’s inventiveness.

  Like the Chosen, Platos was a Dar-Phadrin with dark skin, tall and powerfully built, a legacy from his life at his forge. He had dark intelligent eyes and a beaming childish smile, full of mischief. The pair sat in the Chosen’s chambers, facing each other.

  “Hideous, is it not?” joked the Chosen casually.

  “Pardon me, sire?”

  “The room’s décor—hideous.”

  Platos looked the Chosen in the eyes for the first time and smiled. “Yes, I must agree sire, it is totally gruesome.”

  “I’m glad you agree, I was thinking of getting my decorator to change it.”

  “I would if I was you, sire.”

  “That’s the first thing you can stop doing, Platos. In here you will call me Rowet. Only in here, mind; the only other person who calls me by my birth name are General Gordonia and some friends from the Kingdom.”

  “Yes, si . . . Rowet.”

  “A drink?”

  “Aye, thank you, Rowet.”

  “That’s better. Relax, Platos, I have a tale to tell you that will explain why there is a need and urgency in completing new weapons: many, many, years ago the Dark Wars occurred. In those wars, the people battled a great evil, known as the Dark One. The Divine One’s champion defeated the Dark One, sending him back to his realm of blackness. During the final fight, the Dark One’s hand was severed and the bones of his hand and a crystal of the foulest power were hidden throughout the lands.

  “To resurrect the Dark One and return him back to these lands, all those relics are needed.” Rowet paused. “A few months ago, a madman attempted, and from what I understand, succeeded in gathering all the relics. Along with the Rhaurns, our people battled this madman’s forces, but the Darklord, as he called himself, escaped and is currently in hiding. Two nights ago, I had a dream of my wife and the Divine One. In that dream, a friend told me that the rite had been completed and the Dark One walks our lands again, and he intends to kill the Children of the Light. This means the Darklord has completed his scheme.

  “I will admit I do not know what role the Children of the Light play, or who all of them are, but we must defend the ones who will be arriving home to our city soon. My friend told me an army would march on our city and hold it siege. It is of absolute importance that we hold the Dark One and his forces here, keeping them busy, until other forces arrive. This will give us a chance to defeat him.” Rowet had purposely avoided mentioning his son’s part in the story. He shifted in his chair and continued, “Our challenge is the Dark One’s army. They are not men, but huge creatures from his realm of darkness. Conventional weapons such as swords and axes may work, but the creatures and man-beings are enormous, so it is vital we have weapons that can stop them, from the safety of the mound around the city—until help arrives.

  “We need to buy ourselves time. We cannot afford to face the army head on, on the battlefield. We must keep them busy, but pinned down, outside the city. I am putting a lot in your lap, Platos, but we need a miracle to survive. I know you are the man to bring me such a miracle.”

  Rowet gazed at Platos, who sat stock still in the chair with his eyes wide and mouth gaping. Rowet decided to let the information soak in before he continued. “Another drink?”

  Platos drained the contents of his goblet and held it up, nodding. Rowet poured more Daardin into the goblet and sat back down.

  Platos had not moved and still held the same shocked expression. “What are these creatures?” he finally whispered.

  “Gruesome and threatening beyond description,” replied Rowet calmly.

  “Big, you say?”

  “Huge,” answered Rowet. Through his eyes, Rowet could see his master armourer’s brain ticking over.

  Platos casually reached into his pocket, pulling out a honey biscuit, and nibbled at the corner. “From the mound, you say?”

  “Aye, we need to keep them at a distance. But inevitably we will be forced into close hand-to-hand combat.”

  Rowet smiled as Platos chewed, slowly thinking over the problem, muttering to himself. He sat in silence, waiting for the master armourer to speak. Inspiration must have struck the man, as a wicked smile slowly crept onto his face.

  “Are they armoured?” he asked.

  “In some fashion, yes,” replied Rowet.

  “Umm. Big, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “Umm. Many of them?”

  “Like a swarm.”

  “Need to be squatted then, huh?” muttered Platos, thinking aloud.

  Rowet picked up a report and started to scan the contents, occasionally glancing up at Platos, who was now leaning back in the chair staring at the ceiling and muttering to himself.

  Finally, Platos offered, “I have some ideas, but I need to work on them before I will know if they succeed. In the meantime, you will need to increase the height of the mound around the city and sheer off the side to the moat. We have to make it into a wall, but I may need some embankments cut into them.”

  “I will speak to the city planners.”

  “Damn bureaucrats,” snapped Platos. “I can do without them. All I will need are workers, not parchment pushers.”

  Rowet smiled at Platos’s description of the city planners. “When you have your plans drawn up, I will arrange for the mound to
be altered.”

  “And the outside cut vertical. That’s important,” stressed the blacksmith, narrowing his eyes.

  “Yes, I will remember.”

  Platos rose from his chair and paced the room. “I will have some plans ready for you in a couple of days.”

  “I will come to you, I think,” suggested Rowet with a reassuring smile.

  “That would be kind of you,” said Platos, bowing. “With your leave.” The blacksmith headed for the door and stopped. “Will help come?”

  Rowet thought for a while, then smiled. “Yes, my friends will come, of that I have no doubt.”

  Platos nodded.

  “Guard,” called the Chosen. “Please show Platos out. I will see you the day after tomorrow, master armourer.”

  Not forgetting himself, Platos bowed deeply. “I will have everything ready, sire.”

  “Good.”

  When the door clicked closed, Rowet stared at it, his mind swirling with thoughts. Snapping out of his melancholic mood, he returned to his reports. Other than the weapons, the emperor had a lot to complete to protect his people against—mostly the unknown.

  ***

  After several hours’ slow progress, the scouts from Ubert edged closer to the shadowy image on the Steppes. As they drew near the image crystallised, growing larger before them. Reality struck them and the men stopped.

  “That was not . . . not there before,” spluttered one of the scouts.

  “Is it a new Imperial fortress?” asked another scout.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about the Kharnacks, then?”

  “They never build anything permanent. They’re nomadic.”

  “Well, we’d better take a closer look,” said Captain Verun.

  “I’ve a bad feeling about this.”

  “You always have bad feelings about things.”

  “But this time I really do have a bad feeling about this.”

  The other scouts laughed, but the sound lacked true humour. They urged their horses on through the hot sands to get a closer look at the new fortress. Moving closer to the massive structure, the enormity of the building caused each man to gasp aloud.

  ***

  The group of Kharnacks and Rhaurns moved through the storm—a lethal icy night in the Great Mountains. The blizzard relentlessly continued to blow from the north, howling noisily down every pass, lashing the travellers with ice. The men slowly made their way east, trying to reach the safety and security of the Silverswords camp, where survival beckoned.

  Tanas, still at point, had a rope linking the men together. They had already lost two Kharnacks in the heavy snowfall and blinding wind—and two was enough. Dax had taken command of the group and none of the Kharnacks complained. It seemed the older Rhaurn warrior knew what he was doing.

  Unfortunately for Kavlon, he was not up to the task of leading the Kharnacks. On the few occasions when decisions were needed, he came up short. When three Kharnacks were reported missing, Dax had turned the party around to search for them. Kavlon was ready to continue, leaving his kin to certain death. One of the three missing Kharnacks was found, but reluctantly the group had to abandon the search for the others and return to their easterly course. From that point on, the Kharnacks turned to Violet Storm for guidance. They saw him as a true warrior—a man with whom to walk the Grey Path.

  Covered in snow, the men wound slowly along mountain paths in the dead of night, neither star nor landmarks visible for guidance. When dawn broke they still did not see the sun, as the stinging black wall became a stinging wall of swirling white—just as bleak and soul-sapping as night. The group pushed through the waist-high snow, the tiring horses dragging their legs through the drifts of compacting white flakes. At the front of the column, Tanas’s horse Essie was covered in a blanket of snow, with her ears pinned back against her head. Cutting a path through the thick powdery snow, she turned north to face the brunt of the storm. Tanas tried to turn the beast, but she was determined to head into the blizzard.

  “Turn goddamn you, you cantankerous animal!” shouted Tanas, who received a mouthful of icy flakes for his trouble.

  Essie would not change direction, and the column obediently followed, heading into the howling wind. After a time, for no apparent reason Essie stopped and stood still, shivering in the cold air.

  “What’s wrong?” yelled Tanas.

  The horse flicked up her head and then shook it, freeing the frozen flakes from her ears and mane. Using his heels, Tanas tried to urge the animal on, but the mare refused to move. Tanas removed the rope from around his waist and got down from his horse, cursing aloud. Looping the rope around the saddle horn, he ventured off.

  Dax peered into the blizzard, wondering why the group had stopped. He positioned himself among the Kharnacks behind Kavlon, to keep an eye on the young clansman. The icy wind started to chill the older man’s bones while he patiently waited.

  But patience was not a virtue Dax was overly blessed with. He dismounted his horse and removed the guide rope, leaned into the wind, and staggered to the front of the group. He reached Tanas’s horse and reached up to touch him. To his surprise, the blind warrior was not sitting on his mount. Dax called out Tanas’s name over the howling wind. There was no reply. Silently cursing, Dax called the warrior’s name again, his breath misting in the chill air. Dax took Essie’s reins and pulled the horse’s head down. He whispered the blind warrior’s name into the animal’s furry ear. Essie shook her head, then plodded forward.

  Dax forced his legs through the waist-high powdered snow with the horse guiding him. Behind them the others followed without a murmur, teeth chattering in the gusting blizzard.

  ***

  Tanas had heard a noise in the baying wind. He was not sure what the noise was, but he knew the storm had not created the sound. Splitting his quarterstaff, forming his two short swords, the warrior edged forward. He stopped and waited. Around him, the wind continued to howl.

  ***

  Dax led the group slowly forward through the snow. He was worried about the blind warrior but also knew he had to keep the others moving or they would die in the freezing temperatures. As they marched on, a dim white flashed when lightning streaked across the sky. Distant thunder rumbled over the baying wind. Dax strained to hear any sounds other than the wind. Nothing. The horse plodded on with Dax at her side, holding the reins in freezing fingers.

  Tanas waited patiently in the snow, listening to the sounds of the blizzard as the cold clamped around his body, tightening like a fist of death. Suddenly, he dived to the left. An arrow slashed through the air where he had stood, burying itself deep in the snow. Tanas slowly rose, covered in white. Through the dense flurry of white flakes, several grey figures materialised around the blind warrior.

  ***

  Ireen and Megan had been sailing with Admiral Rendel on the Gliding Falcon for a couple of weeks. The weather had been good for the travellers and with favourable winds, the ship made good time. They enjoyed the admiral’s company, and he formed a friendship with the imperial general. They spent many hours together talking of the past and telling each other stories from their respective lands, and it seemed that no sooner had they started their journey from Teldor, they had reached the port of Calcaloin.

  The Gliding Falcon eased into port and the guests on-board saw a welcoming party waiting on the docks. Admiral Rendel slowly cruised his ship up to a mooring point. He smiled to himself when he perfectly positioned the vessel alongside the dock. After tying the ship off, a gangplank was lowered over the side.

  A company of the new Imperial Guards waited for the party to disembark. At the centre, waiting proudly, stood the Landbow clan chieftain, Membis. He had been sent two weeks earlier by the Chosen and told to wait for his daughters.

  First to disembark from the vessel was General Gordonia. The Imperial Guards bowed upon seeing their leader. Behind the aging warlord came Admiral Rendel, in full dress uniform. Then Princess Ireen, the Chosen’s dau
ghter, appeared at the top of the gangplank, with Megan. Every man dropped to one knee and bowed low. For the first time in months, the heir to the Phadrine throne stepped foot on her land and she could not suppress a smile. Confidently, she strolled forward towards Membis, recognising the old man.

  “Good to see you again, Membis,” she said happily.

  “It is good to see you well, daughter of the Chosen.”

  “My father?”

  “The Emperor was well last time I saw him. His Greatness is in his palace in Kal-Pharina. He gave me and my men the honour of escorting you and his new daughter, Megan, home.” The old clan leader looked questioningly at Ireen.

  “I had better introduce you. Membis, this is Megan, adopted daughter of the Chosen.”

  Membis stepped forward and bowed. “Well met, Megan, adopted daughter of the Chosen. Your father has asked I speed you to his side. He misses his children dearly.”

  “Let’s go,” replied Ireen impatiently. She turned to Admiral Rendel. “Will you come with us? My father would like to meet you again, Reedie, and I would be honoured to show you our home and Phadrine hospitality.”

  “That’s a tempting offer, Princess. I would dearly like to see the fabled city of Kal-Pharina. But I must return to my liege.”

  “Well, remember this, Admiral, you are always welcome at the white palace in Kal-Pharina. Don’t be a stranger and visit soon.”

  “That I will do, Princess,” replied Reedie, bowing deeply.

  The company said their goodbyes and Ireen turned to face Membis. “Take me home to my father, please.”

  Admiral Rendel waited for supplies to be loaded onto his ship. Once replenished, he guided the Gliding Falcon out of the port, set sail, and headed for home—Teldor.

  ***

  Dax continued wading through the thick blanket of snow, led by Tanas’s grey mare. Over the screaming squall, the old warrior thought he could hear the sounds of steel clashing against steel, the tell-tale sound of battle. He strained his hearing. As he became aware of sounds of battle coming from his left, he released the horse’s reins and waded through the snow in that direction. The clanging grew louder and he blindly drew his two short axes. Lifting his hood, the warrior peered into the white flurry. He called the blind warrior’s name and received a strained reply.