Prince of Darkness

by Blake Arthur Peel

  "There," she says with satisfaction, stepping away and looking over her handiwork. "Luckily, none of the cuts needed stitches, but it will still take several weeks to fully heal."

  The hand, tightly bound and sterilized, does not offer much in terms of functionality, but already it begins to feel better. "I don't suppose I will be able to do much writing in the interim?"

  "Unfortunately, no," she replies, expression stern.

  Blast, I think in frustration. Why didn't I hold the talisman in my left hand?

  "You'll need to keep that dry for the first week or so," she continues, gathering up her supplies and returning to the cupboard. "Come back to me every day so that I can check on it and reapply antiseptic."

  "That's going to be a bit of a problem," I reply, getting to my feet. "You see, we are going to be leaving the city – most likely tomorrow."

  "Leaving the city?" She asks, glancing over at me incredulously. "Whatever for?"

  "It's a long story," I say, shrugging my shoulders apologetically. "But it's for an important cause, and I'll be travelling with members of the Circle."

  "I see," she replies, eyebrows furrowing in concern. "In that case, here." She gets the black bottle and the bandages back out and hands them to me. "Take these. Apply the antiseptic once a day and rewrap your bandages when they get soiled. Do your best to keep your hand clean, and you should see a noticeable difference within the week."

  I accept them with my good hand and stuff them into a pocket in my robes. "Thank you, madam."

  "Don't thank me, Seeker," she says, face softening. "It's the least I can do. I'm not sure why you're leaving the city, but if it's Circle business, then I'm sure it's important. Take care of yourself, and if there's anything I can do, please let me know."

  Smiling, I thank her again and depart, stepping out into the dark hallway and staring glumly down at my hand.

  Nothing can be done about it now, I think, letting out a long sigh. The only thing I can do now is move forward.

  I begin making my way to the Circle's council room.

  The sun outside has already begun to set, time slipping quickly away as if through an hourglass. Soon, the hordes of the R'Laar will surround this entire city and everyone inside will be trapped. They are already on their way, marching inexorably to wipe out the last seat of human civilization left on Byhalya.

  That is, unless we can stop them.

  By the time I reach the council room, the sun has fully set outside, shrouding the world in darkness and making me wish I had brought a lamp with me. When the Pillar of Radiance fell, the Academy became the primary meeting place for the Conclave, requiring professors and students to go home. The hallways now are sparsely-lit and empty save for busy mages hurrying to and from their appointments.

  I push open the door without knocking, stepping into a large rectangular room with a long wooden table set up in the middle. Around it, the members of the new Circle sit in conversation with High Magus Roth sitting at the head.

  All turn to look at me as I enter, and I take my place at the table opposite the High Magus without breaking stride.

  "Seeker Dennel," High Magus Roth says, one of his eyebrows raising curiously. "How kind of you to join us this evening."

  Several of the other mages do not look so enthusiastic.

  “My pleasure, High Magus,” I reply a little breathlessly.

  “What is she doing here?” One of the members of the Circle asks haughtily. “This is supposed to be a closed meeting.”

  Two or three of the others grumble and nod.

  “I’m here on urgent business regarding our upcoming venture,” I answer impassively, meeting his gaze and holding it firmly. “That is why we are all here, is it not? As mages, we are to protect the kingdom from the R’Laar.”

  “What have you learned, Seeker?” Roth’s voice, though cool and even, seems a bit stern, as if determined to move the conversation along as quickly as possible.

  I turn to face him directly. “I’ve come to report on the status of the spell I told you about: the radiant incendiary.” Without preamble, I proceed to pull the cord that held my talisman out of a pocket and lay it on the table before me. A broken fragment of source crystal, all that remained after the explosion, clicks against the hard wood. “It was successful.”

  The room falls quiet, the mages all leaning forward to get a closer look at the destroyed talisman.

  “What do you mean, it was successful?” The same hard-nosed mage asks with a frown.

  “I mean that the spell worked,” I reply, motioning to the talisman. “It reacted in the precise manner it was supposed to – I used the source crystal to create an artifice that then exploded.”

  Roth, perking up, quickly asks, “And what of the demons?”

  “They were destroyed.” I answer. Then, grimacing, I hold up my bandaged hand. “Though, admittedly, there were some complications. The shrapnel cut up my hand pretty badly. Fortunately, the blast did not cause me mortal harm.”

  A barrage of questions begins pelting me like rain, coming in all directions from the excited mages.

  “Were you able to measure the blast radius?”

  “How many demons did you destroy?”

  “What words of power did you use?”

  “Were the demons struck dead or simply obliterated?”

  High Magus Roth holds out his fist and begins rapping his bony knuckles against the surface of the table. “Let the young Magus have a moment to breathe!”

  I brush a strand of hair from my eyes and give him a grateful smile. “Thank you, High Magus. I will answer all of your questions in time. However, we must first discuss our next steps. I assume everyone here has been informed on the status of the R’Laar army?”

  Everyone around the table nods their heads.

  “Good, then you understand that time is of the essence. We must leave as soon as possible to give those defending the city a fighting chance at survival. Now that we know for sure that the spell is possible, I propose that we leave tomorrow morning at first light. It is a long journey to the wastes, and we need to leave as soon as possible.”

  “What do you mean we?” Asks the same blustering old mage as before. “And who are you to presume ordering us around? We know next to nothing about this spell you claim works so well, and even less about this crystal you claim exists out in the wastes. I still say our best chance is to keep all the mages here, to assist with the siege and do all we can to recreate the Arc.”

  The High Magus steps in to confront the man. “You know as well as I do that it would be next to impossible to recreate the Arc, Vargus. And I have worked with Seeker Dennel for some time – if she says that this spell can work, then I believe her.”

  Again, all eyes turn to me. “It did work,” I insist, once again holding up my hand, “and with help, I know that we can recreate the incendiary on a greater scale, maybe even a global one.”

  "But why didn't the ancient mages use this spell?" Vargus complains, digging in his heels despite the High Magus' support. "Certainly, they would have dispensed with creating the Arc if they could simply blow up the demon hordes."

  "The artifice is documented as being terribly unpredictable," I respond. "And I have first-hand experience of the collateral damage it can cause. The ancient mages must have thought that creating the Arc was the better option. However, that was then, this is now."

  “How many mages would you need?” The High Magus asks, the question hanging hesitantly in the air as if fearing what I might say.

  “Honestly, I’d say no more than a score of your most powerful mages."

  This response prompts gasps from several of the mages in attendance.

  "I understand that this sounds like a lot," I continue, raising my voice to be heard over the dissenters, "but I assure you, with a source crystal of this size, it is necessary. When the Arc was created, the entire Circle was present to lend their strength to the spell."

  Arguing ensues filling the meeting ch
amber with a clamor that drowns out any attempt I make at speaking. Vargus is the most vocal of those in opposition to my proposal, but there are several others who are just as passionate. For a moment I begin to lose hope, frustration bubbling up like boiling water from a hot spring. Why are they fighting me so hard on this? Can't they see that we are engaged in a losing battle? They haven't seen the R'Laar armies in person. If they have, then they would be volunteering to go with me on this quest.

  Luckily, Roth stands up to quell the arguments, raising his normally quiet voice to a commanding shout. "Silence!"

  The others quiet down in surprise.

  Still standing, High Magus Roth clasps his hands behind his back, regaining his composure in a matter of seconds. “We’ve scoured the archives. Nothing exists today that tells us how to recreate the Arc. If the information ever existed, then it was lost when the Pillar fell.” He nods at me, his expression hardening like stone. "Seeker Dennel offers us the best chance we have at survival, and I for one believe that we would be foolish not to take it. That is why we will be sending out top mages to accompany her to the wastes. This is my command."

  I give him a grateful smile and bow my head in thanks.

  "We will submit to you a list of names within the hour," he continues resolutely, pointedly ignoring the angry glares levelled at him by Vargus and the others. "The chosen mages will be notified and be ready to head out first thing in the morning. Will that suffice?"

  "It will, thank you, High Magus."

  "Very well," he concludes, sitting back down at the head of the table. "You may leave and prepare yourself for the journey. Be sure to secure a new talisman for yourself from the requisitioners before you leave." He gestures at the chord lying on the table.

  I nod and thank the Circle for hearing me, then leave the room without a second glance.

  Thank you, Light, I think to myself as I step out into the dimly-lit hall. Now, please guide us so that this mission is a success.

  With that, I begin making my way to my dormitory, thoughts turning like the wheels of a carriage.

  There is still so much to do, and so little time to do it all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Owyn

  No birds chirp with the coming of the rising sun – the city is devoid of wildlife, an enormous labyrinth of stone filled with people. Instead, the first light of day is accompanied by the sounds of industry, of pinging hammers and horse hooves on cobblestone.

  Rolling out of bed, I quickly go about my daily routines. Dawn’s light filters through the window as I do pushups on the floor, working my muscles in a steady, methodical manner. Next, I head over to the chamber pot and wash basin, relieving myself and splashing water on my face. Refreshed, I begin dressing myself, pulling on my leather tunic and throwing my ranger cloak around my shoulders. Then, after grabbing my weapons, I make my way into the hall, chewing on the crusty heel of a loaf of bread and still blinking the sleep from my eyes.

  I find Zara and the other mages gathering in the courtyard of the Academy, their blue robes resplendent in the light of the rising sun. Porters are bringing out the horses already saddled, along with a steady stream of supplies which are wrapped, packaged and ready for transport.

  “You’re finally up,” Zara says with a wry smile. “Sleep in?”

  I grunt in response, looking around at the dozens of mages and stewards milling about. “I take it you were able to convince the Circle to aid us?”

  “Of course,” she responds lightly. “Deep down, they know that this is the only way. There is twenty of them in total, which, if my estimations are correct, should be enough for us to create the artifice.”

  Glancing down, I see that her hand is covered in a thick layer of bandages. “How is your hand?” I ask, voice brimming with concern.

  “Fine,” she replies quickly, snatching the hand away and stuffing it into a pocket on her robes. “No permanent damage was done. It should heal perfectly in no time at all.”

  I do not reply, but instead nod, taking in a fresh breath of morning air. This late in the season, the temperature should be bitterly cold, the air biting and frigid. Instead, it is lukewarm at best, with a promise of heat coming later in the day.

  Unnatural, that.

  “We’ll be taking a secret tunnel out of the city,” she says at length, accepting the reins of a white spotted mare from a porter passing by. “The Heartlands are crawling with roaming bands of demons, and the refugees have already begun their migration to Dunmar City. In order to move quickly and avoid detection, we will be travelling underground.”

  I look at her, frowning. “Underground? I did not know such a tunnel existed.”

  “Neither did I,” she admits, patting the horse affectionately on the neck. “Apparently, it was created so the royal family could escape if the city was ever besieged. It lets out in the Heartlands, in a small village called Emonstead.”

  “Fine by me,” I say simply, taking the reins to a brown gelding from another porter. "It'll be nice to travel without fear of being attacked by demons for a change."

  At a sign from Roth, the new High Magus, we all mount up and begin riding out of the courtyard, clopping into the city proper and toward the western wall. Of the twenty mages who are accompanying us, I only recognize a few, and even then I do not know their names. Still, I am grateful that Zara is with me, her companionship filling me with a familiar warmth despite the gravity of our mission.

  She is my entire world, now, I think, glancing over at her while we ride. Her eyes, large and intelligent, stare ahead in determination, riding atop an animal that she used to mistrust and fear. Her chestnut hair streams behind her in the breeze, and as we continue on, I cannot help but marvel at the slender shape of her body, the way her legs grip the saddle with a delicate yet practiced strength.

  Hells, she’s beautiful. Somehow, I need to let her know.

  “Promises and vows,” I whisper to myself as I ride, remembering the words she had said to me that night in the wastes. “That’s what she said we need... promises and vows.”

  Eventually, we reach a small butcher’s shop in the western quarter of the city, an old yet sturdy building constructed of thick timbers and stone. Elias and Tamara are there, along with General Mohr and a handful of other dignitaries.

  Here to see us off, I think, pulling my hose to a stop. Pity that Talon didn’t come to say goodbye. He’s probably sleeping off a terrible headache right now.

  We dismount and approach the group, mages leading their horses laden with packs and supplies.

  “Good, you’ve arrived,” Elias states with his typical gruffness, giving Zara and I each a nod. “This is where you will be leaving. The tunnel beneath this building goes northwest for about a day’s walk and will deposit you into the Heartlands.”

  “Scout reports came in just before dawn,” Mohr adds, his gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “The R’Laar are even closer than we thought. They will be within striking distance of the city before nightfall. This route should be the safest way for you to get clear of them.”

  “Excellent,” Zara says formally, speaking on behalf of our entire group. “Thank you, general.”

  “These mages are under your command, Seeker,” Roth says, coming up to stand beside her. His usually dour face seems softer today, his eyes regarding her with a strange mixture of concern and hope. “The fate of the entire kingdom rides with you, and our thoughts and prayers ride with you as well.”

  “We’ll hold off the blighters as long as possible,” Mohr says, a small smile cracking his expression like a broken stone. “They’ll pay for every inch of ground they take in this city. But do your best to move swiftly. Time lost is the same as lives lost, the way I see it.”

  “We trust you,” Tamara puts in softly. Then, she levels her blue stare at me. “Take care of her, ranger. Take care of them all.”

  “I will,” I reply, setting my jaw firmly.

  “Is there anything else you would ask of u
s before you go?” Elias asks, looking over the two of us like a father looking over his own two children.

  Zara glances at me and shrugs. “I don’t think so, Protector.”

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head. Then, I add, “We’ll not fail you.”

  He nods, as if this was the only answer he expected. “Well then, if there’s nothing else, then–”

  “Wait!” Cries a heavily accented voice. All of us turn to see Yari, Kanik and Vas, three of the youths from the wastelander camp, swiftly approaching with a peeved-looking Nightingale in tow. All of them carry spears resting against their shoulders and wear mismatched leather armor over their coarse, outlandish clothing.

  “I’m sorry, my lord Protector,” the Nightingale growls, addressing Elias. “These desert-dwellers convinced us to let them in, saying they had an urgent message for the ranger Owyn.”

  “It’s alright,” Elias says, his face impassive yet mildly curious. “Let them speak.”

  “Yari?” I ask as they approach us. “What are you doing here?”

  As one, the three youths kneel down before us, laying their spears on the cobbles and bowing their heads in deference. Yari begins to speak in his odd wastelander tongue, and I look to Zara for a translation.

  She frowns. “He says that his people have begun moving north with the other refugees, and that the rest of his fellow fighters are going with them as protection. He says that he, Kanik and Vas will not abandon the war leader Owyn, and that they will gladly die defending him.” She glances over at me and her frown deepens. “That’s all.”

  I approach the kneeling young men and crouch down before them, prompting all three of them to look up at me. “Thank you for coming,” I say, speaking slowly, “but we will be going fast on horseback, and may not return at all. You cannot come with us.”

  Yari, defiant as ever, looks me in the eye. “Horse... no fear. We practice...” he trails off and mutters something that sounds like a curse, then turns to Zara and begins speaking quickly in his own language.