War of Shadow and Light: Part Three of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  Stylinor crawled over to where he lay and nudged him, though Kinimod only grunted and turned onto his side.

  “Kini,” Stylinor whispered, his voice hoarse from the dry air, “Listen, I don’t mean to sound unfaithful when I say this but… wouldn’t you think we’d have a better chance of surviving this by going away on our own, toward the Silver City? The Adya are certain to take us in.”

  Kinimod said nothing to his friend, but continued to look as if he were asleep. But Stylinor had known him long enough to know that he was trying to ignore him.

  “Kini, please listen to me,” Stylinor said without relent. “Ever since we been out here, I’ve been seeing and even feeling things… things I’ve never felt before… It’s disturbing, and I want to get out of here as fast as I can, but I know I can’t go without you, Kini.”

  Again, Kinimod didn’t appear to take any notice of him being there. Stylinor looked around but no one seemed to be paying any attention to anything, though the woman kept staring blindly into the fires nearby, and he followed her gaze into the huge flames slowly creeping upon them.

  He suddenly remembered his house, how it was broken into and then burned to the ground, his mother and father undoubtedly murdered inside. These… creatures, whatever they were, hated humankind. They were evil, cruel, and had done terrible things to this small company, though none of them ever seemed willing to talk about it. But he could see it in their eyes, the way they were secluding themselves from each other, wrapping themselves up in their grief and pain. It had all began and ended in one day, the day he watched his own house burn.

  He couldn’t help but wonder about their losses, how horrible it was for them to continue on even though they knew they’d always be alone. The woman most of all, however, seemed to carry the heaviest burden. The way she shook at times, twitching and staring at nothing. But now, as he watched her, Stylinor noticed a longing in her eyes as she stared into the fires.

  And then she spoke, for perhaps the first time in a week she said words, and her voice sounded curious and in awe of something that she seemed to see. “Hafflam…” she said, and Rothron slowly looked up and around, looking for who spoke. He didn’t immediately assume it was the woman.

  “Hafflam…” she said again, and this time she stood on her feet without any help, always staring forward, “Hafflam, I can see you now.”

  She took a step forward, walking from Rothron’s side. But he just looked at her in shock, not even thinking of where she might be going but that she was going in the first place. However, Sephron sat up and called after her when she continued walking.

  “Olivia!” he said, “Where… stop, we can’t go that way!”

  It was true. Stylinor looked ahead of her and saw that the wall of fire was directly in the way of her path, rising up and dancing forbiddingly before them. Did she think she say someone she knew down there? Had she at last lost all sanity?

  She walked past them and kept on moving, not blinking, not taking her eyes off of the fire, just saying, “I see you, Hafflam.”

  Soon all three of the men were calling her name, Olivia, but she was only focused on the fire and the man who she thought she saw there. Rothron leaped after her, grabbing at her sleeves, but she managed to pull free of his weary grasp and keep going, powered by some unknown source of energy and determination.

  Kinimod, sitting up beside Stylinor, only watched as she faded away; Rothron slipping in the mud as he tried to keep up with her walk into the flames. The man sat up on his knees in the ashes, crying after her, pleading for her to stop, but within seconds she was gone without a sound.

  “Muari be beloved…” Sephron said from where he stood, watching dumbfounded, “She… She’s gone, and just like that… Just like Hafflam…”

  Jacque looked at him, and Stylinor saw a crazed madness in his eyes. “You bastard!” he bellowed at the man, “You let them go and die, you bastard!”

  The axe that had been stuck under his belt was now in his hands, and he rushed Sephron, swinging the blade at the man’s head. However, Sephron caught his arm and they both tumbled to the ground, rolling a little ways down the hill.

  Sephron managed to get the axe out of Jacque’s grip, but it slipped further down the hillside and they struggled to get the others’ hands off of the other. “What’s gotten into you, man?” Sephron screamed, punching Jacque in the face to keep him down.

  Jacque grabbed at the knife at Sephron’s side and slashed him across the leg. The man fell over, grasping his thigh in agony, but in the next second Jacque drove the dagger into his chest and Sephron was rolling down the hill after the axe.

  Jacque was on his feet again, though staggering this way and that, blood running down the front of his face where Sephron had struck him. He looked at the boys, his eyes gleaming madly, and roared as he charged up after them. However, he had barely taken five steps when an arrow snapped into his back, piercing through to come out of his chest, blood dripping from its end, and he stumbled forward before falling to his face.

  Shouts echoed from all around, and Kinimod and Stylinor were frozen in fear and alarm at what had just happened. But someone grabbed them from behind and dragged them into the shadows of the trees, pressing his hands to their mouths to keep them from shouting.

  They were relieved to discover it was only Rothron, though afraid that he might have been overtaken by madness as well as Olivia and Jacque. But he only looked around with a short sword and an axe in either hand, searching for those shouting.

  “You two have to leave, now!” he said as loud as he dared. “Go, before it is too late! Run!”

  He jumped out from under the tree and into the open where Jacque lay dead, turning this way and that, banging his weapons together in challenge to those who were there. Several came in answer, though not all at once it seemed. They came from the shadows, and looked to be shadows only, though they jabbed at Rothron as they danced around him.

  “Run!” he screamed as he blocked one strike but was hit by another, and he turned round angrily and jabbed and swung with his weapons.

  An arrow buried itself in his left shoulder, and he stumbled under its impact, dazed for a moment, but recovered and kept fighting. Stylinor and Kinimod did as he commanded, though, and dashed away through the shadows of the trees, glancing back to see Rothron struggling with his attackers.

  One or two lay dead at his feet, but he was pinned with arrows on all sides and was bleeding out. He slowed his attacks, becoming weaker and clumsy with his weapons until he dropped them altogether and fell onto his knees, pierced by at least a dozen dark arrow shafts. The boys were well out of sight by then, but they heard his final cry of defiance right before he swooned and collapsed at the feet of his adversaries.

  Stylinor grabbed Kinimod by the hand as they ran up a hill, away from the fires, to be sure they wouldn’t get separated. But he then ran ahead when it got to steep and he had to use his hands to climb, and Kinimod followed right behind still.

  Midway up the short incline, however, Stylinor looked up in time to see a dark shadowy figure leap out of the trees with a bow and arrow in its hands. He felt the eye of the creature fix the arrow up him, and so he ducked to the side behind another tree just as the arrow zipped toward him.

  He looked down at Kinimod, who had been climbing behind him, and saw the boy looking rather confused as he crouched on the hillside. And then he noticed the arrow shaft protruding from his chest, right where his heart would have been.

  Kinimod nearly tipped over down the hill, mumbling something Stylinor couldn’t have understood.

  Stylinor forgot all about the archer and jumped down after him, grabbing hold of him and kneeling in the snow. The archer, though, had long gone on in search of others to prey upon.

  “Hold on a moment Kini!” Stylinor cried, holding desperately onto him. “Hold on a moment, Kini… Don’t leave me now, not yet…”

  Kinimod only touched Sty’s face with a frozen finger, and it stung his already numb face
. His tears were already freezing in his eyes, and in less than a minute, Kinimod was no more.

  Chapter 21

  Captain of Light,

  Master of Darkness

  “Here it comes!” someone screamed from the chaos of the crowds of panicked Adya, running this way and that in the blind darkness.

  “This is it! This is the end!” another voice cried out in dismay, and altogether everyone raised their voices in prayers to the First Born, in fear and in panic.

  But Andril stood firm, his bow in one hand while his other was clenched into a fist at his side. He had seen Duoreod carried away by that fiend of darkness, whatever it was, but had remained vigilant even afterwards. With Drelus’ broken body discovered upon the rooftop of one of the citadels, and Duoreod gone away into the darkness, Andril knew that he had to take the steps to become a leader to these hopeless people.

  He pushed through the crowd, no longer paying any attention to their cries, and climbed to the threshold of one of the citadels so that he could be seen by all.

  Raising his hand he cried over all of their voices, saying, “Hold ye people of Muari! Hold your peace and have no fear; for who are we to cower during this time of greatest need? Should we not stand as one, take up our swords and our shields and defend ourselves from this darkness? Or will we abandon all that our ancestors have fought for, all that Muari has given to us, and take the side of despair? Those of you who desire such pain may depart this instant, however I shall keep whosoever remains to battle against this evil!”

  Slowly, everyone became silent as all eyes turned toward the king’s smith. He only straightened, holding his bow more firmly, and waited until the silence was almost complete.

  “Who’s with me?” he asked the city, his voice booming off of the stonework of the walls and streets.

  Somewhere someone unsheathed a sword, Andril saw it glisten in the light of torches in the braziers, and shouted “Here!” Several others followed afterwards, each either raising a spear or sword, or their own fist, but crying out to Andril until the entire crowd was shouting and punching their fists into the air.

  Just like that, Andril had changed the mood of over a thousand people, giving them courage where there had once been despair. But a crack of thunder and flash of red lightning in the black sky sent a shiver through the very heart of the world, and the hearts of the Adya nearly gave way again. A dark shape flitted through the sky up above them, wings outspread like a dragon swooping in upon a peopled city, but it only swerved and then alighted atop the citadel that Andril stood before. All eyes, including Andril’s, fell upon the ghastly being.

  The beast let down its wings. A red light seemed to emanate from its being, revealing its face to the crowded street. It only laughed at the bewildered looks in each of their faces. “You fool’s! Have you no idea what is to become of you all? This is the end for you, and for all of the Adya! From now on you follow the Urden’Dagg!”

  The Adya looked fearful as they beheld the great demon that Diamoad the Urden’Dagg had become, though none of them had yet realized it was their once beloved lord and peacekeeper. But they stood fast, looking toward Andril, waiting for him to say something.

  “We will not yield to you, servant of darkness!” Andril cried in reply to the Urden’Dagg.

  The Urden’Dagg’s eyes narrowed, the light glowing from him brightening as his anger kindled deep inside. “So be it,” he said in a low, menacing voice, though it boomed over the crowd. Reaching over one shoulder he unclasped his sword from off of his back and held it up. “If you refuse my offer of protection and allegiance, than you have all chosen destruction, torment, and grief for all of eternity!”

  A burst of red flames erupted from the blade of his sword, shooting straight up into the black heavens. The earth trembled beneath them, shaking more violently with each second, and the people began to push one another in a blind attempt to get as far from the Urden’Dagg as was possible. But Andril held his ground, his bow held at the ready as the stonework of the buildings around them began to shake loose and fall to the earth.

  The ground cracked open in several places, and the same red light poured out from within and lit the faces of all those who scrambled back from their cavernous openings. A sound like nothing Andril had ever heard before, throughout all of his journeys over the land, echoed from the depths of these pits. It was like death, dying creatures that had once been noble men and women, even Adya, sounded from the glowing light until their horrible shadows could be seen.

  Andril’s stomach turned as he saw the first of the thousands of these things come crawling out of these chasms, but he instinctively drew an arrow back on the string of his bow. They looked like men, though they stooped as they ran this way and that, their arms curled up beneath them, long sharp claws slashing at whatever they passed.

  He put an arrow into the back of one of their heads, and it fell where it had been moving and didn’t rise again. But those that were around it looked in his direction and let out terrible shrieks before running toward him.

  But Andril didn’t waste any time brooding on his fear. He had faced odd monsters in the past, abominations created by the cruel hands of The Watcher to mock the First Born and the Adya. He fired arrow after arrow into each of them until the last lunged the final distance, sweeping forward with its claws.

  He ducked to the side and the claws passed behind him, and then turning about he came up behind it and drove the end of his bow into its back, the blade sinking into its heart and stopping it. The monster choked as it stumbled forward and then fell on its face. However, with this minor battle finished, Andril looked about and listened.

  All he could hear was the shrieks of these monsters and the screams of the people, becoming ever further and further away. The Urden’Dagg had long gone as soon as his minions had been released from their imprisonment within the earth, but Andril could feel the presence of the great evil still lingering inside his city.

  *****

  Instead of the brilliant silver light that had once dominated the inhabitants of the Silver City, the world around them now glowed orange in the light of the burning fires surrounding them, dooming them to a fiery end. Standing above it all was Diamoad, once younger prince of the Silver City, his demonic form glowing in the light of the flames at his feet. He watched as the proud soldiers of the city were stripped of their honor and courage, being overrun by the demons of the Shadow Realms, and those Lesser Realms below it, that Diamoad the Urden’Dagg had brought to war against this once peaceful country.

  He smiled as his victory was at hand, the glory of The Watcher in his High Tower raining down upon him and his ebony sword.

  Andril was able to successfully hold a section of the city, but for how long was unknown to the brave smith. All around him, men were cut down or dragged screaming into the flames. Children cried, women wept and hid themselves from the awfulness of the battle. All was without hope. It seemed to Andril that laughter was raining down on them with the ashes from the blackened sky, and when he looked up he saw Diamoad, the demonic servant of The Watcher, watching them from the top of a broken pinnacle.

  His heart swelled with anger, and he fought more furiously, shooting twice the amount of arrows into the ranks of the servants of chaos falling upon him from all sides. But just as many of his comrades fell as did the enemy. Soon, he knew, he would stand alone to defend his city.

  “For Duoreod, the true king of Aldabaar!” he cried out as he loosed another arrow into the throat of a charging creature of unknown origins, and it staggered and fell on its face in the flames it had created.

  *****

  Neth’tek watched as the forces of the Urden’Dagg changed their course, marching toward the storm gathered above the city of the Adya, now charred black with embers. His eyes were swollen from crying only moments before, his face stained with soot where ash had gathered on his wet cheeks; but his expression was stern once again as he looked upon the remainder of the hope of this world. He wan
ted so badly to crush it, to watch its brilliant walls crumble to dust upon the black earth, the people therein consumed by the fire in his hands. He wanted them all to perish, just as he watched his only friends, his family, perish.

  Kneeling down, he took a bow and quiver from the corpse of a dead comrade he had never known the name of, and started down the hill. Ezila, the spirit that he carried out of the Shadow Realms, a gift from the enemy of his family in a sign of peace, had carried him away from the bloodshed of his troupe. For that, he was grateful. However, the thirst for the blood of these people returned to him as it once had overcome him before, and the desire to join in the destruction of this world.

  His walk turned to a jog, and from a jog to a sprint, until he was charging alone down the hill to meet the ranks of black armor and purple cloaks, his people, and finish what they had started several weeks prior.

  The conquest of the surface world was almost over.

  *****

  The flames parted to either side as Duoreod returned from their midst to the walls of his city, but stopped at the top of a hill to behold what had become of his world in the short period of his absence. Screams filled the air, and he watched as the shadows of hunched figures chased down and slew those who had come to their walls for sanctuary.

  The city no longer glowed as it once had; Duoreod took note of the fires leaping from the rooftops of the citadels and towers, giving the place an aura of fear and pain.

  He set his jaw, adjusted his grip on his sword, and charged forward to meet his brother in open combat, this time to finish what should have been done a millennia ago. This time, he had the blessing of the First Born with him. He could not fail, not this time. Diamoad was not as he once had been. Twisted by the evil ways of The Watcher on the High Tower, he had become a mere slave to his will, dominated by the soul of a demon of the Lesser Realms.