Shadow of the Arisen: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel (Lands of Wanderlust Book 1)

by Paul Yoder

  Fin, holding back a moment to let what company he had allowed to jump aboard, let out a sigh and mumbled, “I’m going to regret this, I can already feel it.”

  Fin slowly started back down the stairs to catch up to the two who were already deep in conversation about enchantment, spells, and the living dead.

  23

  Fading Light

  The large hallway left few places to hide, and following Nomad’s four captors had Bede on edge as she entered an adjoining corridor she had seen the ghastly group head down.

  Hearing the hissing voice of the cloaked one far down the hallway, she halted to see if she could catch the rest of his conversation.

  “No, stay here. I’ll visit our lord alone. If there’s one intruder, then there’s likely more in the shadows,” the hooded figure spoke.

  Bede slowly peeked around the corner to get a glimpse of the group as the leader continued.

  “It seems our little snitch was right about an invading group. Keep an eye out. The enemy is reported to possess some strength and a biting light. I’ll be out after I see what our lord wants to do with this one.”

  The shrouded figure jerked Nomad from the grasp of the large, armored skeleton that was holding him, dragging a barely conscious Nomad towards the large doors at the end of the hallway.

  One of the two doors opened, then slammed shut, leaving only the three dark sentinels standing idly outside of the room which Nomad had been taken into.

  Slinking back around the corner, resting for a moment to attempt to establish an actual plan of how she was going to break Nomad free, Bede pulled her talisman out from beneath her robe, noticing that the seal had begun to warm to uncomfortable levels.

  Cupping it in her hand to shield its growing light, she stabled herself as the intense impressionable flash of impending danger assaulted her.

  Regaining her balance after the ominous premonition, she stilled as she became aware of footsteps approaching from the guarded hallway.

  She jumped up, her mace loudly popping off the marbled floor as she did so. She started to retreat back the way she had come, but she was too late, a wicked, bare skull weaved around the corner, spotting her instantly, and began following in pursuit, soundlessly lifting aloft its greatsword as it advanced.

  Seeing that the knight would soon overtake her if she continued to run, Bede unloosed her mace just in time to ready a parry as the greatsword came down, striking with such unholy force that Bede barely held to the weapon, readjusting her grip on the wrapped handle as the knight brought up its weapon again, coming down in a chopping motion once more. This time, instead of attempting to deflect the blow, Bede jumped to the side, dodging the heavy swing.

  Two jubilant shrieks sounded from behind the looming figure, and the attacker answered back, barking a horrible command in a foul language Bede knew to be Felmortum, a language that belonged to the wicked dead.

  She had never heard the language spoken in its natural tongue, only through her academic studies at the monastery. The supernatural shrill inflections curdled her blood and blew an instant fear into her core.

  The leading knight viciously thrusted its sword’s point back in at her, cutting in past her defenses, sticking deep into her chest, pushing her back, dropping her heavily down to the floor as the point was wrenched back out.

  Cackles sounded from behind the looming knight as it brought up its sword into a downward thrusting position, coming down as Bede desperately attempted to keep her attention on the fight and not on the pain that shot through her chest with every movement.

  The sword tip cut into her side, Bede not quite getting free from the knight’s would-be deathblow.

  The shock of the wound caused her to reflexively strike at the sword’s flat with her mace, snapping the old blade in half.

  The knight was quick to respond, though. Snaring Bede by the wrist with one boney hand, pulling her close to its bleached skull until they were face to face.

  Bede’s free hand came around, slugging the knight in the skull, twisting its head around momentarily.

  Attempting another strike, the knight hastily dropped its broken weapon to shield its face from another blow, cleanly catching the oncoming fist in its claw-like grip, penetrating her hand with its pointy fingers, drawing thick lines of blood as the boney tips gripped harder, securing his control over her.

  A knee to the groin did little but hurt Bede’s knee, and the knight swept her feet forcefully off to the side, dropping her to the ground, now completely pinned by what was quickly becoming her personal grim reaper.

  She could feel blood issuing from her desperate struggle, and she knew she had little fight left to give against the demonic strength of the arisen knight.

  Jerking slightly from actively constraining the still-fighting woman, the skeleton slowly lowered its skull till it rested beside Bede’s cheek, its cold, abrasive bone roughly scraping along Bede’s flesh, opening up small cuts along the right side of her face.

  Bede couldn’t see now what the thing was doing, it being too far beyond her periphery, but chills involuntarily went down her body as she felt the skeleton’s champing teeth slowly grind down upon her hair and ear, gnashing through skin and cartilage, causing her to scream out in pain. She was completely helpless.

  Tearing away, the knight ripped off part of Bede’s ear, causing another cry from her as it came back to face her.

  The last cry had dizzied her, and she began to feel distant from the whole scene, as if she was slowly being detached from her physical senses.

  She knew vaguely that she should be resisting to the end, but the foggy feeling of physical detachment was a welcome relief, at the same time, a guilty pleasure.

  Her head dropped backwards, languishly rocking from side to side as she attempted to regain control of her body. Her neck, fully exposed to the knight who was taking in the exquisite sight of pain and surrender, sensing its victim’s end near, slowly came in, its bloody teeth trembling with anticipation, lightly resting its shut, dripping fangs against Bede’s bare neck before slowly opening its mouth for the kill.

  Bede’s vision had faded fast, darkness engulfing her whole being, as if all awareness was quickly being flushed down a drain.

  Then, a hot flash pounded into her, flooding her system once again with the ability to feel.

  Snapping her head up, looking down past her prone body, she saw her ravager was also prone on the floor, skull smashed and smoking, the other two knights quickly moving in towards her.

  Light from her chest shone brightly, enough to cause the dark knights pause, and Bede clutched her glowing talisman and instinctively held it aloft, standing up to face her backpedaling adversaries.

  “Abominations!” she shouted in a forceful tone, one that seemed to have been reinforced by some otherworldly source.

  The empowered word jolted the two skeletons, shaking their hollow frames, causing them to drop their weapons.

  Seeing that they were about to retreat, Bede rushed the nearest foe and slammed the talisman against its skull, pushing it back against the wall, bone popping off angrily as the skeleton was quickly reduced to smoking dust.

  Seeing the fate of its comrade, the other knight turned to retreat back down the hallway that led to the room Nomad was in.

  “Halt!” Bede ordered, causing the knight to stop momentarily, seeming to struggle against unseen bindings.

  Bede began walking towards the creature, it slowly inching its way towards the doorway of the next hall.

  Holding high her radiant source, golden rays shown down over the bare skull of the arisen warrior, smoke forming on its crown, layers of bone peeling away as it frantically fought the unflinching, unseen bindings that held it in place.

  In a blind rage, Bede let out a furious scream, drilling the light down into the skull of her foe, shattering it upon impact. Driving her hand through its spine, she dropped the puppet in armor to the floor, leaving her standing alone,
trembling with fury.

  With the fight now ended, she huffed for air as her muscles relaxed. Collapsing to the ground, she clutched the talisman so tightly that the metal threatened to bruise and cut her skin as its light began to fade.

  Her features snapped, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Slowly bringing her trembling hand up, she clutched the side of her head, feeling an ear that was there, that shouldn’t be, and scratches along her face that were no longer there, but could still feel.

  A sob shook her body once; then, a long, dreadful moan that transitioned into weeping.

  Her grip on the talisman loosened, dropping it to the floor where she was hunched over, raining tears down upon the indifferent metal symbol of her faith.

  24

  Knock at the Door

  “That was quick. Where’s Jadu?” Reza asked Fin in a hushed voice as Fin walked quietly into the room Reza and Cavok were holding out in.

  Looking past Reza to find Cavok snoozing loudly in the corner of the room on one of the officer’s beds, Fin nervously turned back to Reza and answered.

  “He’s not too far behind me,” Fin started to explain as two distant voices began to become audible down the hallway.

  Seeing Reza’s concerned look, he quickly added, “And he’s got company with him. We picked up a local, as odd as that sounds.”

  Down the hallway, a humored cackle echoed, filling the halls as Fin explained to a confused Reza, “He’s an old kook. Not sure how far we can trust him, but he claims to have a great deal of information on our enemy. We figured it’d be worth the risk to bring him here for questioning.”

  As the enchanter and Jadu rounded the corner, Fin threw in one last word of warning to Reza, whispering, “Careful how hard you press him, he’s an enchanter. Apparently pretty high ranking too. Can’t trust their types.”

  Just then, a tall, frail man garbed in periwinkle robes, accompanied by Jadu who only exaggerated the robed man’s height, entered the room. Holding the doorframe for support, the old man rested a moment before making his way tiredly to the bed Cavok rested upon.

  “Shoo! You’ll have to excuse me. I haven’t walked that far in months. Being cooped up in that painting does a number to an old fellow’s joints, you know.”

  As he spoke, Cavok’s snoring began to halt, stretching a bit, waking from his slumber. Zaren made a brief, subtle movement with his hand, drawing a cross upon Cavok’s forehead which caused Cavok to settle immediately back in bed, beginning to snore loudly once more.

  The act wasn’t secretive enough to throw anyone off but Jadu, a pang of worry causing Reza and Fin to exchange concerned glances.

  Reza, after a moment to consider how to approach the odd man, started with an introduction.

  “Greetings. Glad to see you’re doing well considering the place you choose to reside at. My name’s Reza,” she said, offering a hand to the old man.

  Zaren gave her a wiry smile and stared calculatingly a moment before returning the gesture. Clasping his hand in hers, putting his other hand atop the handshake, he patted the back of her hand with his wrinkled palm as he answered back.

  “Reza. Interesting name. And a face that belongs among the angels—surely garb that belongs to a heritage that shares a bloodline with the angels at least.”

  Fin smiled slightly, seeing the old man trying to put the moves on the least flatterable woman he knew, but Reza, more concerned at the old man’s hints at knowing what race she belong to, appeared quite displeased with the response.

  “I’m Zaren,” he continued, gently taking his hood off to reveal a wispy head of long, white hair.

  “I understand you’re the leader of this daring duo of scouts who wandered into my tower? Quite a mission you undertake. I know I suggested to your colleagues that I might be able to offer information in regards to the arisen army occupying this city, but it would be prudent for me to know a bit more about your motives and what you plan on doing with the information you might acquire from me before I give it. What brings you to this city under these hazardous circumstances?”

  Reza, finding Zaren’s request and reasoning understandable, whispered to Fin to keep an eye on the halls before pulling up a chair, sitting facing Zaren, and started to summarize their mission.

  “Sultan Metus, the sultan of the neighboring region, commissioned us to acquire a report of the enemy’s numbers, leadership details, and motives. It’s been a year since Brigganden was sacked, and Sultan Metus is concerned with this unknown, hostile force. It’s our mission to report any obtainable data we can on this arisen army and report this information to the sultan. What he plans on doing with our report, I can’t say, but I would guess it is to assess how, and if, an attack would be feasible. A main trade route has been disrupted, the Plainstate has taken in hundreds of refugees, and he worries the aggressive force that resides now in Brigganden might soon move to invade his lands next.

  “That’s why we’re here and what we’re attempting to accomplish, and any information you would be willing to provide us with in regards to this loathsome enemy we face would be most appreciative.”

  Zaren, nodding occasionally as he heard Reza’s explanation out, looked up, quietly pondering to himself before glancing over at Jadu, who seemed to be chomping at the bit to start up their conversation they had earlier been having on the mystical properties of the hexweave, the ethereal element that makes enchantment possible.

  After a small chuckle, seeing Jadu’s eager expression and uncontainable excitement at just having the prospect of holding a conversation with him, Zaren sighed and said in a surrendering voice, “Alright, you seem like good enough company to trust you with some meaningless information.”

  Reza’s relief was slight, but visibly noticeable, and she leaned in as Zaren began to elaborate on the details of the arisen army they were currently surrounded by.

  “There are three types of magic in this realm as far as we know—arcane, enchantment, and divine. The creatures, for the majority of the army, are mindless puppets. Corpses that have been animated through the latter type of magic mentioned—divine.

  “The leadership, which by my limited estimate to be few in numbers, have some degree of sentience, and are quite skilled in the divine currents of the hexweave….”

  Seeing Reza’s slightly confused features, Zaren huffed and attempted to simplify his last statement for her.

  “They are very competent in ritualistic magics,” then continued his train of thought.

  “Their competence in the occult divine magic more than likely signifies that their leader holds high favor with whatever deity they worship and serve, and is more than likely of some high importance, maybe even renown—at least to the likes of your company.”

  Not overly happy with Zaren’s supercilious tone, but still wanting to remain diplomatically humble enough to juice every bit of information she could on the occult, arisen army, she ignored the comment as best she could and continued to prod the man for more details.

  “So of the leaders, what else do you know of them?”

  Zaren easily slipped right back into describing them, casually conversing about the subject.

  “Well, not too terribly much, I’m afraid. I know most about the second-in-command. He’s the one I observed close up for the most amount of time. His name is Lashik—”

  Immediately upon uttering the name, the room seemed to grow dim, the flame in the lantern on the table waning. Quiet, but biting utterances and whispers issued from Reza’s back pouch.

  Reza recalled the name Isis, the spirit that had been bound to her gifted ring, had warned her about. The one who was responsible for desecrating her family’s resting place and remains.

  Until then, Reza had not known that Isis had the power to influence the material world, but seeing the brief, startled expression on Zaren’s face told her that this time, it was not just her that the ring had reached out to.

  The voices fading, the enchanter’s
expression turned from surprise, to pleasantly intrigued as he stroked his beard and softly said, “Interesting. Very interesting. Perhaps your little band holds more intrigue for one like me than just your extraordinarily acumenistic alchemist here. Where did those voices issue from? Surely not your behind. It’d be a strange magic trick and an odd amount of trouble to enchant one’s own rump, no matter how fine it may be.”

  Reza, a swirl of emotions, both defensive of keeping the enchanted ring a secret while being indignant of the old man’s odd humor, forced herself to stay on task, once again ignoring his offhanded comments, attempting to put the ring in her back belt pouch out of her mind for the time being.

  “What about this ‘Lashik?’” Reza demanded.

  Leaning back on the bed a bit more, backing off of the subject, Zaren put his hands up momentarily as he said, “Alright, it’s none of my business what one does with their own body,” which garnered him a look so scathing from Reza as to cause him to clear his throat before responding to her original question.

  “Lashik. He seems to be beholden to a master. I don’t know the master’s name or much else about him, but Lashik himself is also an arisen.

  “Arisen, also known by countless other terms, are simply dead corpses that have been imbued with a spirit. Lashik, and Lashik’s commander, Dubix, appear to be quite sentient, which is rare with the arisen. Both are comfortably powerful individuals as far as I can tell. Very dangerous to the likes of you.

  “As to their motives, I don’t know. As to their army size, their numbers likely range in a few thousand, if that. The vast majority of the army are order takers and, for the most part, are controlled mind and body by their masters. That is what I know about the enemy you face.”

  Before Reza could finish processing Zaren’s words, Fin entered the room and shut the door quietly behind him. Everyone could tell instantly something was up by his hasty entrance.

  “We’ve got visitors—a lot of them.”