Suddenly they shouted a single word with one accord, and a pillar of fire burst upward from the earth in the midst of the cloud surrounding the Urden’Dagg. After that, they lowered their arms and knelt in the ashes, though the dust did not soil their garments.
The pillar of fire spouted forth for a few minutes, and then, when all had been done as designed by the Urden’Dagg, it drained into the air and the cloud encompassing him dispersed with it. Diamoad stood with his arms still outspread, though tongues of flame now spouted from the chinks in his armor, and his eyes, once grey, were now burning with a deep red like the flames surrounding them. But the most amazing thing of all was the black wings that were outspread with his arms, like those of a dragon.
The Urden’Dagg closed his eyes after all had been done. “For granting me a portion of thy majesty, oh Illuminarri, I make this oath by the fires now invested in me!” he said aloud in prayer. “This world, when it has been restored back to the ashes that it was born out of, shall be ours to rule and reign over. No longer shalt thou be exiled from this realm, oh Watcher on the High Tower! Together, we shall have our revenge.”
After offering his prayer to the strange deity, Diamoad brought his sword before him and put it point first into the ashes, resting both his gauntleted hands on the pummel of its hilt. Fire rose up from the blade and licked at his already flaming hands.
He stayed still and quiet, waiting for an answer to his call, and he intended to stay there until he did.
But not long afterwards did he hear this voice in his head, saying, “Where shall we begin, Diamoad the Urden’Dagg?” it said like a harsh whisper of some haggard being of a dark and loathsome place. “Where shall we fulfill your promise of ash?”
Diamoad opened his eyes and beheld a strange creature standing between him and his priests as they continued to kneel. But the voice did not come from the demon before him, though he knew that it was acting as a spokesman for the Watcher himself.”
“We begin now,” Diamoad replied, “at the house of my father.”
Chapter 16
Doom upon All the World
Duoreod and his father stood by the balcony doors, which were left open so the king could watch as the city fell into an everlasting darkness. Not a darkness of night, for there were no more stars or even a moon to shine upon them, but a darkness so thick that a torches light would be quenched and even put out by it.
All that gave light was the fire that was coming toward them across the valley. They could see from the balcony that the forests of Heinsfar in the northern steppes were already burning, and that if the city of Valdorin still stood, it stood in fire.
All hope for protecting those people seemed lost.
“I know what must be done,” said Drelus as he stared out at the black land. It was midday, and yet all was in darkness. “The pinnacles of this city have stood as beacons of hope and protection to the world for as long as the world has existed. The Star of Muari can no longer be relied upon. If this city falls, it’d bring doom upon the entire world, and there will be no hope and no safety for these people when it does. I know what must be done; you must ride to the defense of this gate and let none oppress thee!”
“What of the people of Valdorin and Hemingway?” Duoreod protested. “What’s the point of having a symbol of hope if there is no one left to see it? Give me a hundred score of armed men on horses and I’ll ride north and secure those lands there, for the sake of the hope of this city. Please, father, you must understand!”
“I understand!” Drelus snapped angrily, and he looked impatiently at the young warrior. His eyes, however, softened as he realized he had spoken so needlessly. “Duoreod, you must not doubt for a single moment that I understand what is at risk here. I am old in the years of our people. I have walked when this world was still but ashes, and standing here, beholding what is about to come, I fear that I shall die in the ashes.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Duoreod, though, turned and stepped out onto the balcony. He leaned against the railing and sighed heavily, looking down at the tops of the domes beneath them, and then he coughed as he breathed in too much of the smoke.
Drelus came up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Remember, Duoreod, if you ever remember any of the things I have told you, fear is the only enemy we must ever face.”
“And who is afraid?” Duoreod said after he had coughed the smoke from his lungs. “You are afraid this city will fall just as I am afraid the men of Heinsfar will die while there is still strength left in my will to fight for them! If ever I was to die, father, I wish it to be while I am riding to the defense of a friend and comrade.”
Drelus took his hand from his shoulder and faced the storm. “If that is truly your wish, than by the will of Hannari I cannot hold you from it.” He looked sidelong at his son, who stood firm and resolute.
“It is my wish,” Duoreod replied.
“Then go,” Drelus said as he turned away again, “You have chosen your way, but do not look for me if you ever return. Do not look for the city that you thought you knew. Go, and let your conscience be at peace.”
Duoreod stood for a moment longer, almost hesitating. But then he straightened his shoulders and turned about, leaving his father and king alone on the balcony and went out the king’s chamber.
Drelus didn’t even look back to watch him go. Though as he heard his door close behind him, he felt his very heart break.
“You know I will find him, and yet you still send him away with the vain hope that he’ll escape my wrath.” The Urden’Dagg stepped onto the balcony with him, though he wore no sword or even armor. He was clothed in white robes, though they did not shine.
When Drelus said nothing, he continued. “So much death as the outcome of my wrath, so much destruction, and it all weighs on the heart of a single man. And whose fault do you think that is?” he asked, though Drelus did not answer. “I believe it to be the fault of a father who never considered his son to actually be his son.”
“Diamoad, I have always…”
“Do not call me that!” he screamed, forcing Drelus to remain silent still. “I am no more that name than I am your son. I have made a new name for myself, in the place of that empty title that you forced upon me, and I use this name for the purpose of reclaiming all that was once, could have been, and should be mine! You and your filthy lies drove me into an eternity of darkness, alone and abandoned by all that I loved. You shall pay the price of my burden, now.”
Drelus remained stalwart as he gazed across the rooftops of the citadels and dome structures, though heeding all of the words of his son. He looked down at the empty street descending from the doors of his own keep and saw the small figure of Duoreod making his way toward the husbandry.
Duoreod had no idea what was about to happen.
“So you will leave Duoreod out of this?” Drelus asked quietly, almost whispering.
Diamoad laughed at the question, mocking him. “Of course, he being such a fool that he is will involve himself as soon as he sees what I have done to him. He hungers for the power that the throne has to offer him now more than I have ever before. At this time I do not even care to have it, though only to see him suffer because of it.”
“Whatever you have come here to do,” Drelus said, “do it quickly. I tire of this world.”
Diamoad put out his hand and his whole personage changed in an instant. “I was once a king,” he said as his wings opened up above them, fire crackling from the gaps in his armor, and his red eyes burning brightly, “But since you have taken that from me, I am now a god!”
Drelus stood still as if unfazed by the transformation. “Only a god of evil,” he said evenly.
Diamoad snarled angrily and took him by the throat in one gauntleted hand, fire burning his skin under his grip, and lifted him from his feet. With his other hand he lifted his sword, a tongue of flame in his hand, and held it to his face.
“I am succeeding you, father!” he roared, and t
hen plunged the fiery sword downward.
Chapter 17
Blood and Wrath
Red lightning struck from the black heavens, destroying a fragment of the wall and killing several men in the process. Fire was already spreading beyond it, burning down the forests and the settlements with it, leaving the way before The Followers of the Urden’Dagg open for them to cross into their lands. But the men of the northern steppes would not give up their borders so easily, and those about the wall quickly ran to block the way that they had just blown asunder.
But the mages of The Followers put up their hands and, using the power granted to them by the continuous victory of the Urden’Dagg, chanted incantations of darker magic, turning a few of those men into vicious creatures that they called werewolves, a half man half wolf beast that murdered all that was in their sight.
Men screamed and ran for their lives at the sight of their companions turning into monsters, but others were caught in their sharp claws or fangs and torn.
Those who escaped were overrun by The Followers and slain.
A soldier of the valley pulled an arrow back on the string of his bow as he took aim at a group of Followers, but the bow and arrow were suddenly and unexpectedly pulled from his hands by an unknown source. He turned to see Neth’tek Vulzdagg throw the weapons to the ground and leap at him. With one scimitar, Neth’tek cut the man’s throat and let him fall to the earth.
He heard a shout and saw three more men coming at him, one slowing down and raising a bow with an arrow fixed upon him. Ducking to the side as the first arrow whistled passed him, Neth’tek put out his hand and muttered the same incantation he had used on the other man, and the bow was pulled from the archers hands as he was reaching for the next arrow.
Neth’tek let the bow fly passed as he engaged the two charging soldiers, parrying the nearest man’s overhand cut and then ducking below the other man’s forward lung. He whipped out his second duel blade and spun as he came up, cutting the thighs of the men on either side of him.
He continued his upward motion and even leaped into the air, throwing a foot at the armless archer who stood dumbfounded by what had just happened, and the man stumbled back with a bruised jaw. When he came back down, though, the two soldiers had stepped out of his reach and were waiting for him to land.
So he tossed his right scimitar into the air just before he landed on one knee, and reaching into his boot he whipped out a dagger which he threw into the furthest back of the two, and as he rose he caught his scimitar just before engaging the other.
The rest of The Followers came through the wall, following the wild werewolves that chased and slaughtered whatever man they saw. But the men of Heinsfar were reinforced by another battalion waiting up the road, and The Followers and werewolves ran passed Neth’tek and his battle to engage them.
The archer who Neth’tek had kicked in the face was slain by the passing Followers, but a man wielding a shield and a spear managed to slip through the Followers and charge Neth’tek from behind, while he was still busy with his battle.
However, Neth’tek heard him coming, even saw him out of the corner of his eye as he turned about in a seeming dance with the warrior of Heinsfar. He bided his time with the man he was battling; planning out in his mind for the brief moment that he had what maneuver he’d use to stop this man before he impaled him.
He had it, then, and right before the tip of the spear would have drove through his back, Neth’tek jumped up and bounced off the face of the swordsman. Everything seemed to slow down as he went into a complete backflip over the head of the spearman, and he landed easily on his feet, watching the man accidentally ram his spear into the swordsman.
The man let his spear go as the swordsman fell backward with it protruding out of his gut, and stood in complete bewilderment of what just happened. Neth’tek tapped him on the shoulder with his sword, and when the man spun round he felt his other sword drive through his stomach and out his back, his shield moving too slowly to deflect the hit.
“You’re dead,” Neth’tek said as he let the body slip from the sword and fall to the earth beside the other man. He looked around and saw the other men of the valley being driven away into the burning forest, flashes of red lightning continuing to fry the world.
He followed after them, eager to continue to fight, to get his revenge.
They moved on, breaching the final defenses before the walls of Valdorin herself.
Chapter 18
Unhappy Reunion
“Easy now,” Duoreod said to his horse as he struggled to maintain control of it. She kept tossing her head and whinnying, pulling against the reigns as if she were going to bolt. “What’s all the fuss about? The storm didn’t bother you before…”
A bolt of lightning struck the pinnacle of the kings’ citadel, and he could see chunks of the stonework break loose and tumble to the buildings below. It was no natural flash of lightning. It was a deep red, almost crimson.
For a moment he was frozen in the saddle, just staring into the blackness that the lightning had come out of, holding the reigns though putting no restraint on them. And Andril, after following him to the husbandry, stood and looked from him to the sky and then back again, obviously feeling as though he had missed something.
“What is it?” Andril asked.
As if in answer to his question, the boom of the crashing stones from the pinnacle echoed from the city streets.
“The spire of Drelus has just fallen to the earth,” Duoreod said slowly, his expression revealing deep puzzlement.
Andril looked at the citadel itself and his eyes widened at what he beheld there, coming out of the kings’ balcony. Pointing, he cried, “Duoreod, look out!”
But it was too late. The demon, the very being of the Urden’Dagg itself, swooped down from the high pinnacles of the Adya and snatched Duoreod out of the saddle of his screaming horse. Andril stumbled back, away from the stomping hooves of the wild horse as it turned this way and that, trying to escape from the darkness that surrounded it. It bolted away down the street, but Andril was suddenly staring into the black heavens, after the disappearance of his friend and lord.
“Duoreod...” he whispered into the now howling wind, whipping his cloak out beside him, and the soiled banners of the city tearing from their pinnacles and places along the walls. “Duoreod, what… where have you gone?” he asked the sky.
There came no answer to his question, and dumbfounded he was locked in place by the suddenness of it all.
*****
Duoreod was thrown to the earth somewhere far away from his city. He watched as the dim walls and citadels faded into the darkness of the storm of smoke, and were swallowed by it in the midst of its fiery tempest. He rolled a few feet before coming to a stop, the roar of flames consuming his mind in terror and uncertainty.
Bracing himself on one elbow he looked about himself, saw the orange flames licking the earth all about him, and then noticed a silhouette of someone, or something, standing against their light.
“What is it you want?” he demanded, though he doubted his voice carried over the roar of the fire. “Free me, or face the wrath of the First Born!”
Laughter filled the air, as if the fire itself were mocking him, and the figure stepped forward until its face was visible in the light of the fires. And Duoreod new that face, those terrible eyes, all too well.
“Diamoad, how can this be?” Duoreod demanded, eyes wide in wonder and astonishment. “But I watched you fall…”
The Urden’Dagg put up his hand. “No, you wished me fall, but rather it was you who fell!” he cried. “Now, I have returned to take back what is rightfully mine: this kingdom, my inheritance!”
“Diamoad… brother… I thought you were dead,” Duoreod said, and he raised himself up into his knees. “We all thought you were dead… We mourned for you, Diamoad. We all did.”
The Urden’Dagg curled his lips into a snarl. “Stop calling me that,” he said. “I am not Diamoad, and I
am not your brother!”
Duoreod only blinked, trying to read through his brothers’ words and actions. “Please, brother, stay this madness!” Duoreod cried. “If you are responsible for this, and if it is for what I have done to you, than please forgive me and spare this people!”
The Urden’Dagg growled angrily, and then slapped Duoreod across the face with his gauntleted hand. “I said stop calling me that!” he screamed.
Duoreod fell back to the charred earth, his jaw bruised by the hit, and the world seemed to spin beneath him. He tried to look back at the Urden’Dagg, but all was blurry and indistinguishable.
The Urden’Dagg turned from him and faced the way of the Silver City, the huge flames consuming all before him. “I shall purge this world of all that is unclean before the eyes of The Watcher in his High Tower!” he said, putting out his arms before him. “I shall make this world what it was meant to be in the beginning, before all that could have been ours was stolen from us. It is the beginning of a new era, one of power and greatness, and the end of an older, decaying one.”
He turned slowly and looked back at Duoreod, the fire burning in his eyes. Duoreod struggled on the ground, trying to focus his vision and sit up, though any attempts were in vain.
“There is nothing you can do to stop me,” said the Urden’Dagg. “Plea to the First Born all you like, but they shall not answer. You and your people are in the will of The Watcher now, and I am his adamant servant. Now, die in whatever way pleases his will.”
The Urden’Dagg turned and leaped into the air, his wings spreading out and catching the wind of the fire; and away he went into the darkness, leaving Duoreod alone to suffer.
Hearing movement behind him, Duoreod glanced that way and saw dark shadows crawl out of the fire, the flames still licking at their ebony skin. Claws reflected the glow as red eyes were fixed upon him.
War of Shadow and Light: Part Three of the Redemption Cycle Page 9
