Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  Emyra left the hall with Zorain. They sat in an office adjoining the hall and waited. She listened to the conversation of her bashers. Some of the men instantly spoke up in agreement, whilst others talked amongst themselves. The conversation grew louder and more heated. Then, after a while, the first man entered the office with his head bowed.

  “I would like the chance to go straight. My wife and daughter would be pleased I’ve accepted this chance to earn honest money and to have a future.”

  Emyra smiled. “Welcome, my friend.”

  The man left his mark on a parchment on the table, and Zorain led him to the City Watch office to get his uniform.

  More men started to stream through the door, and signed up. Many had their own personal reasons; for most, the chance of going straight tempted them. Even though they were bashers for the Mistress, many had families and now they could see a future for themselves.

  After Emyra’s bashers had relieved the axe-wielders in the City Watch, the Mistress visited Admiral Rendel on the Gliding Falcon, and was shown to the admiral’s cabin.

  “Zorain is currently issuing duties to my men. The axe-wielders are boarding vessels as we speak.”

  “Emyra, I would like to thank you. I know of your past and this is a real chance for you.”

  The woman smiled sweetly at the admiral. “Reedie, you tell Zane everything will be here for him. Every coin will be accounted for and our city will be safe.”

  “I will pass on your message. I’m sure he will be pleased to hear it.”

  “You sail safely, you old sea-hound, and I’ll see you when you return.”

  “You will do, my lady.”

  Emyra left the admiral and took a launch back to the docks. She waited on the docks until the Gliding Flacon set sail and cruised out of the bay.

  Finally, she turned and faced her city. Since leaving Teldor all those years ago, the woman had dreamt of having the city for herself and now it was hers. She got into her carriage and travelled along the cobbled streets to the City Watch offices. The carriage arrived at the building and in the distance, Emyra saw the Flying Vessel tavern. Not for the first time, her thoughts drifted to the big innkeeper, Rayth, and his daughter Aurillia. She could only pray they were safe.

  ***

  The dust storm still blew, howling and screaming louder than any wind the men had ever heard. The men could not calculate how many days they had been cooped up in the cave, but knew it had been some time. One morning, Zane had a second madness attack, but this time he warned Rayth and Tanas, who tied him up. But the young man’s inhuman growling and hissing still unsettled the other two. Zane eventually returned to normal and constantly peered out of the cave, calling the names of the two missing men. He received no answer.

  “They’re alive,” said Rayth in a matter-of-fact tone, joining Zane at the mouth of the cave.

  “I know, but I wish I knew where they were.”

  “I can guarantee they’re not that far away,” said Tanas, smiling broadly, an expression no one else could see.

  The wind changed direction and dust started to blow into the cave. Rayth and Zane used one of their blankets to block the mouth of the cave by wedging the corners into small cracks using rocks. Now utter blackness shrouded the cave. The men huddled against the far wall and now very little conversation was had.

  The wind gusted against the blanket, sucking it in and billowing it out like a massive breathing chest.

  CHAPTER 17

  After what seemed an eternity, the dust storm blowing over the outcrop of rock where the two men hid came to an end. Dax and Thade emerged from their hiding place first, their mood melancholy, as they had no idea where the others were.

  “ZANE!” called Thade, searching the sand-covered rocks.

  “RAYTH!” called Dax. There was no answer.

  “Could they have survived?” asked Thade.

  Dax shot Thade a look. “They live, boy,” he snapped vehemently.

  Thade climbed the outcrop and was about to lean on a rock face. He turned, reaching out, about to say something to Dax. Suddenly, he disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  “THADE!” bellowed Dax, running to where Thade had fallen. When he reached the hollow, he heard coughing. “Thade, you all right?”

  “Dax . . . ” came a croaky reply.

  “Rayth, is that you, you old dog?” said Dax as the huge innkeeper emerged from the hollow, covered from head to toe in grey dust.

  “Can you believe it? I spend all the time in the cave to keep out of the dust, then that idiot brings it all down on top of us.”

  Dax walked up to his old friend and the two warriors hugged. “Where are the others?” he asked. Three more dust-covered figures emerged from the cave, coughing and spluttering.

  “Zane, Tanas, good to see you.”

  Zane looked up and smiled his distinct crooked smile. “I would normally say thanks for the rescue, but I’m not too sure whether to thank you or hit you.”

  “The wise thing to do, boy, is to thank me,” replied the older warrior, smiling broadly.

  “Found them,” said Thade, dusting himself off. The group all laughed.

  “Well done, Thade,” said Dax through his laughter.

  Happy to be together again, the group marched on once more. They now chatted constantly while they made their way towards the huge mountain in the distance. As the men drew closer to the mountain, the scenery started to change. The bland grey surroundings got darker, more menacing. The tone of the sky deepened as clouds billowed and bunched, forming massive storm clouds. Though lightning constantly ripped across the sky, flashing within the dense clouds, and thunder clapped noisily, dying in a rumbling growl, but no rain fell. The loose soil started to cake over, becoming more solid underfoot, thus it was less effort to walk. The atmosphere became thicker and less arid, feeling ominous. The group did not have to be told, as they could all sense that they were heading towards evil.

  ***

  The men crested a hill and gazed up at the mountain in its entirety. In front of them stood Moranton, the Black Mountain of the Damned, in all its hideous glory. The men paused and stared at the black mountain that stood proud against the darkened sky.

  “No point standing here and looking. May as well get on with it,” said Dax, forcing some cheer in his voice.

  The men started to descend the hill and headed towards Moranton and their next challenge. They climbed another hill and could just make out a pack of Yregs arching and diving in the distance.

  “Do we go around or carry on this course?” asked Thade, looking at the Yregs.

  “Let’s take a closer look,” replied Dax, not taking his eyes off the flying creatures. Carefully, silently, they moved closer to the swooping creatures. Dax raised a hand to stop his companions. They crouched down behind some rocks. He looked at Rayth who nodded. Silently, the two older warriors drew their weapons.

  “What is it?” whispered Thade.

  “I can hear the sounds of fighting. Must have something to do with those Yregs,” answered Tanas.

  Suddenly, a shrilling scream broke the quiet.

  “Someone must be in trouble,” commented Zane, watching the mass of Yregs swooping in the sky.

  Dax did not answer him. He crawled forward and peered over the outcrop into the next shallow valley. He looked round and beckoned Rayth forward.

  Rayth crawled up and joined Dax. The two men exchanged a puzzled look. Below the men, a pack of about thirty Yregs fought a large company of men. These were the first men the friends had seen. The Yregs swooped and dived at the men, who desperately battled against the beasts. Many of the men had fallen and some of the Yregs were feasting on the dead and dying men. The pair watched one of the men as he was torn in two, his wailing scream lost in the sound of battle. A Yreg dived at him and its huge talons ripped through the dying man’s midriff, spraying crimson into the air. The deep red colour remained for a heartbeat then the liquid turned grey. Rayth leaned forward and squinted. Suddenl
y, the warrior leapt to his feet, charging down the slope.

  “Axe-wielders!” he screamed as he pounded down the slope. Instantly, the others followed the former axe-wielder into the fray.

  ***

  The Chosen and General Gordonia made their regular journey to Platos’s forge. Today was the day the first catapult would be erected on the mound by the western gate. The company of Imperial Guards reached the forge ahead of the Chosen’s carriage, and secured the area. The Chosen’s carriage pulled up and he smiled. Before rounding the last corner, all he and General Gordonia could hear was Platos cussing and cursing. The Chosen and his warlord dismounted from the carriage, and watched Platos’s antics with some amusement.

  The master armourer had not seen his emperor’s carriage draw up outside.

  “How many bloody times have I got to tell you idiots, do not put anything on the crossbeam or it will warp.”

  CRASH!

  “Oh bless Her and give me patience. What the hell is going on in there?” screamed the huge blacksmith, storming into his forge. All hell broke loose and men came flying out of the forge, landing all around the Chosen and his guards.

  Platos stepped out of his forge screaming at the top of his voice, “Get out! And don’t come back you fools.”

  “Having problems?” asked the Chosen, trying to hide his mirth.

  “Problems?” snapped Platos, who instantly recognised his emperor’s voice. His tone mellowed. “Sorry, your Highness,” he said, bowing. “Nothing I cannot handle.” The master-armourer smiled his wicked smile. “Come on everyone, we have much building to do!” he called, clapping his hands.

  The men slowly and carefully loaded several wagons with wood, metal, and other materials that would form a catapult. Once loaded, the clansmen scrabbled onboard another wagon. Eventually, the convoy of carts moved towards the western gate, with Platos driving one of the vehicles, cursing all the way.

  Gordonia turned to the Chosen. “He’s the most obtuse man I have ever met, but I’ll be damned, I actually like the man.”

  “There is something charming about the man’s nature that is appealing,” admitted Rowet, smiling.

  The convoy reached the western gate, and Platos resumed screaming commands at the clansmen.

  The Chosen and Gordonia dismounted from their carriage and walked amongst the workmen. The men were now used to the Chosen wandering among them but remained wary. Rowet saw Dalf, the chieftain’s son, and made his way to him.

  “Your greatness, you bless us with your presence,” said Dalf bowing.

  “Don’t pull that rope, idiot!” shouted Platos, whose face was now flushing deep red.

  CRASH!

  “What did I tell you? Are you stupid? Which part of ‘don’t pull that rope’ do you not understand, idiot?” barked Platos, cuffing a man on the head.

  “Not the easiest man to work with,” commented Dalf, grinning.

  “That’s obvious,” replied the Chosen, suppressing a smile.

  “I must admit it, but I’ll never tell him to his face; he’s very good.”

  “Aye, do not tell him that,” agreed Gordonia, watching Platos.

  The parts that made up the catapult were removed from the various wagons and moved up to the cut out. Platos called Dalf over and the two men reviewed the weapon’s design. The Chosen and Gordonia walked over and stood behind the two men while they pored over the parchment.

  “Do you think you can build it?” asked Platos, furrowing his brow.

  “I know we common Steppes people are a bit slow, but I think we can manage this.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Platos suspiciously, squinting at the smaller man.

  “Leave it to us.”

  Dalf walked off and started to give orders to his men, who responded to the chieftain’s son with total obedience. They swiftly started to organise the pieces into piles around the cut out. Then they started to hammer together the base, whilst others dug holes for the vertical foundation beams.

  The Dar-Phadrin clansmen hoisted the base frame into place and connected it to the foundation beams. Dalf walked back over to the table and gazed at the plan, scratching his chin. He lifted the plan from the table and ambled back to the pieces. After studying the plans, he reorganised some of the piles of parts in the order the men would require them.

  Platos turned to the Chosen and gestured with his head. “Good boy, that one,” he said, watching everything.

  “Dalf?” asked the Chosen.

  “Yes, a good worker. Has a knack for reading plans and leading his men. He’s a natural.”

  Platos pulled out a honey cake from his jerkin and started to nibble at the corner. He stepped forward to say something, but stopped when he saw Dalf intervene. Slowly, the men began to construct the catapult. They put together the crossbeam frame and then lashed the firing arm into place.

  The Chosen noticed that the design had been slightly changed. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the base frame.

  “Ah, well, I thought it would be better if we could swivel the firing arm, thus increasing the spread of the weapon.”

  “Does it weaken the structure?”

  Platos looked at his emperor as though mad. “Weaken the structure? I think not,” he replied, his voice barely hiding his annoyance. “I have compensated for the changes in the new design.”

  The Chosen and General Gordonia watched in awe as the massive structure started to take shape. Many of the inhabitants of Kal-Pharina who lived near the western gate came out of their homes to watch the structure progress.

  A couple of hours after starting the construction, the catapult appeared ready for testing. The sling and iron basket were knotted into position and the firing-arm padding was wound on. Finally, the Dar-Phadrin clansmen hammered home the last of the long nails.

  Platos inspected the catapult, pulling at ropes and shaking wooden beams. Satisfied, the master armourer stepped back from the structure with his arms crossed over his chest. Turning, he smiled at the Chosen. “Now a little test, I think.”

  The Chosen nodded.

  Platos called for two of the Dar-Phadrin to bring a firing stone. He showed two others how to prime the catapult and cock the firing arm. Both men watched intently. The burly smithy bunched his shoulders, grabbed the spokes on a wooden wheel, and primed the firing arm, pulling it down from its vertical position. The large stone, the size of a man’s torso, was manhandled into the shallow iron basket.

  Platos again turned to the Chosen. “I would be grateful if you fired the first shot, your Highness.”

  The Chosen stepped forward, smiling, and gazed up at the huge weapon.

  Platos pointed to the trigger arm and the Chosen took a firm grip. “This is the first of our defences. This weapon will help us defend our city and our families.”

  The Chosen pulled the trigger. The firing arm shot up and slammed against the padded crossbeam. The stone snapped forward into the air. The stone projectile sailed through the air over the moat, high into the pale blue sky. It landed with a thud several hundred paces into the field beyond, throwing up chunks of earth and dust around its crater. All of the guards and workers cheered.

  Platos quickly scanned the catapult for any damage. Second later, he looked towards the Chosen, smiled broadly, and nodded. The Chosen asked for the weapon to be fired again. The Cross-swords clansmen primed the firing arm and a stone about the same size as the first was loaded. This time Platos pulled the trigger. The stone sailed through the air, landing a few strides further than the first.

  “I am pleased,” said the Chosen, finally looking at General Gordonia, who nodded his approval. “Very pleased.”

  The first of their new weapons was in place and tested; the defences for Kal-Pharina were beginning to take shape.

  ***

  The five friends charged into the bloody fray. All around them was the sound of the Yregs screeching and clicking, and men’s screaming filled the air. The fighting was fierce and frantic as the axe-wielde
rs desperately defended themselves. Thirty Yregs kept the axe-wielders pinned down, and a few Yregs fed on the bodies of fallen warriors. The five companions charged down the hill, screaming their battle cries. The Yregs that were feeding flew off in surprise, leaving their meals behind. But one of the beasts was too slow to get airborne. Rayth lifted his axe. As the beast took flight, he chopped forward and down, crunching his axe blade deep into the beast’s cranium. A gush of steaming, sticky black fluid exploded from the beast, covering Rayth’s legs. Wrenching his axe free, he turned to find another beast.

  Thade raced down the hill. A Yreg turned sharply in the air and headed straight for him, its talons stretched out for the kill. Thade dropped to his knees to avoid the beast’s attacking dive. The Yreg’s claws tore through his cloak, but caused him no damage. The Yreg banked around, screeching loudly, and flew in lower to attack the man. Instead of its talons reaching the man, two axes were buried into the beast’s chest. Dax’s feet slid on the charcoal coloured, crusty ground as the momentum of the Yreg’s attack, pushing him backwards. The beast fell at Dax’s feet, twitching once as he freed his axes. Turning to Thade, he shouted: “Get up, boy!”

  Thade jumped up on his feet instantly, seeking an opponent.

  Another Yreg attacked one of the axe-wielders, forcing the warrior to the ground. The man rolled away from the beast but it kept coming.

  Tanas closed his eyes, bowed his head, and focused his mind, splitting his quarterstaff to form his two short swords. Everything went calm and he felt everything around him, every sound, every movement. He found his target, then raised and snapped his arm down, throwing one of his swords. The sword flew through the air like an arrow and lanced the Yreg in the eye, burying deep in its head. The beast fell by the fallen axe-wielder and did not move. Tanas focused again. This time he threw upwards, underarm. His sword flew from his hand. The result was the same; his sword sailed through the air and thudded home under another Yreg’s chin, ploughing up into its brain. The beast plummeted from the sky, dead, before it thudded to the ground next to Tanas.