Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  “Yes, master.”

  The Dark One, Malice, and several Caynians marched away from the main body of the Dread and stopped. The Dark One dismounted from his black stallion and handed the reins to Malice. He walked several paces from the others, drew the Blade of Yallas from its scabbard, and stabbed the blade into the sandy ground. The sand around the sword blade instantly discoloured, turning black, and the few tufts of coarse grass nearby swiftly withered and died. Slowly, an image shimmered in the black sand—a kneeling Keeper.

  “What is it, Keeper?” asked the Dark One, his voice resonant, metallic.

  “Master, the mines are being attacked,” the Keeper pulsed calmly.

  “Attacked?” asked the Dark One, confused.

  “Yes, master, the mines are being attacked by a company of men.”

  The Dark One’s anger rumbled and realisation struck him. “It must be him,” hissed the Dark One. “I will tell the guards at my palace to prepare themselves. The only way through the tunnels away from the mining is to pass through the Solus’ cavern near the core. I will agitate them, but you must force the men towards the cavern. The Solus will be ready to kill. Do not fail me, Keeper. I want these men stopped.”

  “I will do as you command,” the Keeper pulsed, bowing.

  The Dark One concentrated and pictured his Black Palace in his mind. He focused his vision on the front gate. He opened his eyes and the image on the ground flickered and changed from the Mines of Moranton to the gatehouse at the Black Palace where his elite stood on guard.

  “CAYNIAN!” boomed the Dark One.

  The Caynian in the image dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. “Yes, master,” it replied humbly.

  “There is a force travelling through the mines,” announced the Dark One.

  “You want us to stop them?”

  “Not in the mines. I have plans in place there. But if the mines are breached and they reach Yallaz’oom, I want you to ensure they do not reach my palace. Fail and your soul will be tortured for all eternity. I do not want anyone to enter my palace under any circumstances. Do you understand, Caynian?”

  “Master, nothing will get past us.”

  “They had better not.”

  The Dark One violently yanked the Blade of Yallas from the black sand and stalked back to his ebony stallion.

  “Anything wrong?” asked Malice.

  “That boy is braver than I thought,” muttered the Dark One through his teeth.

  “Who, master?”

  “The Child of the Light from Rhamagabora,” answered the Dark One, mounting and urging his stallion forward. “I believe the mortal is trying to retrieve his soul—how foolish.” They reached the Dread and the Dark One rode down the column until he reached the Darklord’s carriage. “Naats!” he called.

  The Darklord pulled apart his black curtain and peered out of his carriage. “Yes master, how can I serve you?”

  “Does that twin of yours know how to send souls to the Grey Path?”

  “I’m not sure, sire, but he probably does.”

  “Damn man is becoming a nuisance,” hissed the Dark One vehemently, his red eyes lighting up the inside his helm.

  “Anything you would like me to do?”

  “Not yet but when you see him, I want him destroyed.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” replied the Darklord, smiling. “My very great pleasure.”

  The Dark One heeled his stallion forward to the head of the Dread, his mood now sinister.

  ***

  Gan-Goran had not left the cave since sending the men to the Grey Path. He had been watching the men, feeding them and giving them fluid. The men had been gone for several days now and he was starting to worry. He knew all of the men were alive, for their bodies still lived in the cave. They must be close by now, thought the old master-magiker. He gazed out of the cave and looked at the stars glittering in the night sky. Silently, he said a prayer for his friends.

  ***

  The five Wraith Hounds were south of the stone bridge at Single Tooth Gorge, still heading north. They had killed many farmers, their families, and livestock. Yet the beasts’ appetite knew no end. They continued their quest for the only thing that would satisfy their hunger—the blood of the Children of the Light.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Mines of Moranton surprised the men. As soon as they stepped inside, the difference immediately struck them. The atmosphere was thick, hot and clammy, and a foul stench, almost unbearable, hung in the air, like the fetid smell of death that caused a few of the axe-wielders to vomit. Dirt and moisture also thickened in the air, making it hard for the men to breathe comfortably. Moisture condensed on the walls and ceiling, forming thick black droplets that fell to the ground, plopping into large stagnant puddles. Inside the Mines of Moranton it rained black rain.

  Tucci warned the men not to drink the water. “It causes madness,” he told them. “I’ve seen men chew off their own limbs after drinking the water. Then your tongue will swell, filling your mouth and throat, and you perish from suffocation.”

  “That’s a good enough reason,” said Rayth, looking at the droplets pooling on the floor about him.

  All around them was black. The sides of the tunnels dug by the miners were smooth, covered in slimy, sticky mucus. In unstable tunnels, beams were used to hold the ceiling in place. The beams, made from the cactus trees along the Grey Path, creaked and moaned, the sounds echoing throughout the tunnels. These eerie sounds were constant, accompanied occasionally by terrifying screams that ripped through the air and bounced off the tunnel sides so it sounded like hundreds of people were screaming at once. As a precaution, the axe-wielders had their weapons covered in cloth torn from the robes they stole earlier to avoid making any additional noise.

  The men followed Tucci along the tunnels. Tucci told them he would take them down a route now not mined and only at the exit to Yallaz’oom would they potentially face any resistance. Captain Jamie had a couple of his men scout behind the main group, but told them not to venture too far in case they got lost in the dark winding tunnels. Every tunnel looked the same. Some were higher than others, some wider, and after a while, the constant blackness and the dancing shadows from the torches started to disorientate all the men.

  The men marched slowly through the tunnels for several hours, until they reached a fork. A low sound rumbled. Before anyone could ask Tucci what it was, the ground started to shake and roll. The men braced themselves against the slimy walls while the mountain shook violently. Dust, sand, stones, and black water rained down from the tunnel roof, peppering the men. If the axe-wielders felt panicked, they did not show it, never making a sound, hiding their fears. The mountain continued to growl, its voice intensifying in volume like angry thunder. Below their feet, the ground heaved and fell. Then, as quickly as it started, the movement stopped, and all was silent again.

  “My God!” cursed Dax, who then strung together a list of coarse profanities. When he finished cursing, there was an almighty loud crash ahead of the men, from the right fork, followed by loud, high-pitched screams and yelling.

  “What the hell was that?” asked Thade in a shaking voice.

  “A cave-in farther along the mines,” replied Tucci glumly.

  “Should we go and help?” asked Zane.

  “We do not have time—let’s move,” said Dax, but he did look back down the tunnel towards the noise.

  “But what if . . . ” started Zane.

  “No time, Zane. We have other priorities and we need to get through this place as quickly as possible. God only knows what the Dark One is doing in our lands. We need to get back.”

  “You’re right, Dax. Let’s go.”

  The men made their way down the other fork, with the echoing screams of death following them. The sounds shrouded the men like an invisible morbid veil, touching even the hardest man, and would stay with them always. More torches were lit along the line as the men left the main part of the mines and entered the disused portion of t
he tunnel complex. Tucci warned that there must be silence, for the tunnels they entered were not totally safe and great care must be taken. Farther along the tunnel, a fresh cave-in blocked their route. The men had no option but to use their axes and hands to clear the rubble.

  Twice the roof fell on the diggers, who had to be rescued and pulled clear. All but three of the axe-wielders survived the cave-ins. Eventually, the tunnel was cleared and the roof seemed safe enough for them to pass through. In total silence, the men scurried through. They stared up at the roof as dust fell lightly onto them, each praying to the Divine One as they passed the point where their comrades had been killed.

  After they cleared the threat of the cave-ins, the men rested.

  “How far do we have to travel?” asked Zane, slumping to the floor.

  “We have a long way to go,” answered Tucci.

  “Have you been right through?” asked Thade.

  “Only once, but I know the way. I used a slightly different route when I went through last time, but that recent collapse has blocked that route. I’ve not been through this way, but it runs parallel to the tunnel I took.”

  “How do you know which way we’re going?”

  “After a while you get used to it. It’s the heat. The closer you get to the centre of the mountain the hotter is gets. Then once past the core of the mountain, it starts to get cooler and you can feel the breeze from the exit.”

  “Seriously?” asked Thade, astonished and not sure whether to believe the once-Prince.

  “Truly, that’s the only way you know where you are.”

  “But how do you know which direction?” persisted the former gladiator, who was not fond of darkness and needed some reassurance.

  “I feel something pulling me towards Yallaz’oom. I don’t know what it is but something seems to silently call me, so I can always find the exit.”

  “Come on,” interrupted Dax, “let’s move.”

  The order was whispered down the line and the men once again moved through the tunnels. As Tucci had predicted, the farther they travelled the warmer it got, and with the rise in temperature, the air got heavier and thicker. The sides and especially the floor of the tunnels got slimier and more slippery as more of the foul-smelling mucus spewed from the walls, the result of ruptured, rotting souls. The men did not complain, although most wished to be anywhere other than in the tunnels.

  The temperature suddenly increased.

  “We’re very near the centre of the mountain,” Tucci announced.

  Throughout the company men started shedding clothes, tying them around their waist in an attempt to keep cool as they travelled on. Finally, they reached a massive cavern. Tucci stopped the men before they entered.

  “Remember, I told you of the Solus. Well, they live and hunt mainly in this cavern. We must travel through in absolute silence so as not to disturb them. They swarm over people like a plague and will rip you apart alive. So . . . silence.”

  “Should we send some scouts out first?” suggested Zane.

  “Good idea,” said Tucci, nodding and looking towards Dax.

  “Captain Jamie, can you send forward a couple of scouts?” asked Dax.

  Captain Jamie signalled down the line for two scouts to come to the front. The two men reached the captain and received their orders. Silently fearful, the pair entered the cavern.

  The cavern had a mysterious green glow and the scouts’ flickering torches formed a bright cocoon around them. The source of the green glowing light was not apparent although it seemed to radiate from the walls and ceiling, but the men were thankful for any light. Hundreds of cracks and clefts scarred the ceilings and walls and two huge stalactites hung from the roof, resembling massive canines over a lake. The lake, of perfectly still thick black water, filled the centre of the cavern. A natural bridge of black stone snaked across the body of water like a frozen serpent wide enough for men to cross, ten abreast, with ease.

  The scouts reached the lake and slowly stepped onto the bridge. Carefully, they made their way to the far end of the cavern.

  One of the men stepped on a loose stone. The rock flicked out from under his boot and gently plopped into the thick black water. The men instantly dropped into a crouch, their eyes searching the cavern for movement. The ripples from the stone grew out from the source, slowly expanding to the far shores before bouncing back.

  All was deadly still and deafeningly silent.

  The men slowly rose to their feet, peering all about before warily moving on. A scraping sound started from a single cleft in the cavern roof. The scratching noises increased in volume, now coming from more sources. The two scouts stopped walking and started looking around again, holding their torches up. The scraping noises continued to increase. Then suddenly . . . silence.

  The scouts waited, not daring to move. They peered back towards the others. Absolute silence, a perfect stillness, filled the cavern. The only movement came from flickering deep shadows created by the scouts’ torches, and the gentle rippling in the thick black water.

  Crack! A stone struck one of the scouts on the head. The other man turned sharply. He was impaled through the neck by a short, crudely made spear. The scout dropped his torch, which bounced and landed in the water, hissing like a dying snake as the thick liquid slowly engulfed it. Like a swarm, the Solus charged at the men. One heartbeat there was no movement; the next . . . bedlam. The cavern filled with hundreds—thousands—of small creatures scurrying about.

  Captain Jamie had seen enough and sent out twenty men to recover the two scouts. As soon as the men entered the cavern, it erupted in movement. All around the twenty axe-wielders, small, grey skeletal figures dressed in rags emerged from every crack and crevice. Thousands upon thousands of them joined the attack. Zane got a good look at one of the creatures and noticed it had matte black, soulless sockets where its eyes should have been. No light reflected from its eyes or dull body and its mouth was armed with small, sharp conical yellowing teeth. The Solus threw rocks and short spears at the men. The twenty axe-wielders reached halfway to the scouts where the last man fell.

  Once downed, the Solus dived onto the men and started to rip them apart, piece by bloody piece. Agonising, gurgling screams filled the cavern and echoed down neighbouring tunnels.

  Then silence—utter silence.

  Within heartbeats, the cavern was totally cleared. All that remained of the two scouts and their twenty would-be rescuers were two helms and an axe-wielder’s boot. All that moved was the rippling black water, lapping lazily against the shore.

  “My God,” whispered Zane, totally flabbergasted, staring into the cavern.

  “That’s an understatement,” said Dax, shaking his head. “Is there another way around, Tucci?”

  “No, this is the only way through unless we travel all the way back towards the entrance and take the busier mining route that is now blocked.”

  Dax cursed. “How do you suggest we get through here?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t come this way before. I avoided the Solus by taking a different route,” replied the Phadrine prince grimly.

  “So what you’re saying is that we have a problem?”

  “Yes, we do unless we are totally silent.”

  “And we’re probably going to have to fight our way through.”

  “Probably,” admitted Tucci, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Damn it!” snapped Dax. He continued to curse. He was unsure whether or not the prince had tricked them by taking this route. Dax had watched Tucci when the axe-wielders were attacked, and he had looked as surprised as the others. But Dax still had a nagging feeling, were they being taken into a trap? The other men crept away from the cavern to think. One thing for sure, trap or no trap, they could not go back . . . they would have to fight.

  ***

  The Chosen waited in his private chambers with General Gordonia for the man to be presented to him. There was a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” called the Chosen.
r />   A man entered the room and instantly fell to his knees, stopping the door from closing.

  “Rise, man, we cannot close the door,” said the Chosen softly. The man rose to his feet and shuffled farther into the room, allowing the door to be closed. He kept his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him. General Gordonia looked across the table at the Chosen, who nodded.

  “What is your name?” asked Gordonia softly, feeling sorry for the lowly clansman.

  “Kriss, sire.”

  “He is sire, I am just sir.”

  “Yes sir, sorry sir.”

  “Kriss, sit down,” said the Chosen.

  “Thank you, sire.” Kriss sat on the edge of his chair with his head still bowed.

  “Would you like a drink, son?” asked Gordonia.

  “Yes please, sir,” replied the clansman instantly, who then cursed himself inwardly for being a burden.

  General Gordonia poured the man some watered wine, and refilled his own and the Chosen’s goblet.

  “Kriss, I do not like having a conversation with the top of someone’s head. You will not be punished for looking at me. That is, of course, unless you think me revoltingly ugly.”

  Kriss’s head shot up, his eyes wide with fear. “You’re extremely handsome, your greatness, honestly.”

  “That’s nice to hear. Now listen to me. Drink your drink and relax.”

  The Chosen also felt sorry for the man sitting opposite him. When the clansman raised his goblet, Rowet could not work out how the man drank anything with his hands shaking so badly.

  “What have you to report son?” asked Gordonia.

  “I’m to inform the Chosen, his greatness, bliss his soul, that I spotted an army marching toward the white city from the southwest.”

  “How far away are they?” asked the Chosen, leaning forward in his chair.

  “Less than a week I would say, judging from the speed they travelled, your greatness.”

  “Thank you,” said the Chosen, who looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. General Gordonia rewarded the man and dismissed him.