by Levi Samuel
Hurried footsteps echoed through the fortress of Shadgull. Servants, advisers, and lords alike turned toward the entrance of the great hall in search of the commotion.
A scrawny messenger entered the room, running as fast as his feet could carry him. His brow was drenched in sweat and his tunic flopped from the movement. "Master Remle! Master Remle!" He shouted across the chamber, continuing toward the seated lord.
"What is it Reginald? Catch your breath." Remle looked upon the man. His messenger’s excitement was never this vocal. Something big must have happened. Remle only hoped it wasn’t news of the dreu breaking their defenses. Such a feat would prove disastrous. He deferred suspect, patiently awaiting him to continue.
Out of breath, Reginald came to a stop at the base of the dais and bowed awkwardly. "Master Remle— The Coalition of Countries has decreed that you are to be crowned Baron of Dalmoura. They're on their way here now to deliver the coronet." He panted heavily, unable to contain himself.
"Baron is it? Well, I suppose we should prepare for their arrival." Remle clapped his hands, giving the silent order.
Servants went to work preparing the throne room for a banquet.
“You're dismissed, Reginald. Stop by the kitchen and get yourself a meal and drink.”
The messenger bowed a second time, holding position. “Thank you, My Lord.” Reginald stood and turned to leave.
Remle listened to the footsteps softly approaching his right side. A familiar voice flowed forth.
“Baron or not, are you sure it’s wise to hold celebration when our outlying towns are being attacked?” Erik made his way around the dais, stopping in front of the throne. His freshly pressed silver and blue tunic sparkled in the beaming sunlight through the overhead windows.
“My son, you’ll learn one of these days that even the most dedicated soldier needs time to unwind every now and then. A man fed on duty alone, while valuable, will eventually fall prey to his passions. In simpler terms, a man pushed too hard will deteriorate over time, leaving the shadow of the man he once was.”
“Forgive me, Father. But I don't believe it wise to leave such things to chance. Keep the men happy, yes. But why push them to that point when there are other options?”
“To what options are you referring? We're at war. The only options we have are to fight or flee. And I've too much invested in this land to simply abandon it. My father, and my father's father, and his father before him sat upon this throne. As will you, one day. It's our job to ensure our people have a safe home. That's what it means to be a hero. Heroes Gate wasn't built by the men from the north. It was built by us, by our bloodline. When the options were much as they are now. Our ancestors chose to stand and fight, that's the only reason we have this home. That's what being a leader is all about, Son. It's choosing to build a shield so your people have the protection they deserve.”
“I understand. But what if we find a trinket? One that will help.”
“What kind of trinket?” Remle stared at his son. He clearly wasn’t ready for the throne. Chasing such foolish notions of magic treasures was proof enough.
“I've heard rumor of a dagger that has the ability to give its owner unlimited power. Something like that could ensure the kingdom’s survival throughout the ages.” Erik reached into his pouch, retrieving a worn piece of parchment.
“Son, sometimes I fear my position here has clouded your understanding of the common man. Magic is not the answer. It has its uses from time to time, yes, but it’s not us. We come from simple folk. To go gallivanting off on some crusade for some dagger that probably doesn’t even exist would place our lands in further turmoil. Especially now that the dreu attacks have moved so close to our front door.” Remle pulled his golden locks into a tail and tied it off. “Think on it, Son. I'm sure you'll find the answers you're searching for.” Remle placed his crown atop his head and signaled the steward.
An aged man approached, wearing nobleman's garments of the house colors. “Yes, My Lord?”
“Have the stable boy prepare my horse. I feel like going for a ride.”
Erik glanced at the crumpled sketch of the wavy dagger. Taking a deep breath, he wadded it up and stuffed it back into his pouch. One day, old man. One day I’ll have the crown and you’ll listen to what I have to say.
Shadows darted through the darkness, dancing in and out of each other. The clanking of swords echoed off the mossy cavern walls. Hundreds of dreualfar swarmed, trying to get at the trespassing figures amidst their ranks
"You'd think you'd insulted their mothers with the way they're coming at us." Ravion complained through labored breaths, deflecting another blow from the constant barrage.
"I did!" Gareth laughed. The spike on the bottom of his shield was planted, holding firm against the wave of dreualfar. Swinging his mace wildly, the large warrior knocked the encroaching mass away from him.
The two battled with an unnatural presence against the seemingly unlimited number.
Ravion yelled across the clank of swords, knocking the attacking blows away. "Do you ever think before you make your presence known? I mean, it's not like we're out numbered or anything!" Sarcasm was heavy in the air. He countered for another strike.
Gareth bashed the head of another dreualfar, spinning to look at his friend. "Usually? — No, it doesn't matter how many there are. I'm gonna to kill every last one of em'."
"And me along with them." Ravion retorted.
"Nah, you're too pretty to fall to these ugly bastards." Gareth chuckled, tightening the grip on his shield. He yanked the spike free, kicking the metal barrier outward. It collided with his closest attackers, launching them into the approaching sea. Several other rushed forward, filling the void created by the swipe. Gareth stabbed the bottom mounted spike back into the ground, making sure it was set. He dropped his mace, letting it swing from the leather strap around his wrist. Reaching under his shield, he pulled a clay flask from its leather band. "You may want to shield your eyes, pretty boy!"
Ravion sliced through three dreualfar at once. The words echoed into recognition, telling him what was about to happen. He swiped wide, letting the dreualfar easily deflect the feint. They got tangled and fell into one another, buying him a brief moment. Using the distraction to his advantage, Ravion fell back, covering his face with the baggy sleeve of his shirt.
Gareth squeezed the hardened clay, feeling if crack beneath his grip. He threw the weakened container as hard as he could, watching it disappear into the sea of black-skinned monsters. Wasting no time, he ducked behind his shield and covered his eyes.
A bright light erupted, revealing hundreds of dreualfar in the wide cavern hall. The explosion incinerated those closest to it, burning them to a crisp in mere seconds. Several others screamed in pain, trying to escape the lingering discharge. Those furthest scrambled to escape the effects, fearing another blast.
Popping up from behind his shield, Gareth swung his mace, bashing the stunned few in front of him. They tumbled to the ground in their death throes, their blinded senses rendering them unable to defend.
Ravion glanced into the rapidly darkening cave, seeing the dreualfar retreat. He lowered his blade, but kept it at the ready. It wasn't like them to flee, unless they took out the command. Which was possible. The sunstones were vicious.
Gareth lowered his weapon, securing it to his waist. Slinging the shield to his back, he glanced over at Ravion. A big smile clung to his face. "That was fun!"
Ravion sheathed his sword and pulled his dagger from one of the dead dreualfar. "Next time I suggest we find a spot a little easier to defend." He stepped over the piles of scorched bodies, making his way toward the blast site. The numbers were thinned drastically, leaving charred remains at the center. Little more than crumpled ash littered the worn floors where the broken flask rested. “It seems the sunstones are effective.” He studied the distance, silently judging the damage the simple device had inflicted. It was nearly too much to consider morally right. Such a tool needed
to be regulated. Shaking his head at the destruction he stepped over the remains and continued down the passageway, leaving Gareth to claim his ears.
"Aye, good thing too. I wasn't sure how much longer we could hold out, if they hadn't." Gareth replied, beginning his ritual.
A partial moon could occasionally be seen through the rolling clouds but it was much too sporadic to count on. Tonight, it was the stars that lit the darkened world. They seemed brighter than usual, glowing through the heavens and illuminating the surface. Tonight, those tiny little dots in the night sky were all that pierced the veil.
Kane stood at the forest's edge, watching the eastern road. It was the quickest path to Evinwood and his brothers were due back any minute. He heard a twig snap from the shadows beyond his vision. Instinctively, he placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready for any threat that might present itself.
Malakai and Krenin stepped into sight. The swashbuckler held the look of annoyance, while the half-orc wore a smile. He clearly didn't mind the journey. Spotting the young warrior, patiently awaiting them, they quickly made for the town’s edge.
Kane watched them cross the clearing. He wanted to wait for them to get closer before speaking. There was no sense in sharing information with any bystanders. "I assume your meeting with Aldulrien went as expected?"
"Not quite." Malakai replied. "But we spoke with his captain. They’re with us. Though I couldn't help but feel that decision was made prior to our arrival." He stopped in front of the templar.
"We'll count that as a lucky blessing. It's good they're willing to help. This war is going to be a great trial for us all. I'm pleased our allies have enough sense to realize that."
Malakai nodded. “Aye. That is good.” He reached out, laying his hand on Kane's armored shoulder. "Now, my brother, Krenin and I must prepare for these trials— at the tavern." His smirk was accentuated by his coiled mustache. Dropping his arm, he stepped past the armored warrior and followed the road.
Krenin followed in silence, letting his closest friend speak for him.
Kane turned to watch them leave. "Your devotion to duty is admiral, gentlemen."
Malakai spun around, correcting his step to walk backward. "As is my devotion to you, so— if you require anything, anything at all. I'll be in the tavern, fortifying myself with a drink and a woman. Maybe two of each." He gave a knowing wink. Spinning around, Malakai returned to his proper footing and caught up with the half-orc who had passed him when he spun.
Kane shook his head, watching his brothers disappear into the small city. Marbayne wasn’t overly large, but it had all the pleasantries one could hope for. Were he less duty bound, perhaps he could enjoy the simplicity the tavern offered, the pleasures his friends sought. But as it were, he was sworn to valor. He couldn't afford such luxuries. A cool evening chill ran down his spine. Shaking it from himself, he glanced into the darkness, feeling something amiss. The dreualfar were known for their ability to hide in the shadows. But this was something different, something closer. He rubbed the chill off his arms, watching the steam roll from his breath. Not finding anything, Kane exhaled, hoping the feeling would leave soon. It was getting late and he needed to get some rest.
Stepping onto the road leading back toward the gate, Kane felt a lingering presence around him. Like he was being watched. Ignoring it, he made the short walk, seeming to take longer than ever. Reaching the city walls, Kane passed through, making sure the guards were at their station. Everything was underway. He had no reason to fret.
Unable to shake the feeling, Kane navigated the small city, glancing up the hill to the keep at the apex, accented by the mountains in the background. He followed the winding road to a large portcullis. Passing through, a sense of dread washed over him. Whispers echoed in the darkness, calling out. The unknown presence lingered at the base of his neck. A voice rank in his ear.
“You need the jewel of Shadgull. You should take it. Claim it for yourself.”
Kane’s gaze darted, searching for the speaker. It was an eerie voice, almost a nefarious whisper.
“Don’t be a coward! It’s yours, take it. Take it back!”
“I'll do no such thing!”
“My Lord?”
Kane stared into the face of one of the guards, his green and black tabard proudly displayed over his armor. “My apologies.” Passing through the archway, he stepped into the keep.
“If you won’t take it, I’ll just have to take it for you!”
“Get out of my head!”
Servants stared blankly at him. Their gaze interrogating, judgmental.
Abandoning the main corridors, Kane darted down the side hall and stepped into the hidden passage that lead to the upper levels. Quickly skirting the guards and servants, he stepped from behind a tapestry and into the living quarters. Finding his room, Kane stripped his armor and draped it over the empty stand. Laying down, he could no longer deny the voice was in his head. He was all alone, and yet it persisted. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes. The coming days were going to be challenging. Suggestive voices wouldn’t make it any easier.
The waist high grass brushed against his thick, black breeches. He darted across the fields of Shadgull at an unnatural pace, refusing to tire. His silver chainmail and studded, black leather reflected the moonlight, popping in and out of shadow like a mirage. His heavy, black cloak floated on the breeze, carried by his rapid pace.
Lythus shot across the open field, unseen by any in the starless night. Only a partial moon lit the way, hiding all but the keenest of sight. Reaching the forest, he stepped in and traveled down a deep ravine. The river bend cut through the center, leaving steep, muddy banks on both sides.
He slowed at the crossing, staring at the waters below. It wasn't deep by any means, but the night was young. There was no sense in getting wet so early. Summoning himself, he brought his arms back and threw himself across, letting the outstretched cloak catch as much air as possible.
His boots collided and sank into the slick bank on the others side. Stabbing toes inward, Lythus kicked and pulled himself from the ditch. Voices carried in the breeze, spoken in hushed tones. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but the tone said plenty. Slowly approaching, like a shadow in the night, he moved ever closer.
A soft glow flickered in the trees. He could see several figures sitting around the fire. A motley crew, they were. Comprised of orcs and men. Even a few goblins and a half-troll sat among their number. These were the men he sought. Lost, lonely, nothing but a few coins to their name.
Lythus slowly crept toward the fire, careful not to alert anything or anyone to his presence. Studying them, it was clear one of the humans led them. He, still being a bandit by appearance, was dressed nicer than the rest. His sword was polished, and his boots were clean. If this weren't enough evidence, the others ate every word he spoke.
Convinced of his target, Lythus stalked forward, making his way around the camp. Hidden by shadow, he approached, taking position behind his unsuspecting prey. Choosing his words carefully, they echoed menacingly from the darkness. "With a group such as this, you might be a little more cautious. If I’d desired your death I would have already claimed it."
The human jumped, reaching for his sword. To his surprise, it was in the cloaked figure's hand.
The many creatures around the fire jumped to their feet, ready to attack if called to action.
"Who are you?" The human thief demanded, trying to peak under the hood.
"No one of import. I’m here to offer something you desire. Unless you're not the fabled Zanthin, Master of Thieves, I've heard so much about." Lythus mocked.
"You've found the right guy. But you have yet to tell me what you have to offer." Zanthin replied. He was intrigued, but the shadow’s demeanor left him feeling uneasy.
"Money, power, women— pretty much anything you desire. I have the ability to make it happen." Lythus flipped the stolen sword around, handing it over, pommel first. "Let's sit and discuss your future.
"
The brigand king took his sword, returning it to its sheath. Carefully, he sat, unsure if he could trust the cloaked man or not.
Seeing their leader sit, the others returned to their rest.
"It seems you’re having a bit of trouble getting around the patrols and eluding the guards of this area." Lythus stated knowingly.
Picking his words carefully, Zanthin replied. "It would seem. Every time we set an ambush we’re runoff by those stinkin’ guards."
Lythus chuckled at the man's choice of word. "Coming from you, they must smell horrible."
"Huh?"
"Never mind. What I’m offering is more than just know-how and training. With me, you can fill the pockets of every man under your banner." Lythus said smugly.
"And what would you ask in return?"
"Oh, very little really. I simply require you to come when I call. And believe me, when I call, it’ll be well worth your while."
Dark ichor dripped from the cavern walls onto the already soaked floor. Dozens of bodies littered the tunnel and even more were piled outside the carved archway.
Sweat dripped from the bald warrior, hunched over to remove an ear. Gareth stood, taking in the carnage around him. A prideful grin formed with the sight. He approached the entrance of the large room, blocked by one of the piles. Grabbing one of the dead dreualfar, he pulled, letting them topple down.
Ravion studied the numerous shelves standing freely about the room. The ancient constructs were petrified with time, seeming more like stone than wood. He ran his fingers over the items resting on them, each once unique in its own right. They varied in design and function, but shared one common bond. Each one was stolen and tucked away in the underground cache. Most of the trinkets were of little to no value, but the occasional treasure laid there collecting dust. He lifted a rather mundane looking chalice, inspecting the smoothed contours, free of design. It seemed out of place considering the ornate nature of the other items around him. Setting the cup back where it had been, he moved onto the next shelf, loaded with books. Grabbing one, he flipped to the center pages.
