Return of the Darkness.
Book One: A Clash of Light and Dark
Copyright© Andrew G. Wood
2017
ISBN-13:
978-1545323731
ISBN-10:
1545323739
All Rights Reserved.
Other titles:
The Chronicles of Elemental Magic
Book One: Rise of the Darekians
Book Two: Holding the Line
Book Three: Prince of Magic
The New Chronicles of Elemental Magic
Book One: A New Threat
Book Two: The Zulani Empire
The Sulbria Chronicles
Return of the Phoenix
The Kothian Chronicles
The Elementalist
The Elementalist: Battle of the Mind
The Elementalist: Next of Kin
Chosen: A Gift of Power
The Caldronian Guild:
Book One: The Apprentice Sorcerer
Book Two: The Rogue Sorcerer
Book Three: The King’s Sorcerer
Prologue.
Abalyon had once been a god, a creator of life upon the lands, and along with the other deity’s, had overseen their creations grow. Over the decades and centuries of time, Abalyon had grown bored with those whom he had placed upon the earth and had deemed it far more interesting to have them fight and destroy. He created abominations, beasts of pure evil and hatred and had them prey upon the very race that worshipped him as their god. Not content with that, he then turned his attention to the creations of the other gods, which ultimately saw their wrath brought down upon him.
Cast out from the heavens, Abalyon existed as a shadow amongst those he had created. Although not in their form, he moved about as a presence, a calling on the wind or a dark figure in the dreams of those that slept. For centuries, he had roamed the lands looking for something or someone, with whom to make a connection, someone with whom to influence and wreak his havoc once more.
Although still empowered with abilities, there was no chance that he could seek revenge for his treatment by the other gods, except for one. He knew that to cause the gods the greatest pain, he could wipe their own creations from the world, and so started using his powers to continue spawning the foul beasts that had seen his downfall. However, the other gods had foreseen his plans and given some of their own races magical abilities. These ranged from those who could master the flame to those that could utilise the power of the sun and moon. Others could control the very air around them and the earth beneath their feet, and some could muster raw energy from their own bodies. As powerful as these creations were, they were kept few in number and with limitations to how many of the skills they could possess.
While by themselves these magicians were not all-powerful, united together they appeared more than a match for anything Abalyon could create. Even sacrificing the trolls, those he had created, causing a taint upon the land so awful that nothing could grow upon it, had proved unsuccessful. From this tainted earth though he managed to draw on the power of his dark mind, creating more fearsome beasts with which to attack the other races. Each time he amassed an army large enough for his needs, the other races seemed to unite against him, and defeat those he commanded.
So it was, the continuing battle between the light and darkness. Every hundred years, or perhaps two, Abalyon would try something new, and each time he would find himself defeated. No matter how cruel he made the beasts, the united forces of those that stood against him were just too powerful. Over time the races had evolved, built towns and cities, created weapons of wood and steel, and along with those who could wield the magical powers gifted to them by the gods, anything he created was always second best.
However, an unexpected event had caused an anomaly amongst the races that opposed him, and one he soon sought to gain influence over. Breeding between the races was rare, and the gods had seen to it that no hybrid would, or at least should, survive birth. Yet from a human father and elven mother, such a thing had survived and existed. Not only did this cross-bred male baby survive, but as it grew up, it had soon displayed magical abilities far beyond any other. This freak of nature could wield several skills, whereas others were restricted to just one. Not only that, but he could also muster them on a far greater scale, making him more powerful than he was actually aware of.
Abalyon had found this hybrid, and taunted his mind, haunted his dreams, making suggestions. The half-breed, half-human, half-elf had a name, and although that was irrelevant to Abalyon, it would strike fear to those that opposed him. Zerus Maldhor was that name. To any other elf or human he appeared as if one of them, even fathering a child of his own, and yet they did not foresee what lay beneath.
Abalyon assisted Zerus Maldhor, guiding him to a greater understanding of his powers, making him master of all. To enable this, the fallen god had to make a sacrifice, and this he did when the hybrid was his for the taking. Using his own powers, he linked his mind with that of the half-breed, giving him power over the beasts of darkness he had created.
However, this abomination of nature had not succumbed to his influence as easily as he had hoped. After creating his largest, most powerful army of creatures ever, Abalyon had watched Zerus Maldhor wipe them from existence, becoming a hero to those Abalyon wanted to destroy. The other gods had intervened again, forcing their own influence upon the very creation they had forbidden to exist.
Not all was lost, however, as Abalyon noticed something unusual. The god's influence may have won them the battle, but the seed of darkness he had planted in the mind of Zerus Maldhor was still there. That seed grew, and with it, it was not long before the saviour of the elves was cast out, along with his family. The very people he had saved had turned against him, as they considered him a threat to the very gods they worshipped, and now saw him as the abomination he was.
With the mind of the half-breed once more there for the taking, Abalyon took his chance. With only a small army of beasts to command, he taunted and teased the fragile mind, and eventually succeeded in his wish. Zerus Maldhor turned on the very people he had saved, and just a year later reaped havoc upon them. Crazed with power, the half-human, half-elf, obliterated all those that stood in his path. From the west coasts of the elven lands to the thick forests further east, nothing survived.
Along with an ever growing army of beasts, Zerus Maldhor laid waste to the very land he had once called home. Pushed all the time by the fallen god to kill and destroy, it appeared nothing would stop them. Yet Abalyon made an error and had not looked at whom or what he ordered destroyed. Unwittingly, Zerus Maldhor had attacked the very town of his birth; A place where his mother and half-brother still lived. Without a thought, he had destroyed and killed them, yet discovering their dead bodies had caused an unexpected turn of events.
Traumatised by the grief and guilt at what he had just done, Zerus Maldhor turned back against Abalyon. While the half-breed could not kill a god, even a fallen one, he could end this madness. Despite all his efforts, Abalyon was helpless to intervene as his greatest weapon took his own life. The link he had made with the darkness had another devastating effect, as the armies of beasts at his disposal merely fell with him, actually ending the war in one single moment of self-sacrifice. The elven lands he had destroyed were tainted, and while not lifeless like those that had once belonged to the trolls, little grew or survived there.
Abalyon had been forced away, defeated once again. Confined once more to drift along the winds and haunt the dreams of mere mortals, looking for his next opportunity to arise. For two centuries he waited, mustering up small insignificant numbers of beasts to cause annoyance and let the races of the world know he still existed. His time woul
d come again, and now he knew what to look for, he felt the time was nearing to strike again.
Chapter 1.
Finley ran between the thick trees, trying to escape the dark shape that pursued him. Through the hazy mist covered forest floor, he stumbled forward, always with the feeling of dread that he would be caught at any moment. The trunks of the trees appeared to watch him, even taunting him, as pairs of eyes flickered open and closed, while voices called his name as he passed them by. The darkness, although swift and agile, had no form or shape, no limbs or face, just a pulsating mass that was relentless in its pursuit.
As was always the case, Finley woke before the darkness could catch him; a persisting nightmare haunting his dreams of late. Since his father’s passing a few months back, these dreams had become a nightly occurrence, while their intensity and realism appeared to be increasing. After sitting up and wiping the sweat from his brow, he stared out into the darkness of his small room. In the silence he lay there for a while, trying to make sense of the images that plagued his sleep, but as was the norm, he did so without success.
In the small house he now shared with his Uncle, Aunt and two younger cousins, he was forced to feel the outsider in the home he had grown up in. With his mother apparently abandoning, him and his father, just a few days after his birth over fifteen years ago, and with the recent passing of the man who had raised him, he now felt more alone than ever. His aunt, who was his father’s sister was also expecting another child, and Finley knew it would not be long before they wanted him out.
Since his father’s death, his uncle had taken control of the small farm they worked, even though technically it was not his to do so. However, as the small plot of land and house upon it had been left by Finley’s grandparents to both his father and his aunt, he would only inherit his father’s half. His uncle, though, was behaving as if he was the beneficiary, and as Finley was still a minor in respect of the law, seemed intent on taking that which should be his.
In all fairness, Finley was not overly concerned about the farm and had been pondering the thought of exploring the world. In a land where there were so many races, like the elves of the great forests far to the east, or the dwarfs who lived in their mighty fortresses in the mountainous north. Stories told by his father had created images in his mind, and he was seriously thinking he should see these fascinating places for real.
Yet, as much as Finley thought he might like to venture from the relative safety of his surroundings, the idea of actually committing to such a plan always put him off. After all, as wondrous as the realms of the elves and dwarfs were supposed to be, the world was also apparently filled with other more unpleasant places and beasts. Aside from the land far to the south, where apparently the orcish clans resided, there was also an area known merely as ‘The Wastes’, where little grew or lived for a hundred miles or more in each direction. Of course, all these had only been described by his father, as to whether they were accurate or not he could not be entirely sure.
Without even realising, Finley must have drifted back off to sleep, as the next time he opened his eyes his small room was bathed in sunlight. Moreover, the noises from outside gave an indication as to his uncle already starting work, something he wouldn’t be doing. With a loud yawn, he rubbed his eyes and threw back the covers off his bed. After a quick glance into the small mirror which hung on the wall, he looked at the pair of deep blue eyes looking back at him, before running his fingers through his thick blonde hair, as if it made it look somehow tidier. His clothes were still on the floor in a heap where he had dropped them the night before, and after dressing, he ventured out of his bedroom into the main living area of the house. He stomped his feet down a little harder than normal as he tried to get his left foot properly into his brown leather boots, before doing up the buttons on his dark green tunic.
His two cousins were already sat at the breakfast table, bickering with each other as they always seemed to do. His aunt, heavily pregnant, toiled over the stove as she not only cooked breakfast but was also baking the day’s bread. A few of these loaves would be sold to neighbours, helping out with the costs of running a small farm, and although there was only a little profit in doing so, the few extra pennies all helped.
Finley, politely wished his aunt a good morning, as he picked up an apple from the fruit bowl on the table, before collecting his bow from the corner of the room and heading off outside. His uncle barely acknowledged him as he walked by, despite Finley’s own greeting, giving him the kind of look that suggested he knew something that Finley didn’t. The youngster thought it a smug kind of look but merely brushed it aside as the norm. The man evidently did not want him there, and as a result, there was little love lost between the two of them.
After tying his small quiver of arrows to his side and slipping his bow over his shoulder, Finley decided to head eastwards for a change. After walking past a few of his neighbours, who all treated him better than his own kin did, he crossed the small white stone bridge that gave the village its name.
Whitebridge was not a large place by any means. A community made up of small cottages and farms clustered together, all trying to scrape a living from the insignificant plots of land at their disposal. There was a small stone chapel on the other side of the narrow river that divided the village in two, as well as a blacksmith and an inn; a place his uncle always appeared to find money to go to. A few fields and pastures used to keep the animals of those farmers who could afford them then led to the thick green forests in which the village was set.
Home to no more than two hundred people, the villagers sold their extra produce once a week at the larger town of Depton, about an hour or so ride away. Aside from the few travellers that made their way along the narrow tracks that dissected the village, Whitebridge could be considered quite an isolated place set as it was deep in the human lands. Occasionally, larger parties did travel through, perhaps a team of travelling traders, bringing in goods from the capital, or every now and then, soldiers from the local Baron.
This was a man who controlled the land and the people on it, on behalf of the King. In return for a comfortable and privileged lifestyle, these noblemen were also to collect the taxes from the people, as well as keep the king’s army topped up with recruits. Fortunately, as Whitebridge was thought of as a small, insignificant out-of-the-way place, it was rarely visited for such a purpose.
Finley had been told by his father, that those who lived in the larger towns, were often recruited for what was apparently a hard, cruel life. In a world where there were many dangers, a soldier’s life expectancy was inevitably not a very long one. Young men, aged fourteen and upwards, were often sold by their own families into the service of the military. In recompense, the family would be given a silver shilling, while the poor lad in question was carted off to a life of harsh training and quite likely, an early grave.
After giving Terrence, the local blacksmith, a friendly wave, Finley headed for the dense forest just twenty paces off the track. Although he always took his bow for hunting purposes and considered himself a fair shot, he never actually fired at anything, at least not anything living. On the occasions that he had found and tracked down a deer, and despite the fact he could probably make some considerable coin selling such a creature, he always felt it something he just could not do. While he ate meat, as most people did, he always felt he had a certain affinity with the creatures that dwelled in the forest, and killing one wasn’t right.
After wandering around for an hour or so, enjoying the sounds of the forest, he thought it time to turn about. Not one to return home empty-handed, Finley stopped briefly to collect a few edible fungi from around the bases of the trees, to go with a few berries he had found amongst the hedgerow along the track on his way in. Feeling much better and happier with life than he had when leaving the house, he returned the way he came, exiting the forest and venturing past the blacksmith as he had done earlier. This time, however, Terrence stopped his work and beckoned him over, wa
ving one of his thick muscular arms.
Chapter 2.
Finley stood, feeling a little confused, hardly believing the words he had just been told. “Recruiters in Whitebridge… And they were talking to my uncle?” He asked to just check he had understood correctly. Terrence nodded, “Don’t go back there, lad. Turn yourself about and go before anybody sees you.” Finley was unsure what to do. The blacksmith had been a man he and his father had known for years, and the advice he gave certainly made sense considering the alternative.
“My things are at home though. My mother’s necklace,” he uttered as much to himself as to Terrence. “I can give you a little coin lad, and here, take these. They’re nothing special but should serve you well if needed,” he added, pointing to a short sword and a hunting knife placed on the workbench. As grateful as Finley was for the gift, and more so the warning being given, there was one thing he could not leave.
Just before his father had died, he had given him a necklace, which by all accounts had belonged to Finley’s mother. He doubted there was any significant monetary worth to it, but its value was sentimental. Although his father had requested he wears it at all times, Finley felt he probably shouldn’t, just in case he lost it; advice he wished he had now taken.
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