Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  The Dark One walked up to the two black pillars, muttered a spell, and touched the stonework. Then he stood between them, raised the Blade of Yallas, and boomed a final spell. The air between the pillars shimmered and as he peered through the space, the view appeared slightly blurred. It held magic in the gap—the darkest black magic. The Dark One lowered his hand after the black crystal in the hilt of the Blade of Yallas stopped glowing. He sheathed the sword then turned to the others, who bowed in unison towards their master.

  “Master, I feel a presence,” said the Darklord, gazing around them.

  The Dark One raised his hand and spoke a simple spell. “The portal has been blocked and now cannot see.”

  “But what have they seen?”

  “It does not matter,” said the Dark One dismissively, stepping down to stand in front of them. “Let us go and see my Dread.”

  The Darklord, Chaos, Fury, and Malice followed the Dark One through the hall and down winding corridors. They passed through the large double doors and out onto steps overlooking the massive courtyard. Now, in the murky light at dusk, the Dread stood waiting, their eyes appearing like yellow, orange, and red stars floating on a black sea that filled every corner of the courtyard. Talon Hunters, Shadows, and Caynians waited for their commands. The only noise was the almost hypnotic sound of the beasts’ hissing and breathing. Their blinking eyes created the unnatural impression that the black mass of beasts was in motion, gently rolling like waves.

  The Dark One stepped forward to the edge of the top step and gazed over his Dread. He slowly removed the Blade of Yallas from its sheath at his side and pointed out over the Dread. The army of beasts bowed. All the eyes vanished, only to instantly reappear, rippling in the blackness—twinkling with a hunger that could only be satisfied with human blood and flesh. Then the beasts roared out of respect, a horrific sound full of menacing intent.

  Deep inside his helm, the Dark One’s eyes shone brightly. Before him was his Dread, his army, the ultimate force of evil. “CHILDREN!” he bellowed, his voice rumbling like thunder, vibrating against the floor and walls of the fortress.

  ***

  The two remaining scouts from Ubert, Abe and Captain Verun, rode to a hill that overlooked the fortress. They tethered their horses on the far side of the hill, with nosebags full of grain hooked over their ears to feed. Reaching the top, the two scouts silently settled down and observed the movements within the building. For the next day and night, they spoke little as they watched more and more creatures emerge from the building to stand waiting in the courtyard. Neither man could fathom what the creatures were or what evil they possessed.

  “So Abe, what are your plans for the future?” asked Captain Verun, trying to distract them from the scene they were looking at.

  “I intend to marry in the sun season,” replied the younger Rhaurn.

  “The cobber’s daughter, I know.”

  “How did you know? It’s meant to be a secret,” said Abe, turning to face his captain.

  Verun laughed. “Do you think you can keep a secret in a small outpost like Ubert? Everybody knows everyone and there are no secrets.” The captain fell silent and chewed on his ration of dried meat, intently watching the activity in the fortress. He had already forgotten the brief conversation.

  “So how long have you known?”

  “Known what?” asked Verun, confused.

  “About me and the cobber’s daughter.”

  “Oh, I’ve known since you started courting her last sun season,” he replied, smiling. Verun shifted his weight and returned his attention to the fortress. Biting off another chunk of dried meat, he thought of eating a hot, rich stew and smiled. Suddenly his pleasant thoughts were broken and he shivered. From the fortress came a cruel, resonant roar.

  ***

  The Dark One continued addressing his army. “We are the Dread and after many thousands of years, we again walk on the lands of mortals. For century upon century we have prepared ourselves and have not tasted succulent man flesh. Since the days of the great betrayal and our defeat in what the mortals call the Dark Wars, we have waited and we have grown. Once again, I wield the complete Blade of Yallas, together with my black crystal in its rightful place, and the Dread walk again in this realm.” The Dark One paused, gazing over the masses that made up the Dread. Clicking, hissing, and howls of approval greeted his words. The Dreads’ eyes glowed brightly.

  “We are stronger now, and our strength will be felt across the land. You and I will feast on their souls; for this time we will not be stopped. I want retribution: revenge for Rhamagabora, for what they did to us. We will not stop until She has been brought before me and destroyed. I want revenge for our defeat. Rhamagabora will tremble as we march and the mortals will quake in their boots when we approach.

  “I want the ghost of Rhamagabora destroyed. I will not feel satisfied until all living mortals in the port are destroyed utterly. Then we will set about the downfall of the wench. Again, She will be held in the deepest dungeon in my palace. And this time there will be no escape. Her foulness will not escape and corrupt as it did in the past. She will be gagged, bonded, and beaten, like the whimpering whore She is.

  “But first we must hurt Her. We must hurt Her by hurting those She thinks She defends and in turn defeat Her. We must first rid this place of Her protectors—the Children of the Light must be annihilated, their memory wiped from the face of this world. Their souls too will forever be held in the dungeons of my palace and tortured for eternity. To succeed we must eradicate this vermin and hunt down the wicked wench.

  “There will be time for us to feed and feed we will, but first we must remove the threats. We must not rest until they are our prisoners. Once they are in my home we will have the power to open the portal permanently and use the mortals as they should be used, like cattle bred for our feasting, our pleasures. But until then we must destroy and scorch the land of Her touch. Never again will She or Her children rest easily here hiding from us. We will bring Her and them to account for Her wrongs and then we will rule unopposed.

  “However, remember that She is a devious witch who will use all means to thwart us. So caution must be taken this time. Our last stay here was short-lived because we were not ready for Her slyness. This time we are ready. We, the Dread, are unstoppable: we, the Dread, are the rightful rulers of this realm. We, the Dread, will take what is ours. We, the Dread, will be VICTORIOUS!”

  Roars of approval from the Dark One’s army filled the air. He stabbed his black broadsword into the air and the light around the blade dimmed, distorted by the foulness it oozed.

  ***

  Captain Verun and Abe watched the fortress, mesmerised. The whole region was silent except for one booming voice, radiating from the fortress with a hypnotic quality. It was not the words but the foul magic emanating from the speaker that commanded attention. The two scouts could feel the voice rumble, pounding against their very being, but could not make out the words. The hairs on the back of their necks stood proud, the air around them was charged with magic—the blackest magic.

  Verun rose to his feet, his eyes wide with fear. He stared into the fortress with his mouth gaping in awe. Something controlled the captain. He took a step forward towards the building. Slowly, Verun stepped out from the hiding place, mumbling incoherently.

  “Captain, where’re you going?” asked Abe, grabbing his superior’s jerkin.

  Verun turned and glared at his companion, his eyes dancing with anger.

  Abe peered into Verun’s eyes and shivered. “Captain, what’s wrong with you?”

  Ignoring Abe, Verun turned back towards the fortress and closed his eyes. He reached for his sword, slowly drawing the blade. He turned to face his companion, his friend. Seeing the captain draw his sword, Abe rose to his feet and scrambled for his blade, pulling it free of its scabbard.

  “What’s wrong, Captain?” asked the young scout, moving to stand next to the older man, his eyes still fixed and staring at the fortres
s.

  “He is ready,” answered Verun in a dull monotone.

  “Who’s ready?” asked Abe, turning to face his captain.

  “Our master,” hissed Verun, as his eyes glazed over and his face distorted into an evil snarl.

  Abe took a couple of steps back, staring at Verun. “What’s wrong, Verun? You’re starting to worry me.”

  “Our master is ready.”

  Abe shot a look back at the fortress. He could feel the voice rumbling against his rib cage, humming within his very being. Fear rose in the young scout. He felt the urge to step towards the huge structure, the voice alluring, tantalising, teasing.

  ***

  “DREAD—MARCH!” ordered the Dark One.

  Part of the fortress wall dissolved back to sand, producing a gate through which the Dread could leave.

  ***

  The spell broke when the Dark One issued his command and lowered the Blade of Yallas. Verun instantly dropped into a crouch against the sandy ground, pulling Abe down with him.

  “What the hell just happened?” whimpered the younger scout.

  “I’m not sure Abe, but I think we’re in the middle of something that’s bigger than anything we’ve ever seen.”

  Verun peered down at the fortress and watched as part of the wall fell away, leaving a large gap. What he saw next would haunt him for his entire life. First through the gap loped Talon Hunters, covering the sand, spreading like a thick black liquid pouring out of an overturned goblet.

  The black Shadows followed, flowing out of the fortress. Moving swiftly the Shadows ate up the ground, progressing towards the hill. After what seemed an age, the Caynians rode from the fortress mounted on their massive black stallions. In perfect formation, they followed the free running Shadows and Talon Hunters.

  Verun watched through wide eyes as the Dread streamed out of the fortress towards their hiding place, covering the Steppes’ sand in a sea of black. The captain looked to his left and saw Abe low to the ground, watching the immense army fan out.

  In a hoarse whisper, Verun gave his command. “Abe, we’d better move out. Now whatever happens, we have to make for Ubert. Don’t stop and don’t look back. Let’s mount.”

  The two scouts skidded down the far side of the hill towards their horses. “What are they, Verun?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care to find out. Now shut up and get on your horse.”

  Abe did not need telling twice. Within a heartbeat, the two scouts vaulted into their saddles and galloped away, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

  Ubert lay over a day’s hard ride away.

  ***

  On the other side of the hill, the Dread moved with effortless speed. Soon they were on the hill where the scouts had been watching them. One of the Talon Hunters sniffed the air and stretched up, looking into the night. With blazing yellow eyes, the beast of darkness searched the area, quickly finding the tracks left by the scouts. It howled as more beasts gathered, sniffing the air, ready, waiting. A Caynian reached the hill and saw the fresh tracks. It received a psychic command from Malice. The Caynian nodded and smiled. It glared at the massing, impatient beasts. Slowly, it pointed in the direction of the tracks and grunted. In a din of howls, the beasts loped off.

  The chase was on.

  ***

  The two scouts who had left Captain Verun and Abe earlier arrived at the gates of Ubert. They completed the uneventful dash to the outpost in good time, but their horses were exhausted. They walked their horses through the gates, illuminated by lanterns bathing the area in a welcoming glow. Leaving their horses in the stables, they went straight to the commander’s office in their travel-stained clothes. One of them took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.

  ***

  Inside his office, Commander Waid poured over reports. He enjoyed his new post given to him by the then Prince Zane. The prince had been right; the outpost suited his style of command. He was naturally a fair man who looked after his people as long as they did their duty. Many of the men were survivors who had defended the outpost against the Kharnacks months earlier. Many more men had joined their ranks when news of the outpost’s survival spread. The sagas of the siege told in the evenings by the men were mostly accurate. Waid himself enjoyed sitting in the men’s barracks, listening to them tell their stories with pride.

  All of the men had one thing in common when they told their tales—all spoke of Zane, Dax, Thade, Tanas, and Gammel with great fondness. News of Gammel’s death had reached the outpost. Twenty Royal Lancers had arrived after burying the blacksmith in Evlon. After collecting fresh supplies, the horsemen had left Ubert to return to Teldor. Waid did not know Gammel as well as the others had, but still felt deep sorrow. He leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes, smiling to himself as again in his mind’s eye he saw Zane standing on the walls of Ubert, battling the Kharnacks with his friends at his side.

  Waid’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. Annoyed at the interruption, he opened his eyes and barked at the door: “Come!” The door opened slowly and two dishevelled men entered the office, closing the door softly behind them, so it did not slam. Waid studied the two men who stood to attention. He recognised them both as men from the original soldiers who had fought alongside Zane.

  “At ease,” ordered Waid and both men physically relaxed. “Do you have a report?”

  The first man spoke after glancing at his companion. “Commander, we have to report a new fortress just southeast of Evlon in the Steppes.”

  “A fortress?”

  “Yes sir, a new fortress.”

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean, a new fortress?” asked Waid, confused.

  The two scouts looked at each other and then returned their gaze to Waid. The second man tried to explain. “Commander, we were scouting Evlon as ordered when we saw something strange to the east in the Steppes.”

  “Strange?”

  The second man looked down at his feet, thinking of words to use without sounding as though he was exaggerating.

  “Spit it out man,” snapped Waid tetchily. “I don’t have all evening.”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Just explain what you saw.”

  “Commander, we witnessed strange cloud formations to the southeast of Evlon and went to investigate. When we arrived at the scene, there was a fortress where a month earlier nothing stood. Captain Verun ordered us to scout the area. After a while, we saw creatures emerge from the keep to the courtyard.”

  “Creatures?” interrupted Waid, slowly rising to his feet.

  “Yes sir. This might sound strange, but they were creatures not of this world.”

  “Describe them,” demanded Waid, leaning forward on his knuckles.

  “Some were huge creatures with thick fur, huge chests and long arms. They had . . . ”

  Waid interrupted the man. “Heads like a serpent with yellow glowing eyes,” he whispered, his mouth suddenly parched.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know, sir?” asked the other scout.

  “Did you hear howling from the creatures?”

  “Yes, do you know them, sir?” enquired the scout.

  The question hung in the air unanswered. Thoughts raced through Waid’s mind. He thought back to his time in Dashnar Forest with the beasts that had attacked them there. What had Gan-Goran called them?

  “Talon Hunters,” he whispered, the words barely audible.

  “Pardon, sir?”

  Waid peered up at the men, seeing obvious fear in their eyes. He now looked at the two men differently. They had seen the same dark beasts that he had previously fought and who had wiped out his company of Royal Lancers. Slowly, Waid sat back down in his chair, which creaked softly.

  “On my way here with Prince Zane and the others, we were attacked in Dashnar Forest by the foulest of creatures. Six of them attacked us there. We just managed to survive.”

  “Sir, there was an army of the creatures. And
there were others.”

  “Other what?”

  “Creatures.”

  “Others?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Waid looked down at his desk and pushed away the parchments he had been working on. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a map and laid it flat on the desk, using goblets to hold down the corners. “Where is the fortress?”

  The men stepped close to the desk and studied the map. Locating the dead city of Evlon, one of the scouts moved his dirty finger diagonally to the Steppes. “Here,” he said, stabbing his finger on the thick paper.

  Waid looked closely at the position of the fortress, then gazed at the map both east and west, but his eyes were drawn to one word—Ubert. “Where’s Captain Verun?” he asked, frowning.

  ***

  Captain Verun and Abe spent most of the first evening pushing their horses in a mad dash back to the outpost. Throughout the next day, the two men walked their horses to try and rest them. Somehow, they knew the creatures would not march as quickly during the day as they would at night. The soldiers did not stop, but ate and drank their meagre rations on the move. Ubert was still over a half a day’s hard riding away from their current position and they were down to the last of their provisions. They purposely avoided Evlon and headed in a straight line northeast from the fortress to the outpost. There had been little conversation between the two men. They had witnessed horrors during the previous night that no living man had ever seen, and, during the trek back, both remained quiet, lost in their thoughts.

  The scouts reached the undulating foothills of the Great Mountains. Cresting another hill, Captain Verun glanced back behind them. A swirling white mist filled the valley, leaving only hilltops standing proud above it. Reining in his horse, Abe swivelled his body in his saddle to look at the hills some distance back. To his distress, the pursuing army of beasts crested a hill, like a dark shadow creeping over the land. Not needing the command, Abe heeled his tired horse into a canter and the two men pushed on.