Thorne Grey and the City of Darkness

by Farrell Keeling

  *

  She approached the body and kneeled, lifting her veil, so she could see into his eyes unimpeded.

  ‘Oh Zaine,’ she said caressing a bandaged cheek. He felt so cold.

  She closed her eyes and quietly wept. A gold tear running from each eye, down her cheeks and falling onto the warrior’s chest, disappearing in his skin.

  The red in his veins receded up to his shoulders, forming two writhing circles of red by his neck.

  She kissed his forehead. ‘It is time,’ she murmured ‘Daruvai–Huntarum.’

  The woman then gently lowered Zaine’s head to the ground staring at him quietly for a short while before dropping her veil and then leaving.

  She turned back to face the warrior and smiled under her veil. ‘Be at peace,’ she whispered.

  Chapter 20

  The man hugged his overcoat tight to his body, as he observed the view before him. A landscape shrouded by darkening cloud, with only the snow–capped mountains rising up through the dense mist and the fog.

  He was almost on top of the world.

  If he slipped now he would be falling for hours. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the thrill of the fall – the whistle of the wind in his ears, his coat flapping as it fought against the air. The exhilaration, the sheer ecstasy.

  A strange rustle behind him, the man whipped round, sword held before him. There was nothing but a few bushes and other scarce spots of vegetation.

  Curious... He swore he could have heard something...

  The man sheathed his sword and returned to his view.

  Something stepped out into the snow.

  He turned again and jumped. There was something shining brightly behind one of the bushes... a translucent shade of blue...

  It padded slowly to him and then stopped an inch away looking up innocently into his bright silver eyes.

  The ghostly image of a beast with a lion’s body from head to midsection, the other half was that of a bear. It had a tail like a serpent, with a club shaped head that had numerous large spikes attached to it. In its midsection were two magnificent wings that were folded to its sides.

  The man crouched down and looked into its eyes.

  The beast regarded him coolly and then opened its jaw, revealing a set of large fangs, and roared. The words that reached the man’s ears, however, were resoundingly human.

  ‘Daruvai-Huntarum!’

  A series of images burst into the man’s mind, clawing their way through his mental barriers and rooting themselves deep into his memory.

  He could see a man lying on blood–spattered ground, a woman kneeling beside him, her head lying on his chest. She was wearing a beautiful maroon dress with overlapping layers of silk at the bottom. He did not know her... but the other, he did.

  The man took an involuntary step backwards, almost slipping on the ice behind him.

  ‘Zaine,’ he whispered.

  The beast closed its mouth, shaking its fur once before fading into the white background.

  The man stood stock–still, shocked by what he’d seen. ‘Zaine,’ he repeated to himself in surprise, ‘Zaine.’

  His face hardened, ‘I’m going to kill the fool.’

  *

  Thorne burst into the tavern, the slam of the door behind him causing him to jump and attract the attention of the people inside. He blushed and hung his head, as he walked up to the counter.

  ‘Evenin’ friend,’ said the bartender. A middle-aged man with a grimy face, thick facial hair and an eye-patch, ‘what can I getcha’?’

  ‘A room,’ said Thorne, rummaged into his robes and drawing out five silver coins, which he placed in the man’s outstretched hand.

  The innkeeper grinned and dropped them into the front pocket of his apron with a metallic clink.

  ‘Which one?’ the man scratched his head.

  ‘Whatever you have.’

  The man frowned at Thorne, shrugged and then pointed to the right of the counter to a rather battered staircase, one of the banisters completely ripped off and lying beside.

  ‘Thank you,’ Thorne said, trudging off.

  ‘Stay as long as you like, friend!’ the eye-patched bartender barked to him up the stairs.

  Thorne nodded but didn’t turn around. Guilt-ridden thoughts plagued his mind as he walked up the staircase. Zaine…

  It was all his fault…

  He reached the top of the stairs coming to small corridor with three doors, each covered with notches in the wood. The middle door was slightly ajar, so he grasped the crude handle and pushed. As soon as he stepped inside, a hand came seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing him by the shoulder and hauling him further in.

  Thorne went flying and landed with a grunt on a bed. ‘What the–’

  ‘Shh,’ the man said and closed the door behind him and locked it with a key.

  The man turned back to him and smiled pleasantly, ‘I mean you no harm,’ He wore a hooded black travelling cloak and matching black trousers, and Thorne noticed that the man wore no shoes.

  The stranger had a large moustache that curled across the top of his lip and fell down the sides of his chin. He had long mangy hair that reached his shoulders, a heavily wrinkled brow and hard, weary eyes. But what shocked Thorne was the man’s wolfish grin which revealed a prominent set of sparkling white, deadly sharp teeth; the incisors, in particular, were far larger than they ought to be.

  ‘Hello, Thorne,’ the man bowed, ‘My name is MakVarn and I’d like just a few minutes of your time. I believe I have an interesting proposition for you.’

  Thorne edged back on the bed his breathing rate increasing. This couldn’t be happening…

  ‘Lycan!’ Thorne gasped.

  *

  ‘Just think about it,’ MakVarn said opening the door, ‘You’re not obliged to do it; it’s entirely your choice.’

  Thorne gaped at the man. He couldn’t believe what he’d just been told, it was pure insanity.

  ‘Still think you’re dreaming eh?’ the man chuckled.

  Thorne nodded.

  ‘Well… we’ll meet again I imagine and perhaps you’ll have an answer for me then?’

  Thorne didn’t answer. The man shrugged and walked out of the room without another word or glance at the Warlock.

  Thorne listened to the sound of the man’s footsteps as they receded on the staircase then dashed to lock the door. Thorne groaned and then threw himself onto the bed, face first. It was all madness. A Lycan, an actual Lycan, or so he had inferred from the man’s wolfish appearance. Certainly, his offer had all but confirmed it. What was he going to do? It seemed completely and utterly ridiculous, what the man had asked him. There was no way in hell he was going to–

  There was a gentle tap at the door, which interrupted Thorne’s thoughts. Wearily, Thorne unlocked the door and opened it a few centimetres; enough to be able to peer down the corridor.

  In the shadows, Thorne could see the outline of a hulking man, with shining eyes. ‘Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise,’ said an all too familiar voice.

  *

  ‘You were a fool to believe I would never find out,’ the Shadow said, with barely suppressed rage, as he paced around the cabin.

  The Baron lay, stapled to the table in his cabin by two daggers through his shoulders.

  ‘My lord, I–’

  ‘I gave you one task, Baron. One task,’ the Shadow boomed. Each word resonating around the cabin, causing the remaining coins on the floor to rattle. ‘A task so gloriously simple and yet you still failed in it.’

  ‘My lord, but…’ he groaned.

  ‘Even after you had so miserably failed, you did not report to me.’ The Shadow’s voices descended to a deathly whisper, ‘no. Instead you then decided to go completely against my plans and arrange the Warlock’s death.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord!’ the Baron whimpered.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you are. Now.’

  He looked up to see the Shadow standing over him, tall, dominant
and oppressive.

  ‘Just kill me then,’ the Baron spat.

  The Shadow chuckled and then clapped his hands. A second later the Baron’s two servants, the wiry Tim and burly Tom appeared. They both sported a number of bruises and cuts but had large grins on their faces.

  ‘Mr.Shadow, sir,’ Tim and Tom bowed.

  The Shadow handed them an open scroll without paying a glance at the pair and then folded his hands behind his back. Tim scan-read the scroll and winced, ‘ouch. That’s going to hurt quite a bit!’

  ‘Oooooh!’ Tom chipped in brutishly.

  ‘What? What’s going on?’ the Baron demanded, his head moving frantically between the Shadow, his two former servants, and the scroll, ‘what’s going to hurt?’

  The Shadow ignored the Baron and then turned to the two servants, handing each a bulging bag. ‘Don’t worry about leaving a mess, this place is ruined anyway…’

  ‘Shadow! I’ve been a faithful servant,’ the Baron shouted desperately.

  ‘Indeed. Thank you for your service,’ said the Shadow, as he placed his gloves back on his hands and walked out of the ruined cabin. Away from the ascending screams of agony and into the night.

  Chapter 21

  ‘Did you miss me?’ Zaine asked, smiling weakly.

  ‘It’s not possible…’ Thorne muttered, stepping back, ‘It can’t be you…’

  ‘Why can’t it be me?’

  ‘The man was right – I am dreaming.’

  Zaine chuckled, took a step forward and flicked Thorne on the forehead.

  ‘Ow!’ Thorne growled, rubbing his head furiously.

  He looked up into the man’s eyes. Zaine… Thorne rushed forward and hugged his friend.

  ‘Zaine!’ Thorne said, into his chest.

  ‘The very same,’ Zaine chuckled, but then with a startled gasp he dropped to a knee and grasped his shoulders, his fingers rubbing against the odd red circles.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Thorne said, trying to drag and half carry the Swordsman into the room. The feeling of enormous relief replaced instantly by worry.

  ‘It’s alright,’ Zaine grunted, pulling himself up with the door frame and, with Thorne’s help, staggering to the bed. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You’re clearly not,’ Thorne retorted, ‘and what are those?’ He pointed at the odd marks on Zaine’s shoulders.

  Zaine closed his eyes, and through gritted teeth replied, ‘don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it?’ Thorne cried, ‘are you out of your mind?’

  Zaine shrugged, painfully.

  ‘But… I don’t understand… you’re alive…’

  ‘To be honest I thought you’d be happy with that little fact.’

  ‘No! I am, I just…’ Thorne gulped guiltily, ‘I thought I killed you.’

  ‘Well you obviously didn’t.’

  ‘Zaine… I lifted you off the ground… and then…’ Thorne’s voice faded, ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘I dealt with the assassins, and then…. This happened.’

  ‘Assassins?’ Thorne blurted in disbelief.

  ‘Yes… Sent by the Baron I think,’ Zaine grunted, and then threw himself to the side of the bed and retched violently.

  He grabbed Thorne’s hand and pulled him forward, the Warlock’s body suddenly jolting forward. ‘They... they are coming,’ he said. the Swordsman’s voice coming out as a rasp from his throat.

  ‘Who are coming?’ Thorne whispered.

  ‘My kind,’ Zaine replied, closing his eyes, his fingers loosening around Thorne’s arm as he slipped from consciousness. The man’s hand dropped and fell beside his heavily sweating body, just as one last word slipped from his lips.

  ‘Hunter.’

  What in Ozin’s name is a Hunter?

  Thorne edged back towards the chair in the corner of the room and dropped onto it, exhausted, and fell asleep.

  Less than an hour later, Thorne awoke with a start, and jumped up immediately. Zaine was still asleep. So, Thorne collapsed back into the chair.

  Zaine said they would be coming... His own kind. His last word kept running through his head. ‘Hunter.’ What did he mean by that?

  *

  Thorne awoke suddenly and jumped to his feet. He could hear raised voices coming from downstairs in the tavern. What was going on? Thorne rushed to the door and eased it open as quietly as possible, glancing nervously behind at the Hunter. Seeing that he was still asleep, Thorne tiptoed to the stairs, pausing at the top of the staircase to view the scene below.

  Surrounded by a ring of spectators, which parted at the till where the bartender stood trembling was a man with bright silver eyes, a sleeveless overcoat and a shock of blond hair. Thorne gasped. It had to be another Hunter, and Thorne could have sworn he’d seen him before.

  ‘I was summoned here,’ the Hunter said, his voice was smooth like Zaine’s but more... boyish, bearing a sort of cheeky, playful tone but still commanding like Zaine.

  ‘You got no summons from me, demon,’ the bartender gulped.

  Demon? Thorne frowned. He looked no less a man than Zaine did.

  The Hunter took a step forward, his face coming under the light, so Thorne could see his face. The man’s youth much belied the sheer confidence that resonated from his voice. But unlike Zaine, he had no bandages...

  ‘I am not a fool, I received a summons for help and I know it’s for one of my kind,’ the man growled, ‘now where is he?’

  The innkeeper gulped again but did not answer and then suddenly one of the crowd of men around the Hunter leapt forward with a yell and threw a fist. Without looking, the Hunter caught the man’s fist in his hand, twisted it, causing the brawler to scream, and then threw the man over his shoulder and against the bar. With an almost simultaneous series of metallic scrapes, the men drew out their battered daggers, thrusting them out in front of them, encircling the lone Hunter in a ring of steel and iron.

  The Hunter laughed and drew out his long sword, twirling it skilfully in his hands, so it became merely a blur in the air. ‘Really, there are only ten of you?’ he said.

  Several of the men dropped their daggers and ran out of the door. The others quickly backed away from the reach of the sword, sheathed their daggers, and held their hands up. When the Hunter was satisfied, he sheathed his sword, giving it an appreciative pat.

  Suddenly, his eyes snapped to the top of the stairs and Thorne.

  The Warlock froze and before he could move the Hunter had leapt up the stairs and grab him by the scruff of his neck.

  ‘Well hello, Warlock,’ the man greeted him, ‘you’re rather young to be so far from home, aren’t you?’

  ‘I have to go,’ Thorne replied, but the Hunter would not release him.

  ‘Not so fast, Warlock,’ the blonde Hunter said. ‘You see, Zaine was not the only person I saw in my vision, I also saw a young Warlock and... another, a rather strange woman.’

  Thorne paled. What had the man seen?

  ‘I know he’s here, so you might as well tell me.’

  ‘Why? What do you plan to do to him?’ Thorne said, pulling himself free from the Hunter and backing along the corridor.

  ‘An interesting question. What do you think I’ll do to him?’

  ‘I think I’d rather not take the risk.’

  The man chuckled and unsheathed his sword, pointing the tip at Thorne’s throat. It needed to move only a few inches to sever his head.

  ‘Zaine, Warlock, has been branded a traitor of my people, he was banished several years ago, commanded to never return or summon another Hunter’s help.’

  Thorne’s eyes widened.

  ‘A traitor?’

  ‘Yes, he was branded so by our great leader, Zolft,’ the man said, emphasizing the word great with what seemed like sarcasm.

  Thorne gulped, ‘so... you’re here to...’

  ‘He was banished, and the price for breaking his sentence is death,’ the blonde Hunter replied.

&nbs
p; Death. The word rung around Thorne’s ears. The man was going to kill Zaine!

  ‘You can’t!’ Thorne said, immediately regretting his sudden bravery.

  The man sighed and removed the blade from Thorne’s throat, placing his sword back in its sheathe.

  ‘Do not worry,’ he smiled grimly, ‘fortunately for Zaine, I am a friend. So, tell me, where is my kinsman?’

  *

  The Hunter traced his fingers across the red circles on Zaine’s shoulders which had begun to increase in size since Thorne had last seen them.

  ‘Zaine,’ the Hunter whispered, ‘It’s me, Dez.’

  Dez... Thorne frowned and then looked in surprise at the man, suddenly realizing where he’d seen the Hunter before. It was when he and Zaine were fighting the Blissgiver and it changed form. How odd now that he was seeing the real thing.

  Zaine stirred, muttering incoherently, but his eyes did not open.

  The man sighed and turned to Thorne. ‘It is as I thought – the banishing is close to reaching its final stage…’

  Zaine grunted, his body convulsing briefly on the bed, causing Thorne to jump and then he was silent.

  ‘The banishing?’ Thorne said.

  Dez looked at Thorne incredulously. ‘He never told you?’

  Thorne shook his head.

  ‘Zaine… He’s dying. Or at least, his health has been deteriorating for over a year now.’

  ‘Because of this?’ Thorne pointed at the marks on Zaine’s shoulders.

  ‘Yes, exactly so, a banishing is the worst punishment we can dish out to our own people. It’s… controversial to say the least. It… changes you.’

  ‘What do you mean, ‘changes’?’

  The man shook his head, ‘never mind that now, we need to get him out of here.’

  Thorne looked at Zaine. His skin had turned deathly pale and his veins had become more pronounced under his skin.

  ‘There’s only one place we can take him,’ Dez said, ‘and quite frankly, it’s as much an unhealthy choice for him as it would be to just leave him here.’