Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  "You should have thought of that before you rebelled against the crown and murdered the king," interjects Leila Olson, former Head Stewardess to King Aethelgar. "You cannot honestly expect us to unite ourselves with traitors and cutthroats."

  That didn't take long, I think to myself, just as the room erupts into curses and angry shouts. Many of the guards look about nervously, their hands moving down to grip the hilts of their swords.

  Elias raises both of his hands, gesturing for everyone to quiet down, but it does little good. "I understand that at one time, many of us were enemies," he says over the din of voices. "But for the good of the kingdom, we must put our differences aside."

  "Murderers!" Some people shout, while others fling curses, lobbing insults like arrows at the other side. The mages and many of the nobles sit quietly, seemingly content to watch the whole thing play out.

  Leila's voice cuts through the noise with the sharpness of a knife, prompting most in the room to stop and listen. "The only way that we will consider a truce is if you and the other rebel leaders submit yourselves to the courts for regicide. Only with your deaths will there be peace." Many members of the royal family cloister around her, giving the impression that the willowy woman has effectively taken over command of the palace.

  A deadly silence settles over the lecture hall, all eyes going to Elias.

  The grizzled ranger maintains his composure, face emotionless as he turns to regard the former stewardess. "I do not deny what I have done. King Aethelgar was a threat to this realm, and his death was well deserved. But even if every Nightingale in this room were sent to the noose, I fear that it would do little good. Peace is no longer an option, Miss Olsen. War is upon us, whether we like it or not."

  With that, he turns to Owyn and motions for him to stand, the apprentice getting up and standing beside his former master on the dais.

  "This is Owyn Lund," Elias proclaims, gesturing to Owyn. "He is a ranger's apprentice and has important information that all of us need to hear."

  Sweeping his eyes around the room, Owyn opens his mouth to speak. "Before the onset of winter," he begins, "King Aethelgar sentenced me and Zara Dennel, Seeker of the Conclave, to exile. We survived in the wastes for many weeks, and only when the Arc fell were we finally able to come home."

  He makes eye contact with me in the stands, and I smile and give him an encouraging nod, prompting him to continue.

  He goes on. "Before we returned to Tarsynium, I was wandering in the desert, exploring the land when I happened upon a great demon army. There must have been tens of thousands of them, all gathered together in one place as if preparing to march off to war. I've never seen such a force in all my life.... Now that the Arc is down, they will be coming for us, to finish the war that they began more than a thousand years ago."

  Whispers fill the chamber as men and women put their heads together, shock and worry painted plainly on their faces. One of the Nightingales, a man I do not recognize, stands up in his seat and looks to Elias. "Did you know about this, Protector?"

  "Owyn told me only a few minutes ago," Elias admits grimly. "I would trust him with my life – and have on many occasions. If he says that he has seen this army, then it must be true."

  "It is," Owyn reaffirms. "The destroyer of worlds from the legends – the Prince of Darkness himself – is leading this force, and make no mistake, they will be here soon."

  "If Tarsys falls, then the entire kingdom is lost," Elias states, his voice firm and commanding. "That is why we must unite ourselves, Miss Olsen. The time to resolve our petty squabbles has long since passed. We must unite or we must die."

  The long-faced woman purses her lips and fixes him with a hateful glare but does not otherwise respond.

  "Were you able to get an accurate count of their numbers? Siege equipment, cavalry, foot soldiers... we need to know exactly what we are facing." I recognize the speaker as Marius Mohr, the general who had led the attack against Dunmar City all those weeks ago. He is a hulking brute with a face like a boulder, his skin marred by years-old battle scars and his nose looking like it had been broken many times over. Though his eyes are hard, he appears earnest, as if honestly concerned about the threat Owyn had just told us all about.

  Owyn meets his gaze and shakes his head. "I wasn't able to get exact numbers, no. Approximations only."

  "We'll need to send scouts," one of the Nightingales chimes in. "Riders who can get us more information."

  "In order to make battle preparations," General Mohr continues, "we will need to better understand when this army will arrive."

  A small, knowing smile graces my lips as I watch the congregation begin to work together, opposing voices finally speaking cordially with one another for mutual benefit. Nothing like a crisis to bring people together, I think to myself, sharing a look with Roth, who is sitting beside me. He stands up a moment later to address the entire lecture hall.

  "The Conclave has taken a mighty blow, it is true," he says, all eyes turning to him, "but there is still much that we can offer our people. Many mages yet live who can bolster our forces, and radiant shields can be cast to protect our defensive structures."

  “I should like to meet with you privately, Magus,” Mohr says before turning to Elias, “and with you, Protector, to discuss how we can best defend this city.”

  “But what of the refugees?” Someone asks, prompting more concerned murmuring. “The city cannot hope to contain so many people.”

  “We may have a solution for that,” Elias offers, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the other Nightingales sitting in the terraced rows behind him. “As many of you know, Dunmar City lies in the Ironback Mountains to the north. Its defenses have taken a beating, true, but it should still be defensible enough to protect those who have come seeking asylum. A small force could protect the pass should any demons try to break through.”

  More murmuring ripples through the crowd, and I am pleased to see several heads bobbing in approval. The only one who seems to disapprove is Leila Olsen and her retinue, their expressions dour and their faces drawn.

  “So, this is what is now expected of us?” She snarls, her hands like white-knuckled claws gripping the table. “We are going to ignore that this animal slew the king and stand beside him in battle? I, for one, would rather die than allow the Nightingales a place of prominence among our people.”

  General Mohr abruptly stands up, his enormous form towering over her from his place nearby. Both of his hands are clenched into fists, and a look of barely-contained rage is plain upon his face. “I fought the Nightingales my entire life,” he growls dangerously, “and recently lost many men assaulting their city. But I would put aside my prejudices in an instant if it meant that I could protect the people of this kingdom. If you would rather die than stand beside them, then that can certainly be arranged.”

  His hand darts to the short sword at his hip, and all of the guards surrounding Leila suddenly tense as if ready to do battle.

  A deadly silence settles over the room, but nobody draws their weapons. Instead, the stewardess merely laughs, a pithy, haughty sound that sends a slight shiver down my spine.

  “I never took you for a traitor, Marius,” she says, meeting his eyes stare for stare. “King Aethelgar would be ashamed.”

  General Mohr’s jaw tightens, but he simple responds, “So be it.”

  Leila glances around the room, then pushes herself to her feet. “It seems that it was a waste of time, coming here. We will return to the palace and bar the gates. We are all going to die anyway... we at least can meet our end with our honor intact.”

  She and a handful of others, including her guards, then proceed to leave the antechamber, climbing the stairs and pulling the door shut behind them. For several minutes, no one seems to know what to say following their departure.

  “She brings up an excellent point,” the mage Iver says at length, filling the void of silence that now fills the room. “Should we manage to defend the city against this
demon army, what guarantees do we have that the kingdom will be safe? Surely, the R’Laar will only send more soldiers to finish the job?”

  More silence follows, the implications of Iver's observation settling heavily down on everyone.

  "I may have a solution for that," I reply after a moment, an idea forming in my mind. Instantly, everyone's attention is now on me. Standing up, I try to adopt a look of imperial coolness – the sort of look that the High Magus would have adopted. "When Owyn and I were out in the wastes, we happened upon a large piece of source crystal that makes the Heart of Light look small by comparison."

  All of the mages around me gasp at the revelation, but everyone else just looks on in confusion.

  I continue on, gaining confidence. "It lies buried beneath a hill just beyond the Emberwood, in an old mine excavated by the indigenous people there. It's a long shot, but it may be possible to use the crystal to create a powerful artifice, maybe to even recreate the Arc of Radiance altogether."

  Several people in the room begin speaking out at once.

  "You can recreate the Arc?" General Mohr asks.

  "This changes everything!" Declares an exultant nobleman.

  "Praise be to the Light!" Cries a Nightingale.

  I hold up both my hands, trying to quiet them down. Memories of despair, of failing to open a portal in the Arc while gorgons assault us from all sides come flooding into my mind, but I ignore them. I refuse to let my weakness hold me back. "I cannot make any promises," I amend, not wanting to offer false hope. "However, it may be possible to stop the demons from making any more attacks. That is, provided we have enough time."

  Before anyone else can interject, Elias looks up at me and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "With the enemy focused on Tarsys, a small party may be able to sneak through the countryside. We could hold Asmodeus' attention here long enough for the crystal to be put to good use."

  "That's the plan," I say, holding my hands out to either side of me.

  "I like it," General Mohr says, clasping his hands together. "This sort of thing would give the men something to fight for – a boost to morale that we sorely need. I would be happy to help lead the defense of this city."

  "But who would go to the wastes?" Roth asks, his voice carrying his usual dry pragmatism.

  "I will go," I reply immediately, knowing full well that I would need to guide the expedition to the proper place, "along with any other mages you can spare to help me. The more power we have, the more likely we will be able to turn the source crystal into something useful."

  Suddenly, everyone in the audience chamber seems to be chattering excitedly, a new energy permeating the room like a surge of radiant magic. My eyes catch a glimpse of Owyn, who is regarding me with a mixture of worry and disapproval. Sorry, ranger, I think to myself, offering him an apologetic smile. But I am a free woman. You cannot make my choices for me.

  "Then it is settled," Elias declares, a note of finality in his voice. "The combined armies of Tarsynium will defend the capital against the Prince of Darkness, while a group of mages travels into the wastes to create a new Arc of Radiance. The Light, it seems, has finally given us direction and a reason to unite ourselves. Now, let us discuss how we can get this city ready for a siege."

  Chapter Nine

  Owyn

  As soon as the meeting adjourns, I jump out of my seat and race over to Zara, catching up to her just as she exits the large audience chamber.

  "Zara," I call breathlessly, prompting her to turn around and gaze at me curiously. "Could I talk with you for a moment?"

  Together, the two of us make our way down one of the side halls, finding a small alcove that will offer us a little privacy. Before I can open my mouth, however, she holds up a hand and begins speaking.

  "Don't try to talk me out of going," she says, her expression resolute. "It is the only chance we have of pulling ourselves out of this mess."

  “That’s not what this is about,” I say, bringing up both my hands in a placating way. “I’m not trying to talk you out of going. I want you to know that I’m going with you.”

  She smiles faintly, even as her eyebrows pinch together into a furrow. “Owyn – I’m flattered by your chivalry, but your place is here. The city will need all the defenders it can get.”

  “My place is by your side,” I counter, taking an additional step toward her. “And you’ll not talk me out of it. I’m with you to the end, Zara. If you walk to the end of the earth I’d follow you. That’s what you do for love. Besides,” I add, giving her a sly grin, “you’ll need somebody who actually knows the wilderness.”

  She sighs, then leans forward and kisses me on the lips. “I’m not sure why I expected anything less.”

  I return the kiss, perhaps a little more vigorously than intended, but she doesn't seem to mind. She embraces me and for a moment it is just the two of us, the troubles of the world fading away in the background.

  I'm uncertain how long we stand there, but eventually mages and other folk begin to walk past, shooting uncomfortable glances our way.

  Finally, reluctantly, she releases me and takes a step back.

  “I need to go to the Pillar of Radiance.” Zara says, grimacing. Then, she adds, “What’s left of it, anyway. The Great Library was buried under all the rubble, and I plan on helping with the excavation. There is knowledge there that may be critical to our mission.”

  "Ever the scholar," I say with a grin. "Always concerned about a few dusty old books."

  She gives me a playful shrug. "Somebody has to be," she counters. "Otherwise, we'd all be in loincloths, bludgeoning each other with sticks."

  "I wouldn't mind seeing you in a loincloth," I remark slyly.

  She rolls her eyes. "Goodbye, Owyn. I'll catch up with you later."

  We part ways, her disappearing to another wing of the Academy and me going down the way I had entered, walking down a long flight of stairs to the bottom floor. There, I spot a pair of Nightingale guards who are conversing quietly in the hall with their hands resting on their swords.

  Time to follow up on one last thing, I think to myself, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

  Approaching the two guards, I wave a hand to get their attention.

  When I inquire about their new Protector's whereabouts, they point me further down the hall, toward the back of the building. I continue on my way, footsteps echoing softly on the ancient stone floor, until finally I reach the end, where a pair of double doors bar my way.

  Pushing through the doors, I find myself in a beautifully manicured garden located in the intersection between several of the old Academy buildings. It is complete with a gravel walkway and hedgerows, with flowerbeds, ivy, and bubbling fountains on full display. Even in the depths of winter, the beauty and serenity of this place is apparent.

  Elias sits on a bench in the garden, staring thoughtfully at a marble statue overgrown with lichen and shoots of ivy. His back is straight as a spear as he regards the statue, his posture as rigid as ever. The statue's smooth surface is worn from the elements and discolored by the passage of time. The figure appears to be the depiction of a knight, an armored figure leaning heavily upon a sword driven point-first into the ground, his face a mask of sorrow.

  I move quietly to sit beside Elias on the bench, noticing the bronze plate fastened to a stone on the ground before us bearing the name of the statue.

  “Luca Dhar?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow at him, “Lord Commander of the Legion of Light?”

  “The very same,” Elias replies somberly, grey eyes still studying the marble figure.

  My questioning look deepens. “I would think the Conclave would have a mage here instead of a knight. This is their Academy, after all.”

  Elias pauses for a moment, as if considering, then replies slowly, gaze unwavering. “Luca Dhar is as much a part of the Conclave as any of the mages. Without him and the Legion, none of us would be here today. He worked with the mages of old to create the Arc and laid down his life for
the kingdom.” He lowers his voice, his tone becoming almost reverent. “In many ways, we are now like him and his knights.”

  We sit there for a time in silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Who is this man? I find myself thinking. He’s so different from the grizzled ranger I once knew – more thoughtful, less gruff. It’s almost as if the role of Protector has changed him, shaped him from a loner into a leader of men.

  Finally, it is Elias who breaks the silences, shaking himself out of his musings and turning to look at me. “I knew that you would survive the wastes,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sort of half-smile. “But I’m glad to see that you and Zara made it out all right. By the sound of it, the two of you will play a critical role in the coming days.”

  I offer him a small smile as well, grateful for the compliment. “Thanks, Elias. It’s good to be back.”

  He reaches over and grips my shoulder, squeezing affectionately like a proud father, but the moment passes quickly. Awkwardly, he releases me and clears his throat.

  “I have something for you,” he says, reaching into the folds of his ranger cloak. I’m not sure why he continues to wear that cloak, I think, watching him curiously. Though, I must admit that it still suits him.

  When he reveals what he has hidden, my breath catches in my throat.

  “My hatchet!” I exclaim, reaching out and accepting the weapon from him. “Eleven Hells, where did you find it?”

  “It was on one of Aethelgar’s guards in the palace,” he explains, unable to suppress the grin on his face. “I recognized it immediately. There’s none other like it in the kingdom.”

  Holding the hatchet lovingly in my hands, I can clearly see that he is correct. The worn handle, made from dusky, polished oak, feels familiar against my skin, the leather binding it taught and well-oiled. The sides of its head, which is made from the finest steel, is carved with images of windblown leaves, and the back is studded with a short spike, sharpened to a deadly point. This was my father’s weapon, and as I hold it, I feel a sudden wave of emotion wash over me.