Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  “The army is coming from the east and I think they will concentrate their attacks on the western gate—it’s the closest. I also need to build some temporary barracks so the men are close.”

  “Are you sure about the western gate? We will be concentrating all our defences in one area. Suppose they attack a different gate?” asked Gordonia, frowning.

  Rowet looked long and hard at his master armourer and saw something in the man’s eyes. There was a certainty there as though he had already seen the beasts attacking. The Chosen slowly nodded and saw the relief in Platos’s eyes.

  “How many properties are we talking about here?” asked the Chosen.

  “Between forty and fifty, I’m not too sure until I start knocking down the buildings closest to the gate.”

  “Fifty!” barked General Gordonia, astonished.

  “The crossbows would not achieve their full potential in the cramped spaces between the houses. However, in an open killing ground the devastation would be immense, and teams of crossbows could repel a breach at the gate.”

  The Chosen thought for a moment. “Let’s go and see. Do you have a plan of the area?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Good, we will take my carriage.”

  Platos rushed into his forge and retrieved the plan he had been working on. He joined the Chosen and General Gordonia in the carriage.

  “Are you sure about this, Platos?” asked the Chosen, concerned about the master armourer’s plan.

  “We need a killing area if they breach the gate. If it were up to me, I would clear an area inside the mound right round the city.”

  “That’s extreme,” said Gordonia.

  “Maybe, but extreme times call for extreme measures.”

  “Remember one thing, Platos,” the Chosen began as the carriage lurched forward. “It is my intention to keep the beasts out of my city. I do not want one of those things stepping a foot inside. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sire, I understand, but I’m being very cautious.”

  “Platos, do not misunderstand me, but I would prefer we concentrate more defences around the mound. If those creatures get into the city, there will be no stopping them.”

  “Sire, I have other plans for defending the mound. We will not be relying solely on my catapults. We will have crossbows on the mound, as well as a few other little tricks and surprises I have up my sleeve,” said Platos, smiling his wicked smile.

  “Care to elaborate?” asked Gordonia, staring at the master armourer.

  “If I do, then it would not be a surprise, would it?”

  The Chosen chuckled at Platos’s comment and looked out at his city, smiling at his people as he passed. But Rowet’s thoughts were not as happy as his smile would let on. He still had not received any news; he did not know where the army was and this started to worry him. He soon snapped out of his thoughts when the carriage pulled up to the western gate and the men disembarked. The Chosen was shown around the area, where Platos pointed at houses and his plans.

  “The idea is to have an arc of crossbows aiming towards the gates. If the gates are breached, then we can fire towards the gates at anything that comes through. If the crossbows are fired in rotation, there’s no reason why the breach could not be held indefinitely.”

  The Chosen tried to picture the breach and the beasts storming through. He imagined the crossbows in the position pointed out by Platos, and then the carnage. Finally, he smiled a smile of satisfaction and nodded to the master armourer.

  “I understand what you are trying to achieve here. Have the planning people finalise the plans and have it done. Use the Cross-sword clansmen to help.”

  “The planning people have already agreed, sire,” said Platos, broadening his wicked smile. “And the Cross-sword clansmen are just waiting for the nod. We have arranged relocation for all of the affected inhabitants, and have offered to rebuild their homes once the conflict is over.”

  “I see you have arranged everything, my friend.”

  “I leave nothing to chance, sire.”

  “Carry on.” The Chosen climbed into his carriage with General Gordonia.

  “The front of the man,” commented the general as the white carriage eased off.

  “Gordy, if it wasn’t for men like him, things would never get done. He is right and his strategy flawless.”

  “You’re right, but I should have thought of it.” Gordonia did not look at his emperor.

  “Gordy, you have enough on your plate without taking on any more duties. Leave the defence of our city to Platos. It is in capable hands. You concentrate on getting the men ready. They will be the ones who have to repel the beasts if they reach the mound and of course, there’s your part in our plans . . . ” The Chosen’s voice trailed off when the carriage turned a corner.

  ***

  Finally, the axe-wielders and the five friends arrived at the base of Moranton, the Black Mountain of the Damned. The mountain was like a sheer wall, stretching up and up, merging with the black sky where thick storm clouds permanently devoured the summit. There seemed to be no way around the base, and a man would walk for eternity and not reach the far side. It was the end—the manifestation of evil in solid form. The Dark One had managed to open a passageway through the mountain linking the Grey Path to his realm of darkness. This was the men’s only route to the Dark One’s realm, Yallaz’oom.

  The five warriors and Captain Jamie left the axe-wielders hidden, and crept around the mountain. It did not take them long to find the entrance to the mines. They sneaked around the edge of the open ground before the cavernous mouth. There, the men hid and waited for something to happen, though they were not sure what was to come. Several tall robed men walked back and forth, apparently guarding the entrance to the mines. The entrance itself was not marked or adorned, just a large gaping fissure hacked into the mountain, created by the blackest necromancy.

  They did not have to wait long. Soon, a group of men approached from behind. The friends watched the group march closer. More tall robed men, like those who guarded the entrance, led the group. They wore torn, ankle-length grey robes with deep hoods concealing their facial features in blackness. Behind the guards, prisoners were shackled together in a long single column. Along the line and at the rear, more of the robed men marched. One of the prisoners tripped and instantly one of the robed men pounced, pulled out an iron tipped whip, and slashed out at the fallen man. The whip snaked out. Crack! The man screamed in pain. The whip instantly tore the man’s skin, leaving a deep bleeding cut surrounded by a large purple welt. The prisoner staggered to his feet and continued to walk in line, grimacing with pain. As the group got closer, Zane started to rise.

  “No, Zane,” whispered Dax, pulling the younger man down.

  “We’ll just stay here and watch for the time being,” whispered Rayth reassuringly, gripping Zane’s shoulder.

  “But . . . ” started Zane, his eyes wide. Dax just looked at the younger man, shaking his head. Zane bowed his head, he could watch no more.

  The prisoners were escorted straight into the mine and disappeared into the dark gloom, as though feeding the mountain—feeding it with fresh victims.

  “Those are the Keepers,” explained Captain Jamie. “When we rescued the miner, he said they were the guardians of the mine and the prisoners, men and women from the Grey Path, will be forced to dig.”

  “Dig for what?” asked Zane.

  “I’m not sure,” replied Jamie softly.

  Throughout the day, the men watched as more robed men marched other prisoners into the mines. They estimated at least one hundred had been escorted in during the day.

  Darkness descended on the area. Dax and the others prepared to move closer to the cave. Dax turned to the others. “Tanas and I will sneak up close to the tunnel and have a closer look. If we can, we will try smuggling someone back for questioning.”

  “What about our guide?” asked Thade softly. “The one the Divine One mentioned.”

 
“We cannot wait,” replied Dax, grimacing. “Tanas, let’s go.”

  The others opened their mouths to complain, but the two warriors stealthily sneaked through the sparse undergrowth, heading for the tunnel. The mine’s entrance was surrounded by flickering torches that bathed the clearing in a dim orange glow, with dancing shadows playing at the edges. The two men had not travelled far when they ducked behind a thorny bush. One of the Keepers silently, unknowingly, approached the men. The creature, a full head and shoulders taller than Tanas, walked right up to the thorny bush where the two warriors hid. The men got their first close look at a Keeper.

  The creature wore a flowing, torn grey robe that dragged along the ground and had a deep, limp, conical hood. Within the hood, the Keeper’s features were hidden in shadow; only cold, sapphire blue eyes could be seen glowing from the depths. At the ends of long sleeves, spiked dull metal gauntlets protruded. Hooked on its left hip was the creature’s weapon: a long whip with two small, crossed diamond-shaped arrowheads made of metal, at the tip. No sound came from the creature, no breathing, nothing.

  The Keeper’s feet crunched against the crusty ground as it slowly turned round. The creature stopped, turned sharply back to look over its shoulder, listening keenly. After a few heartbeats of silence, the robed creature turned back to the tunnel, then walked off, its robe dragging on the ground.

  The two warriors waited for the Keeper to shuffle farther away towards the mouth of the mine before they decided to move. Dax sighed, then nudged Tanas on the arm. Silently, the two were moving. Suddenly, they stopped again. They crouched behind some rocks. Someone stalked towards them. Dax risked a look round the corner of a boulder and in the gloom of the torches, he saw a man creeping slowly towards him. The man was not dressed in a torn, flowing grey robe and Dax assumed he must be a prisoner trying to escape. He moved close to Tanas and whispered, “Someone is coming this way.”

  “I can hear him,” replied the other warrior.

  Dax took another look. He was surprised and pleased to see the man was still heading in their direction. Silently, he drew a dagger and waited. The man sneaked towards the rocks where the two warriors waited. The young man crept behind the rock, looking towards the tunnels, his back to the two warriors who lay in wait.

  Thud! Dax struck the man at the base of his skull with his dagger’s hilt. The man instantly crumpled to the ground in a heap. The old warrior looked towards the tunnel. None of the Keepers seemed to have noticed the sound. Dax picked up the unconscious man and heaved him over his shoulder. Swiftly, the two warriors sneaked back to where the others waited.

  When the two reached the others, they gagged the captive, covered his head with a blanket, then bound his arms and legs. Silently, the group carried the man back to their camp, where he would be questioned once he regained consciousness.

  ***

  The group scurried around the base of the mountain and arrived back at the camp where the axe-wielders waited. They took the man to one side of the camp for questioning. A small campfire was lit in a roofed cove so very little of the glow escaped into the night. The man started to rouse and Tanas removed the man’s hood.

  “Divine’s tits!” gasped Dax, wide eyed.

  “What?” asked Tanas, removing the man’s gag, enabling him to speak.

  “I should kill you now,” hissed Dax coldly, drawing his dagger.

  “What is it?” asked Tanas again. He peered at their captive, but did not recognize him.

  Zane turned to see what the problem was. He glared at the young man, whose face was lit up by the glow from the fire. “Is it him?” asked Zane in a deadly tone.

  Thade was the one to confirm, his voice full of hate. “Yes. It is Tucci, the Chosen’s son.”

  ***

  Kriss, a member of the Cross-swords clan, had been sent by his clan chieftain to scout an area two weeks’ ride west of Kal-Pharina. He had been told there was an army marching to the capital, but not when, the size, or who they were. Kriss had been annoyed he had not been picked for the construction work in the white city. He actually blamed himself for that. The last time they worked in the city, he had caused more problems than anyone else. It was not his fault. He was not as strong as his fellow clansmen, but he was smarter—that was his downfall. He wanted to work on the designing and planning side of the project, but was left to do labouring.

  Dalf, the chieftain’s son, always led any work teams sent to the capital. It was Kriss’s constant complaining and bragging about how clever he thought he was that got him in trouble. His ejection from the work teams happened when he tried to take control of a building when Dalf was away. The problem was, he had read the plans upside down, ignoring others’ suggestions. Days of work had had to be levelled and started again. Kriss had complained bitterly about faults in the plan, but it did not help, and he returned to his clan in disgrace.

  That did not bother the clansman now. He was on his own, in the middle of the Steppes, watching and waiting for nothing. Kriss had not wed and many of his clansmen and women constantly questioned why he had not married. It was quite simple; Kriss did not like company, he preferred to be on his own. Since he was young, he had felt very uncomfortable with people around him.

  He was not good at making idle conversation, and extremely nervous when it came to women. He liked women, but he did not have the nerve to walk up to them and start talking. So Kriss decided he would be better off living on his own. He had previously had a relationship with a woman whom he had loved. The woman had said she loved him, but after a year together she ran off with a brutish warrior from another clan, and this had broken him. He would not trust anyone being so close to him again and had become more reclusive and withdrawn. He had friends, of course, but there were only a few he would call true friends.

  Today Kriss was in his element, alone in the Steppes. He rose to his feet and looked out from his vantage point on a small hill, stretching his back. In the distance, the man could see dust rising. He squinted at the sight. It was not a storm as the dust hugged the ground, not stirring and rising as if blown by the wind. He strained his vision, shielding his eyes against the sun. Definitely not a dust storm, of that he was certain. It must be the army his chieftain had referred to. The clansman did not wait for them to get any closer. He skidded down the far side of the hill, mounted his hardy pony, and raced off across the sands.

  ***

  Dax had drawn his dagger and dragged the young man to his feet. He pressed his blade against Tucci’s throat, causing a trickle of blood to flow. The others around Dax stood, undecided whether to stop the older warrior or not.

  “I should kill you now, boy,” hissed Dax, his voice full of cold maliciousness.

  “Wait, please wait,” whimpered Tucci, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Why? You tried to kill your own father and partnered up with men born of pure evil. You even killed your own mother.”

  “I made a horrible mistake. Please, I can explain . . . Please.”

  “Let him speak,” said Thade, gripping the older warrior’s shoulder.

  Dax stared into Tucci’s eyes and was delighted to see sheer terror. He smiled a cruel smile, then pushed the younger man to the ground.

  Thade stepped between Dax and Tucci. “I’ve just given you some time. Now what you tell us had better be good, or I’ll kill you myself. Now talk,” he commanded.

  Tucci looked up at the men around him and saw hatred in their eyes. Now he knew what the Divine One had meant—they would not trust him. He swallowed hard. “I now know I have done wrong. I know you should not trust me, but I’ve changed. I received a visit from the Divine One. She said I could start on the road to redemption if I helped some men who are trying to get to Yallaz’oom. I’m to escort these men through the mines. She told me they won’t trust me, and I’m to try and win their trust. She didn’t tell me it was you. I now know why She didn’t tell me. How am I meant to convince you? The hate you hold towards me is apparent in all your eyes—all of you. B
ut that’s the truth. I’m totally ashamed of the evil I did in my life. I did things that now make me sick . . . physically sick.”

  “I can stop your sickness right now, boy,” hissed Dax, looming forward and holding his dagger up.

  Tucci lifted his bound hands towards the older warrior, shaking his head. “Dax, I know what you want, you want the pleasure of killing me, but I’m willing to guide you through the mines. I know the way.”

  “Why should we trust you?”

  “That’s the problem. You can only trust my word. During my life, I served a man who you said was evil, of that I agree. Now I’m of no more use to him and have been dropped like a stone in a pond, to sink to the bottom. Look at me now, do you think if I were being rewarded they would leave me like this? I served him well, I’m not saying that was right, but I did and this is how I’ve been treated. I’ve been thrown into the Mines of Moranton like a slave. I was once like you –” said Tucci, pointing at Thade and Zane, “– a Child of the Light, but the goodness was leached from my body by the Darklord. That’s what he wanted. He wanted to convert a Child of the Light to darkness. And he succeeded. I’m not proud of it. I failed everyone, but now I have a chance to make amends. It’s a small thing I will do but it will be a start. You have to believe me.”

  “I cannot believe what I’m hearing. This thing should be put down now,” said Dax, reaching forward and heaving Tucci up by his threadbare jerkin. He pulled the young man in close. “I don’t believe a word you are telling us. You will lead us into a trap. You have been touched by darkness and cannot change.”

  “I’ve changed, Dax,” pleaded Tucci. “How would I know you needed a guide?”

  “You are still the scared, whimpering wretch I met in your father’s palace.”

  “How is my father?”

  “Your father is no business of yours, boy!” roared Dax, pulling the younger man even closer.

  “Let him go, Dax,” said Zane softly.

  Dax turned to look into Zane’s eyes, his own violet eyes full of fire, dancing with hate. He turned back to look Tucci in the eye and smiled bitterly.