Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  “Yes, of course it can, but why? I would have thought it would be better for it to fire stones or pots of fire-oil.”

  Rowet just frowned in thought. “I have my reasons.”

  Platos nodded, and after a moment’s pause, realised Rowet was not going to explain any further.

  “Please, can you show us how it works?” added Gordonia.

  Two imperial guards pulled on a wheel as shown and wound the firing arm down from its vertical position to horizontal, where it was locked securely. Platos carefully placed an empty clay pot into the sling. When instructed, Rowet and Gordonia stepped away from the catapult. Once clear, Platos smiled and pulled the trigger, releasing the sling. The firing arm snapped up, shooting forward and hitting a beam cushioned with rope wound around it. The sling launched forward, releasing the clay pot that sailed through the air for several hundred paces. When it landed, the clay pot shattered into hundreds of pieces. Rowet smiled, stepping forward to look closer at the weapon, his hands clasped behind his back, twiddling his thumbs. He noticed a small crack in the firing arm and pointed this out to Platos.

  The master armourer looked closely at the firing arm and made some mental notes.

  “I’ll make the necessary adjustments to the final version,” he said to his emperor.

  “And clay pots full of seawater will be required.”

  “I cannot understand why, but I’ll have the pots filled with water ready for the next demonstration. Have you spoken to the planners about the mound?”

  “They should be arriving here soon. I thought it better if we had the discussion here.” As if on cue, two small men arrived escorted by two more imperial guards. The two men stopped and bowed down to their emperor.

  “Sire, we have prepared the plans for the mound as instructed.” The two planners presented their designs to the Chosen, who immediately handed them to Platos.

  Platos took the plans and uncoiled the parchment. He studied the designs and frowned deeply. “These are not sufficient,” said the burly blacksmith, shaking his head. “No, no, no, this is not good enough.”

  “What do you mean?” snapped one of the planners. “We’ve spent much time drafting those. They’re exactly what our emperor wanted.”

  Platos grabbed the planner by his tunic and drew him in close. “Listen to me, these plans are wrong,” he hissed and pushed the small man away.

  “It’s not what I wanted. Look . . . ” Platos turned the plans around and showed them to both the Chosen and General Gordonia. “This is not what I wanted. We need to make the slope facing the moat vertical. We also need to make gaps in the mound for the catapults and near the gates for the new crossbows.” The master armourer shook his head. “This is just not right.”

  “I think you should tell the planners exactly what you want.”

  “I’ll do better than that, your Highness, I will complete the plans myself,” said Platos with a snort, glaring at the two planners.

  The Chosen smiled to himself, looked at his master armourer, and nodded. “You complete the plans and send them to me. We will meet again the day after tomorrow to see how things are progressing.”

  The two town planners were dismissed, and the Chosen and General Gordonia walked with Platos back to his forge.

  “Have you too much to do?” asked the Chosen softly.

  “Your Highness, I’m one of those people who only rely on themselves. I will have everything ready for you.”

  “If you need anything, let me know.”

  Platos bowed to the emperor. “I’ll be fine.”

  Rowet and Gordonia left the forge and made their way back to the white palace. For a long while, neither man spoke.

  “Those weapons are quite impressive,” said Rowet suddenly, gazing at the passing buildings.

  “Yes, they are. Will they work? I mean, can they stop the creatures?”

  “Only time will tell, my friend—only time will tell.”

  ***

  The group crested the last hill north of Ubert and looked down into the outpost. From this vantage point, Dax gazed upon the outpost through fine misting rain. The falling droplets impaired his vision, but something in his stomach started to tighten. Something seemed wrong. He held his position on the hilltop, peering down at the outpost, watching wisps of smoke rise effortlessly from the officers’ block and reach above the hill line, then drift horizontally northwest. He looked around the outpost at the surrounding fields. The fields to the south and southeast seemed to have been recently ploughed, which was strange. This was the wrong time of year for ploughing, especially so far north.

  “What’s wrong, Dax?” asked Tanas.

  Dax did not answer but urged his horse slowly down the slope. The others followed the older warrior, slightly puzzled.

  “What’s wrong, Thade? I can smell smoke, but it is not the smoke from a hearth. There is a stench of death in the air.”

  “I don’t know, Tanas. Let’s get closer and we’ll see. Anyway, I’m fed up of the cold, and a warm fire and a hot bath is very appealing.”

  “I agree, my friend,” added Gan-Goran, riding past the two young warriors.

  The group reached the base of the hill and again Dax stopped. “Something is wrong,” he whispered to himself, “very wrong.”

  “What is it, Dax?” asked Thade.

  Dax turned in his saddle to face the others. “Something is wrong,” he repeated more loudly. It struck him like a blow. He sharply turned to face the outpost again. “There’s no movement in the outpost.”

  “There should be more movement at this time of day,” agreed Gan-Goran, looking towards the wall.

  “Aye, there should be, but nothing is moving anywhere, inside or outside of the outpost. Nothing, neither man nor beast.”

  Tanas urged his horse forward a few paces and stopped. He cocked his head to one side and concentrated. After a few moments, the blind warrior turned to face the others. “Dax is right, nothing is moving. No birds are singing, no animals are grazing, and nothing seems to be moving in the outpost.”

  “Be wary,” said Dax, who instinctively drew one of his axes.

  The group arced around the outpost from north to south through the churned fields, heading for the gates. As they moved around the outpost, they noticed no men were patrolling on the walls. Also there were deep, fresh gouges near the top of the walls by the parapet. They reached the gate.

  To the group’s surprise, one side of the wooden gates was missing; the other hung limply on one squeaky hinge, gently rocking back and forth in the light breeze. Thade dismounted and looked closely at the ground leading to the wall. “Dax, there are horse tracks here, leading to the outpost. From what I can tell, they came from the southeast and there must have been thousands of them. Huge beasts by the size of the hooves and . . . oh no, not again . . . ”

  “What is it?” asked Dax.

  “Tracks, Dax, tracks that I have only seen once before.”

  “I sense something dark was here,” said Gan-Goran in a low whisper. “Something of great power has recently visited this area.”

  “Hold on. Thade, what are the tracks?”

  “Do you remember Dashnar Forest?” That was all Thade needed to say. Dax dismounted from his horse, pushed back his hood, and peered closely at the tracks, his face set grim. He drew his other axe and looked up towards the outpost as rain streamed from the warrior’s long, greying hair down his face.

  “What do you see?” asked Tanas.

  Dax answered, his voice cold. “Do you remember the Talon Hunters?”

  Tanas swallowed and dismounted his horse. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” answered Dax staring at the broken gates. Tanas split his quarterstaff to produce his two short swords. Thade reached over his shoulders and drew his two short swords.

  “Did you say Talon Hunters?” asked Gan-Goran, sliding off his horse, landing and squelching in the churned mud.

  “Yes. Remember us telling you we fought them once before in Dashnar Fo
rest when travelling with Zane?”

  Suddenly, a howl pierced the saturated air, coming from within the outpost. The group’s horses whinnied and pulled on their reins, ears flat on their heads showing their fear.

  Dax dropped to one knee and scanned the area. “We had better tether the horses in those trees and sneak in to have a look in the outpost.”

  They walked their horses to the tree line and tethered them out of sight. Then they stealthily crossed the churned ground to the outpost. They reached the gate and Dax peered in. The rain had intensified, lashing down in huge droplets splashing noisily against everything, flicking up pieces of the deep grey earth that hit the men, speckling their clothes and boots.

  Dax peered around the gate frame into the outpost and saw no movement. He could not see far; the sheets of rain reduced his view. Without moving the loose, hanging gate, he entered Ubert, followed to the others. Once inside, the men hugged the walls and moved around to the east. Tanas stopped and bowed his head, causing the water to pour from his wide-brimmed hat and splatter on the ground. He concentrated on his surroundings. Something moved.

  Another Talon Hunter howled.

  The rain continued to lash down, showing no signs of easing off.

  Tanas took the lead and guided the men farther into the outpost, towards the small forge and ultimately to the officers’ quarters. They passed one of the barracks, where the door had been ripped off. Dax stepped into the building, holding his death-dealers ready.

  Nothing moved. Everything was still. He turned back stepping out into the pouring rain.

  A Talon Hunter howled.

  The group made their way towards the forge and entered, to find the furnace cold. They searched the forge and Thade found a large crossbow and a quiver of iron bolts. Gan-Goran hefted a wooden quarterstaff with iron-shod ends. He smiled a wicked smile as he sensed that a core of iron ran through the wooden staff.

  “I can use this to direct some magic,” he announced. “It might come in helpful.”

  Dax looked at the magic-master and returned his smile. “We may need your help, Gan.”

  “I might be old but I can still be of some use in a fight,” snapped the old man, his wicked smile growing.

  Dax’s grin broadened, but quickly evaporated. Outside another beast howled. “How many of them do you think there are, Tanas?”

  “I’m not sure. I think maybe ten or twelve of them.”

  “You know how powerful they can be. Aim for under their arms, that’s their weak spot,” advised Gan-Goran.

  Thade turned to the old master-magiker and smiled—he was helping the group and suspicion began to fade.

  “Ready?” asked Dax, hefting his weapons. Not waiting for a reply, the warrior stepped out into the rain.

  Instantly, the first Talon Hunter attacked.

  ***

  The Dread continued their march towards Rhamagabora—Teldor. The night before, they had left the remains of Ubert in their wake and now reached the great Dashnar Forest. Malice had left a few Talon Hunters behind to clean up the outpost and instructed them to follow when finished. He decided to go around the forest southwards rather than venture into the woodland’s dense belly. The mass of beasts followed the warrior while at his side the Dark One rode in silence, his mind on death, death and revenge.

  ***

  The Talon Hunter leapt from the forge roof, landed beside Dax, and slapped him, sending him slithering on the wet ground. Covered in wet mud, Dax rose swiftly, his back to the forge, and swung his axes at the looming beast. One thudded home, buried in its chest. From behind the warrior, Thade fired his newfound crossbow into the beast’s left eye. Dax did not wait for Thade to reload. He wrenched his axe free and charged the beast as it lashed out.

  Dax ducked under a flailing arm and struck upwards with all his might into the beast’s armpit. Squelch! The beast stumbled and Dax crashed his other death-dealer into the beast’s hard skull, crushing its cranium and reaching the protected soft matter beneath. A fountain of gunk plumed from the wound, splattering on the warrior. He turned. Another Talon Hunter lashed out, thumping Dax’s chest. Dax was again sent sprawling in the slimy mud, dropping his death-dealers. The beast stood large over Dax, who was trying to regain his feet.

  Tanas jumped on the beast’s back and slammed his two short swords into the sides of its chest. He then pushed down with all his might, scrambling its insides. The beast howled with pain, spinning, trying desperately to remove the blind warrior from its back. Thade fired another bolt that lodged in the beast’s gaping maw. Tanas pulled up on his swords, sending the blades upwards inside the Talon Hunter. The beast fell face down onto the ground, now silent, and more goo spewed from the dead beast, mixing with the murky rainwater.

  Dax recovered his two axes as the remaining beasts emerged from the grey gloom, forming a semi-circle around the men.

  “I think I should have a go,” said Gan-Goran, stepping forward.

  The master-magiker closed his eyes and silently mouthed a spell. The air around the men charged and hissed. The old man smiled. He pointed his wooden staff at one of the beasts and whispered a word of power. White lightning shot from the iron-shod end, instantly engulfing the beast in white, magical flames. The beast howled in pain and fell onto the sodden ground, thrashing wildly, its blazing body hissing. The master-magiker pointed his staff at the next beast. Another bolt of white lightning encased the creature, which burst into flames, killing it almost instantly. The remaining beasts did not hesitate and charged the group.

  The enraged beasts attacked with increased ferocity. Tanas coolly cut and sliced at one of the beasts, avoiding its long flailing arms and sharp talons. Thade dropped his spent crossbow. He drew his swords and, just managing to duck underneath a wild swipe, slammed his blades upwards. Dax crossed his axes over his head to block a crushing blow, then responded by hacking low, cutting the beast’s ankle.

  “Dax . . . DUCK!” shouted Gan-Goran.

  Dax fell into a crouch. He felt the hairs on his arms stand up when the master-magiker fired another bolt of lightning that hammered into the beast above him, forcing it backwards. Dax nodded his thanks to Gan-Goran and charged at another beast.

  Tanas stabbed his foe in the eye with one sword, turned, then speared the beast under the arm with a backward thrust.

  Thade slammed his two swords into his foe’s chest, then spinning low, kicked hard with his heel, sweeping the beast’s legs away. It splashed heavily in the soft mud.

  “Thade. MOVE!” hollered Gan-Goran.

  The former gladiator wrenched his blades free and dived clear. Gan-Goran fired another white bolt at the injured creature. The remaining beasts cowered away into the rain for a brief moment only to stalk their adversaries again. The warriors regrouped and Dax pointed towards the officers’ quarters as a Talon Hunter howled. The others nodded and they made their way, splashing across the wet opened ground. Tanas had his head bowed, concentrating, whilst the others peered into the rain, scanning their watery surroundings.

  “LEFT!” shouted Tanas.

  From that direction, another beast charged. Gan-Goran just managed to level his quarterstaff, firing another magical bolt. Flames covered the beast, stopping it only a few paces away. The howling started from their right, then from behind them.

  “MOVE!” bellowed Tanas, “to the building!”

  The others did not need telling twice and they raced to the officers’ quarters, splashing through the pooling, murky water. They reached the burnt outbuilding as a Talon Hunter skidded into the doorway. With one mighty swing, Dax lodged his axe in the beast’s neck, stopping it. As he crunched his other axe down into its skull the beast collapsed, twitched once, then died.

  ***

  The women and children from Ubert watched in horror as an army of beasts marched towards the forest where they hid. Thousands upon thousands of foul creatures darkened the land. Then to their relief, the army did not enter the forest but skirted around it. Many of the beasts stoppe
d close to the forest edge and sniffed the air. Some howled in hunger but none entered the forest. Luckily for the Ubert refugees, the Dread passed them by.

  ***

  “We cannot stay here,” said Thade, panting. “We cannot wait.”

  “I agree, but to escape we must kill those beasts,” replied Tanas.

  The group of four readied themselves then left the building, to be attacked immediately by two Talon Hunters. The combined effort of the three warriors stopped one beast and the old master-magiker killed another with his magic.

  Tanas bowed his head in concentration. “The others are leaving,” he announced.

  “Good,” replied Dax, the relief evident in his voice. The older warrior strolled back into the officers’ quarters, shook the muddy water from his hair, and looked around at the charred building. “Last stand,” he whispered.

  “I think the last stand was here, just outside the door,” added Gan-Goran, walking in from the rain. “There are splinters of bones outside the door, and I found this.”

  The old master-magiker handed the warrior a snapped sword that he recognised immediately. It was the remains of a curved-blade cavalry sword, with a crest in the hilt. The sword was one carried by the Royal Lancers of the Rhaurien army.

  “Waid,” said Dax softly. “What happened here?”

  Gan-Goran closed his eyes in concentration. Suddenly, his eyes opened, blazing with anger. “The Dread happened here,” he announced with a grimace.

  “The Dread?” asked Thade as he scanned the remains of the building, remembering what it had looked like the last time he stood there.

  “The Dark One’s army marched through here and slaughtered all in their path. His army, the Dread, is made up of thousands upon thousands of beasts from the massive Talon Hunters to the stealthy Shadows, but his elite force are the Caynians. They are huge once-men mounted on beasts that make our horses look like mere mountain ponies. They can destroy any force they face.”

  The master-magiker paused, shaking his head. “We need to prepare ourselves for war. Not since the Dark Wars has such a force walked these lands. I am not sure if the combined power of the nations can stop him this time. During the Dark Wars, we had Her champion and we will need him again. He is here and I’m sure he will help our cause, but the Dark One’s necromancy is stronger this time than it was before. We might be fighting in vain,” concluded Gan-Goran, his voice just above a hoarse whisper. The men stood silently, listening to the rain splash in a rhythmical pitter-patter.