by Brian Murray
The army in unison bellowed, “DESTROY!” The sound rumbled through the chilly air, the hatred strengthening the Darklord.
“Yes, destroy, rape, pillage, and kill everything in our path. Nothing will survive.” The Darklord stepped forward and leaned on the balcony rail, his voice now as strong as thunder. “Nothing and no-one shall survive!” The army roared its approval, as the Darklord stood for a moment absorbing its hate. Then he turned away and returned to the keep, followed by the three armoured warriors.
The Darklord shuffled through the hall, through a single oak door, down another corridor, and into a small wood panelled room adjoining his private quarters. The room had an ominous glow from candles in high iron stands in the four corners. As he entered, the Darklord’s chair scraped against the wooden floor, magically pulled out from a thick wooden table inlaid with burgundy leather for him to sit. Letting out a sigh, he sank wearily into the deep, leather-padded chair, and his shoulders hunched forward. The warriors stood patiently behind the other chairs waiting for the invitation to sit.
After a few moments, the Darklord glanced up and smiled. “I am sorry, my friends, please sit. It is my pleasure to finally meet you.”
The warriors removed their cloaks and weapons. In front of Fury, on his grey cloak, were two small black crossbows and a black curve-bladed cavalry sword. Embedded in the hilt of his sword was a large grey crystal, matching the colour of his cloak. Before Chaos were his two black-bladed short swords crossed halfway down the blades. The handles were bound with human hair, allowing only Chaos’s hands to grip them comfortably. Embedded in the hilt of one sword was a large deep-green crystal, matching his cloak. Malice sat in the remaining chair. Resting on his dark blue cloak was his long broadsword. The blade was a half-arm’s length longer, two fingers’ width thicker than Chaos’s blades, and had a dark blue crystal in the hilt. Each weapon had been forged in one piece, with a combination of metals that made them virtually unbreakable, and able to slice through steel armour as if it were paper. They were forged using a method no longer known, in a place and time long since forgotten.
“Please make yourselves comfortable, we have a lot to discuss. Remove your helms, and take some wine.”
At that moment, a wooden panel slid open, allowing a flaxen-haired serving girl to enter, carrying a tray with a jug and three golden goblets. Without looking at the occupants, she bowed deeply, placed the tray on the table and bowed again, then left the room through the hidden door. Once the panel slid shut, the warriors undid the clasps and removed their helms. The warriors all appeared alike, with pallid skin pulled tight on high cheekbones, and square chins. Their shoulder-length hair, cut short over the ears and pulled into a ponytail at the nape was as white as snow. Their most striking features were their eerie, piercing red eyes, which radiated evil. Chaos had one distinction from his brethren; running down the right side of his face was a white scar. The healed wound ran from his brow, over the right eye and down his cheek, ending at his jaw line.
Malice turned to Chaos. “Why do you keep that ugly scar? It does not become us,” he said, his voice deep and commanding.
“My brother Malice, it gives credit to the only warrior who could cut me,” sneered Chaos brusquely. “Anyway, I do not want to look like you, you’re so ugly.” Letting out a rich chuckle, Chaos reached for the wine.
“You should really stop these emotional outbursts, our way does not allow it.”
“Ah, but rules are meant to be broken. My brother and I do enjoy breaking rules, especially when they irritate you so.” Pouring some of the rich crimson wine, Chaos looked towards the Darklord, aware of, but ignoring Malice’s menacing glare. “Lord, the serving girl appears full of life. After our journey, I would care for some proper nourishment. It has been a long time since we enjoyed the pleasures of the mortal realm.”
“Soon, my friend. I will make the girl available to you but first, we need the strategy for our first test.”
“Yes, I apologise for my eagerness my lord, you are right. My pleasures can, of course, wait. The return of our master takes priority,” replied Chaos, bowing his head, but his eyes shone with blood-filled impatience.
“Your army looks most impressive, my lord. Did it take long to recruit such a force?” asked Malice, changing the subject, glaring at Chaos.
“In this time, there is little honour among many of the races. Almost anything and everything can be bought with coin. The call to our black banner was easy, greed being more important than pride and honour.” The Darklord paused. “The Kharnacks are a war-loving race, perfect for our needs. They are a nation made up of hundreds of clans that could never be united to pose a threat. After dispatching a major clan’s weak ruler, I took control and began conquering other clans. I proclaimed myself their uniter, promising them bloody glory for the better of their nation. They lapped it up like the imbeciles they are. Khanachi is an inhospitable, mountainous region, perfect for hiding our army and our intentions. It is not a recognised nation. The neighbouring nations call the range the Great Mountains but I have convinced the Kharnacks it will soon be a separate nation.”
The Darklord chuckled and shook his head, the sound dry and raspy, without any humour. “The neighbouring nations to the south, the Rhaurns and Phadrine, do not bother themselves with the Kharnacks. The Rafftons, to the north, ignore all the southern nations, especially the Kharnacks; however, they will soon become involved.” The Darklord paused again with a wry smile. “We have over twenty thousand Kharnacks here, and I can easily call on double that number of reserves who would be ready to march in less than one month. The Dark Brethren are a blood cult of fallen priests and mystics who follow the Path and prepare for His coming. They have been waiting to be shown the way and I arrived to guide them. They will do as we require until our Master’s elite arrive.”
“What of the Horde, Sire?” asked Malice.
“As I mentioned, men will do anything for coin. I sent out our Dark Brethren, disguised as merchants with plenty of gold, seeking an army. They bought mercenaries and it did not take long to form the Horde under General Carash. Give these men gold and pay maidens, and they are willing to fight regardless of the cause – utterly pitiful. However, they are seasoned mercenaries from Rhaurien and Rafftonia, and are ready to fight. Many of them are becoming members of the Path Cult and we have encouraged the men with talent to join the Dark Brethren’s ranks. We will leave some of these men behind in the Dark Brethren’s colours to keep order among the Kharnacks. They will not be as strong as the true Dark Brethren but they will act as a deterrent against the Kharnacks doing anything foolish, like revolting, or squabbling among themselves.”
“Are they ready?” enquired Malice.
“Ah, my illustrious friend, your army is ready and will be in combat before the end of the sun season,” said the Darklord, his heavily lined black eyes briefly visible inside the deep hood, blazing with anticipation and excitement. “You will accompany me to Evlon, to meet Baron Chelmsnor. He will either join our forces or be wiped out. We will only require some of the Dark Brethren for this engagement. I know he will not join our force and, therefore, will be our first victim. In the meantime, the Kharnacks will march towards Kal-Pharina, camp on the north side of the Steppes, and wait for us to join them.” The Darklord raised his hand towards Chaos. “Do not worry, Chaos, I would not even consider leaving you out of this little encounter.”
“Thank you, my lord,” he replied with a mischievous smirk.
“Now, you and Malice, together with a dozen Dark Brethren, will be with me in their Great Hall.” He gestured at the table and a three dimensional image of a city appeared, rotating around its base. He continued, “The castle wall has been mostly plundered and ripped down for building masonry. With little defence, this should be a very short encounter.” The Darklord gazed at Malice, as he examined the image with his expert eyes.
“I believe you intend for us to fight our way out of the keep. The Dark Brethren should use stealth
to sneak in from the hills and infiltrate the Evlon army barracks, removing the threat of those men having any influence. The city would then be exposed to us. Night, I believe, will prove most advantageous.”
“Ah, Malice,” said the Darklord, clenching his hands in prayer. “I have heard of your battle prowess. These mortals do not understand the finer points of planning a raid, nor the ebb and flow of battle. It pleases me immensely to have your skill to complete our mission.”
“Thank you my lord, I live to serve and obey our true master,” acknowledged Malice, bowing his head at the compliment.
The Darklord turned to the remaining warrior. “Fury, I have a separate task for you that must, unfortunately, happen just after our little raid. It will utilise your special gifts and I will go through the details later as you must leave our company for a short while. Now, it is time for us to rest. We will be leaving here in a month, when you are at full strength.” The wooden panel slid open and the flaxen haired serving girl re-entered the room, again bowing deeply. She stared at the floor, not making eye contact with the men around the table, as instructed by the First Slave.
“Girl, show these men to their quarters,” ordered the Darklord, without directly acknowledging the woman.
“Yes, my master.”
“What of him, Sire, is he here?” Fury spoke for the first time, his voice like his brethren, deep, and demanding attention.
“Well, well, well he does have a tongue, I thought you were mute for a moment, Fury,” Chaos mocked. His voice darkened ominously. “It has been a long time since Rhamagabora, and I still carry this scar. We need to recover what the traitor stole. Our fallen brother must have our master’s relic. I will not rest until we have what’s ours and he is kneeling before me, begging for his life.”
“Fear not, Chaos, I have seen the future and the circle will soon be truly complete.” The Darklord then raised his hand to stop any further questions, “Gentlemen, all in good time. Rest now. I will have my First Slave bring refreshments and entertainment to your quarters. In the morning, you will be sent men to act as your personal aides. You know what to do.”
The warriors rose, bowed, collected their possessions, and followed the servant. As they were escorted through the keep, Chaos intently watched the sway of the young woman’s slender hips, with a cruel smile growing on his face.
***
After the warriors left, the Darklord sat in silence, gazing at the three goblets of wine. Chaos had drained his wine in one gulp, Fury had sipped from the goblet but Malice had not touched his. Strange, he thought, all so powerful, so similar, yet different beyond understanding. The Darklord frowned as he thought back to his studies of the battle at Rhamagabora and the Great Betrayal. “I will have vengeance for casting my master back to the dark realm,” he whispered menacingly. “Revenge will be so sweet.”
It had taken hundreds of years for him to prepare and get to this point in his plan. The Dark Brethren and their beliefs in the Path had been the key to his completing the spell to summon his master’s bodyguards. His mind wandered as he rose and crossed the room to his sleeping quarters. Inside, sprawled naked on his bed, a redheaded pay maiden waited, smiling nervously. In a shadowy corner, another black-robed figure sat motionless, his eyes, full of threatening lust, fixed on the pay maiden. The Darklord slowly closed the door.
***
The flaxen-haired serving maid, Catherina, hurried back to the kitchens. In all her nineteen years, she had never known such terror. Though able to see the good in most people, it was not possible with these warriors; they instilled a deep primal fear into her heart. Sneaking a look at the warrior with the scar had chilled her blood. His sinister red eyes pierced deep into her soul, past her skin, flesh and bone, to the very essence of her being. Catherina shivered involuntarily as she hurried back to her room. She needed to speak to her friend, Megan. It was his eyes.
Catherina rushed through the kitchens heading for the servants’ quarters. In her haste, she nearly clattered into the burly baker, who was removing fresh bread from a hot oven. It was his eyes. She nearly tripped down the stairs leading to the comfort of her small sleeping quarters, deep within the bowels of the keep. It was his eyes. Racing along the dimly lit passageways, she found her room after a few minutes. Bolting straight inside, she slammed the door shut, startling her friend.
“Are you trying to get us whipped for creating such a commotion? You know what the senior serving maid is like,” said Megan, lying naked on her cot, face down; her uniform neatly folded over the back of a chair. It was five lashes of the whip as punishment if a maid appeared in a crumpled uniform. Realising Catherina had not moved beyond the door, Megan craned her neck, her eyes widening when she saw her friend’s expression.
Catherina stood frozen with her back pressed firmly against the door, her face blanched of colour, breathing rapidly. It was his eyes.
“What happened, Cat? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Catherina stared at her friend, terror locking her words in her tight, dry throat. It was his eyes.
Megan, her naked body becoming chilled, rose to put on a coarse woollen robe. “Cat, what is it? You’re scaring me,” she said, moving towards her friend. “Cat . . . Cat, what is it?” Megan looked into her friend’s eyes, wide with fear. Then the emotion broke and Catherina cupped her face in her hands and burst into tears, sobbing heavily.
IT WAS HIS EYES.
“Come here, it can’t be that bad,” said Megan softly. Catherina did not say a word as Megan led her over to the cot. Sitting her down, Megan cradled her friend’s head on her cushioned chest, rocking back and forth, like a mother comforting a child. “Hush Cat, it can’t be that bad,” she whispered tenderly. Although only two years older, Megan looked after Catherina as though she was her baby sister. Catherina had a child’s perspective on the world, full of naivety and innocence, and always looked to Megan for guidance.
Megan’s feminine protective instincts poured out as she continued to rock Catherina back and forth, combing her fingers through Catherina’s flaxen hair in slow, comforting strokes. Then, a single tear rolled from Megan’s eye, down her cheek and landed lightly on Catherina’s flaxen head. Her friend needed her strength. On the outside, Megan was a strong woman; only Catherina had seen her real, insecure nature. A thought buried deep in Megan’s mind forced itself into her consciousness. Megan fought the memories at first, but the negative-charged emotions in the room broke through her normally solid defences. Tears freely flowed as she pictured her young husband, lost to her before their life together had even started.
After ten minutes, Megan regained control of her feelings. Still stroking Catherina’s hair, Megan whispered soothingly to her friend, “Cat, tell me what's wrong, please share it with me. You know the rules on sharing problems.” The rule was one of total trust between them – no secrets.
“It’s his eyes. Oh, Meg, it’s his eyes,” spluttered Catherina through her juddering sobs.
“Oh, Cat, you child, how can someone’s eyes scare a big girl like you?”
“He wants me dead. The warrior wants me dead. I could feel his thoughts, Megan. I want to leave but no, the master has ordered me to go back to him. Requested, like a dirty pay maiden,” she spat out hysterically. “Help me, Meg, please, I beg you. He will kill me, I know it. Please . . .” Her voice broke and more tears flowed.
“Oh Cat,” said Megan, again rocking her friend gently. “Don’t worry yourself. When do you have to go back to this warrior?”
“Later tonight, but I have duties to complete before.”
“I shall go in your place. We look alike, especially to a lusty warrior.”
Catherina pulled out of her friend’s embrace. “No, Megan, I have to face my fears. You
did not see the warrior. He’s full of evil. I will not let you go.” Cupping her friend’s face in her hands, Catherina continued, “This is something I cannot ask you to do for me, Megan. Do you understand? I love you, my sister. No, I w
ill go, myself.”
Now Megan cried, and the two young women embraced each other.
After a short while, Catherina eased herself from Megan’s arms, wiped her eyes, and looked at her crying friend. “I mean it Megan, you are my sister. We are family, not through blood but through friendship and I will treasure our friendship for all time. I love you.” Catherina rose, straightened her uniform, then without another word or glance back she left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
“I love you too, my little Cat. Always,” spluttered Megan. Then as she lay back on her cot as more memories flowed into her mind.
Catherina never returned.
***
Chaos sat on his bed, his glowing red eyes staring down at the naked brittle husk that had once been a flaxen-haired serving maid. I never knew her name, he thought, then shrugged. It was of no consequence but something did not sit right with him. Idly, he ran his index finger along his scar. For the millionth time, he re-lived the fight on that dreaded day at Rhamagabora. Chaos was an experienced, powerful warrior – compared to mortal men – but his opponent had been formidable, the ultimate warrior. Even the great Malice had feared this warrior and that was why Chaos faced him. The power gained, had he won, would have been immense. But the duel had ended within a few heartbeats of the start, with Chaos physically scarred for life. Then the indignity had come.
“You’re not ready to face me, brother,” the warrior had said coldly. “Go before I finish you now. Return to our realm or die.” Without another word, the warrior had turned his back on Chaos and strolled away.
Suppressed rage built up in Chaos. His eyes glowed brighter and brighter as he relived the fight over and over. I will have my revenge, he thought. My destiny was to be my master’s champion – it still is. You are here. I can feel you, brother, and I am coming. Chaos whispered aloud, “I am coming for you.”
