Shades Of Dark

by Justin Sloan

  It seemed like not much time had passed since then, and yet he felt like he barely recognized this place. It was like a snippet from a dream, coming back to haunt him.

  They followed the path around the hill and could soon see the whole valley, the former cathedral-turned-castle in its midst. Bricks and rubble still lay strewn across the grass; the castle was unrepaired. He didn’t know why he had expected it to be fixed by the time they returned, or if that would have even been possible, but he found himself let down. Looking at that broken castle, it was as if it represented everything he had known in his life—his beliefs and sense of purpose—now shattered.

  He turned to Estair, who gave him an encouraging nod. It reminded him that it was time for new beginnings. That a few days could be sufficient to set one on the right path in life, assuming that life lasted long enough.

  With a gesture for the others to stay close, Alastar led the way. The Kaldfell crew paused not far from the castle, fanning out to keep watch. The paladins joined Alastar and Stone, while the others accompanied them to the doorway and took up defensive positions there in case they were walking into a trap.

  Four paladins made their way up the stairs within the castle, past scorched walls and through the lingering scent of smoke and death.

  “Why would they stay?” Oldran asked.

  “They wouldn’t, not with the castle in such a state,” Stone answered. “We should have considered this.”

  Alastar ignored the wave of irritation, but asked, “Where, then?”

  “The others were on a rampage, declaring war on the clans. It’s likely he has moved on in a warlord capacity.”

  They continued searching, but found no sign of them. It was like the paladins had simply abandoned the castle the night the sorcerers attacked. All they found were dead bodies and scorch marks.

  A coughing sound caught them all off guard, and they spun toward the stairs that led through the servant’s quarters and down into the dungeons.

  “A prisoner?” Stone asked, but the others were already moving.

  Alastar took the lead, casting the golden glow ahead of him with his outstretched hand. Soon they found the source of the noise—a servant in the corner of a cell, who must’ve locked himself in there during the fighting.

  “Who’s there?” the man asked, scooting away from them until his back hit the wall. He was gaunt, eyes wide, bags beneath them. “Stay back!”

  Alastar didn’t know the man’s name, though he recognized him. Luckily, Stone had always been stern but kind, though Alastar suspected his relationship with Tina had to do with the fact that he seemed to know this man.

  It was confirmed when Stone stepped forward and said, “This man…he’s Tina’s cousin. Peter.”

  The man jolted at the sound of his name, and now Alastar could see that, ignoring the sickly look from staying in the darkness and likely not eating properly, Peter looked to be no older than Rhona.

  “Ernest?” Peter asked.

  Stone glared, and the others looked at him with curiosity.

  “Your real name’s Ernest?” Oldran asked. “Like, Ernie?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Stone said, growling. “The name’s Stone. That, coming from a guy whose name sounds like ‘old man!’”

  Alastar shook his head. “Lame one, Ernie.”

  The paladin who had reminded Alastar that his name was Rick, laughed at that.

  Doing his best to ignore them, Stone stepped up to the cell bars and reached out a hand. “Keys, Peter. Before I change my mind.”

  Peter hesitated, but his eyes betrayed his trust for the man, so he stood, handed over the keys, and waited.

  Once Stone had the door open, he helped Peter out and led him to the stairs to have a seat. “What’s going on here?” Stone asked. “Where are they?”

  “I stayed in the shadows,” Peter said. “Kept out of it. Last I heard… You might want to check at the manor of Laird Summers.”

  Alastar flinched at that.

  “What is it?” Stone asked.

  “The Summers, they… Their Laird is Estair’s uncle. If the paladins have made a move on him, Estair’s going to lose it.”

  “It’s half a day’s trek,” Stone told them, nodding. “Far enough that we didn’t attack it often, close enough that this move makes sense.”

  “It’s not possible that they went to join forces?” Oldran asked. “Maybe the High Paladin realized he needed help against the sorcerers and sought out an alliance.”

  “For his sake, let’s hope so,” Alastar replied. “But from what we’ve learned about the entire Order lately, I highly doubt it.”

  They quickly made their way back upstairs, where they found Tina and the others already starting to explore. When she saw her cousin, the two ran to each other and hugged, then she found him some food that hadn’t been taken, and water. Once he had been fed and Alastar had cast a healing spell on him, he looked like he could fit in with the rest of them.

  Lars didn’t take the news very well, and grumbled something like, “Does this hell ever end?”

  “Can we count on you to help us?” Alastar asked, and after much muttering and talking amongst themselves, he was relieved to hear that they’d agreed. His cause was going to need all the help it could get.

  So they rested, taking watches, but not for long. When the sun had begun its descent again, they were off. They snacked on the remaining crackers, as well as berries they found along the way, and the groups chatted, getting to know each other.

  Alastar was surprised to hear that Kim, before being stranded on Sair Talem, had in fact been a seamstress.

  “From seamstress to one of the most hardcore warriors I have ever had the pleasure of knowing?” He laughed. “Now that’s impressive.”

  “Not really,” she argued. “The life of the seamstress is hard work. It wasn’t really much of a leap, not compared to Lars here.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Stone said, “butcher?”

  Lars laughed. “Close. I was a baker. My favorites were these braided buns with cinnamon and raisins. You show me someone here who can bake those like I used to, or hell, point me in the direction of an oven and get me some flour, and we’ll be sworn brothers from here on out.”

  “Please stop,” Estair moaned. “It’s bad enough that all we have are these stale crackers. You’re making my mouth water.”

  “You want your mouth to water, wait until I tell you about the cookies he used to make for the solstice, when—”

  “NO!” Estair covered her ears, singing, “la la la la la” to block him out.

  Alastar laughed and pulled a hand off her ear. “Tell you what, as soon as this is over, I’ll get you all the pastries and cookies you could ever desire.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Estair warned him, shaking a finger in his face.

  “Together, we can make that come true,” Lars promised, with a wink to Alastar.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When the sun had reached the water’s horizon to the west, the whole group grew quiet, aware that they should be arriving shortly.

  A small section of trees, not quite a forest, took up the rest of the way, providing a darker path for the last bit that Alastar would have preferred.

  While birds chirped overhead and a squirrel skittered past, Alastar found himself lost in thought. What would his life be like when all of this was over? Would he be able to live a normal life, and simply disappear into the clans with Estair to raise a family? He had a feeling that claiming the Sword of Light meant living a life he had no idea how to predict.

  They heard whistling, sounding almost like a bird call, but Estair paused, eyes narrowed, and Alastar knew it was human-produced. Another bird call sounded in response from a different direction, but this time Estair put her fingers to her lips and made the same sound.

  Alastar grasped the hilt of his sword instinctively, ready to leap into action, but then a voice said, “Estair?” and Donnon came running out fr
om the bushes and trees shouting “Rhona!” as he threw his arms around her. Alastar relaxed.

  The other two paladins had drawn their swords, but kept their eyes on Alastar, waiting to see what action he would take. He held up a hand to tell them to hold.

  “What’s happening?” Rhona asked, glancing around. “And where’s—” She saw Kia approaching, flanked by several of the clansmen they had met at Leila’s village. The girl ran over to Rhona and hugged her tightly, while the other groups—paladins, clans, and the people from Kaldfell—all stared at each other, trying to figure out what was happening.

  “First of all, everyone can relax,” Alastar said. “If you’re in this clearing, you’re good people. You are now allies.”

  “Allies with them?” one of the clansmen said, glaring at the paladins.

  “Yes, and I won’t hear any more about it.” He glanced around, searching for others. “I know you aren’t the only ones out here.”

  More clansmen and women emerged from the trees, bows drawn and arrows nocked, including a large man with a huge belly. He wore thick furs and had the rosy cheeks of a drinker. The moment he saw Estair, his frown went away and he ran to her, clasping her in a bear hug.

  “Niece, there you are!” He set her down. “We were starting to wonder what had happened to you.”

  “Got mixed up in the wrong crowd, it’d seem,” the tall man to his left offered, giving Alastar a scornful look.

  Estair ignored the comment and pulled back, joy sinking away. “What’s happened? Why aren’t you in your manor?”

  “The paladins,” Laird Summers said, not looking at the paladins present, to his credit, “they’ve taken over. Burned many of the surrounding farms and villages. Would have killed me too, if not for Jasper here.” He clapped the tall man on the back.

  Estair gave Jasper a nod of appreciation, then turned back to Alastar. “You heard him. What’s the plan?”

  Alastar took in the sight of Donnon and Kia clinging to his sister, and this large man, Estair’s uncle, at his woman’s side. He glanced around, seeing at least twenty new men and women that hadn’t been there moments before.

  “How many fighters are with Sir Gildon?” he asked.

  “It’s not just that…” Donnon’s face was gloom. “We tried to fight. We brought the clans together and put up a struggle, but…”

  “Spit it out.”

  “We’re in the midst of a retreat,” Laird Summers said. “We’ve lost.”

  Alastar shook his head, not accepting this as an answer. “We can rally the clans. Our magic plus all of the warriors combined? There’s no way the paladins could hold us off.”

  “That would be true,” another voice said, and they all spun to see Master Irdin, hands outstretched, eyes black, “if it were just the paladins. But we’ve returned, and She is with us.”

  All Alastar could do was clutch his sword and focus on controlling his breath. The future of Roneland was certainly hanging in the balance, and he knew he would play a key role in tipping the scales.

  As if on cue, the woods around them froze over and a mighty gust of wind shot past, breaking the frozen trees into fragments of sharp wood that flew out to spear Alastar and his companions. As they leaped for cover or shielded their faces with their robes, several stepping forward to call upon their own magic, Alastar pulled back in shock.

  Where the trees had been, a line of sorcerers stood. Not just a few, but an army of them, and at their rear stood a tall woman clad in nothing but gold jewelry, body paint, and a golden cloak flowing over her shoulders. Her eyes were outlined with heavy golden makeup—or what he assumed was makeup—and she wore a crown of gold and emeralds upon her head.

  With a wave of her hand, her eyes turned gold too, and a wall of light surged outward, passing over her warriors and continuing until it hit the first line of those on Alastar’s side.

  They instantly fell, convulsing, and then they were dead.

  “By the Saint!” Oldran said. He was the first to turn and run.

  “RETREAT!” Laird Summers shouted, even as Alastar stepped forward, Sword of Light drawn, and Kia sent a burst of flame at the army of sorcerers. One of them moved her hands and swatted the flames aside, but Alastar could see it had been more of a diversionary tactic than anything.

  Donnon and Kia were now running, pulling Rhona with them.

  “We need more fighters!” Donnon shouted. “We don’t stand a chance!”

  “We have to fight!” Rhona shouted, but Alastar knew that what Donnon was saying was true.

  Lars cursed in frustration, standing his ground, but his gaze connected with Alastar’s and during that look, they mutually agreed to back off. The only way out now was to follow the retreat and regroup later. They needed to find reinforcements and fight this battle the right way.

  Alastar ran too, taking up the rear with Estair so that they could cast protective shields of light behind them as lightning and spears of ice pushed them on.

  All this way, and this was their welcome? He had the Sword of Light, dammit! If he could just get in to see the High Paladin, Sir Gildon, maybe he could talk some sense into the man.

  “TO THE SHIPS!” Alastar ordered, and the group cut west.

  His wish to see Sir Gildon was granted moments later when another force appeared in their path. Paladins! The small army of them charged, their white armor gleaming and reflecting the setting sun like fire. Sir Gildon took up the rear, a smug smile on his face and his personal guard surrounding him.

  The majority of Alastar’s group turned southeast, realizing that the ships were out of the picture at this point. It was probably the right move. The smart move.

  But fuck that.

  Alastar continued to charge right for the paladins, drawing the Sword of Light as he ran. His companions saw this and veered back in his direction, some of them shouting for him to stop, to come back, while others joined the charge, uttering battle cries and shouts of excitement at the top of their lungs.

  Stone, naturally, was already at Alastar’s side.

  Then Rhona was there too, and she was joined by Estair, Donnon, Lars, Kim and the majority of his friends. Even Kia was trying to keep up, in spite of her father’s shouts for her to fall back.

  “Don’t worry,” Alastar told Donnon, “I won’t let them get close to her.”

  The sorcerers had already stopped their advance and were some way off now, but when they saw what was happening, they began to charge.

  “We have to move fast!” Rhona yelled, seeing this.

  Alastar just nodded, sword at the ready, and the two groups clashed.

  There weren’t any fists connecting with stomachs here, no headbutting, no groin kicking, none of that. No, this was pure blood spurting, limbs flying off bodies, and heads being cleaved in two.

  No amount of blessed healing would help these paladins, Alastar knew, and when Kia’s fireballs sent several screaming as they burst into flames and Rhona’s shadow magic consumed some while driving others mad, he imbued his sword with all the power he could muster. The gems glowed first, then the hilt, and finally the blade burst into a golden flame.

  This was no magic sword, but Alastar sure as hell had enough magic to make up for it.

  When he held the sword high and shouted, “BEHOLD THE SWORD OF LIGHT!” it had its intended effect.

  Half the paladins stared in awe before dropping to one knee, others paused, shat themselves, and retreated from the battlefield, but some continued to fight. This latter group was quickly outnumbered, but not before Alastar met Sir Gildon, their swords clashing.

  “We can still turn this around,” Alastar grunted, struggling to push the High Paladin’s sword back. “You don’t have to go down this road.”

  “Pitiful. How you could possibly think there was ever a chance you could stand against me?”

  The High Paladin’s eyes glowed bright gold to match Alastar’s own, and they began their sword dance, each moving faster than anyone should’ve been able
to, thanks to their spells of enhanced speed and endurance.

  Alastar knew this wouldn’t last long, but with that army of sorcerers approaching, lasting long wasn’t the point.

  He had to finish this now.

  “You little shite,” Sir Gildon said, sneering. “Abandoning the faith? Turning on your teacher? Is that how you want to live your life?”

  “It was all a lie,” Alastar accused, realizing Sir Gildon was trying to stall. “As of this moment, the lying is over.” He charged, sword meeting sword again, but Sir Gildon parried the third strike and ducked, coming across with a slash that drew blood from Alastar’s thigh.

  He flinched, but the magic was flowing strongly enough that his thigh started healing almost instantly.

  Again he charged, but the High Paladin was quicker.

  “What you hold in your hands is nothing, just as you are nothing,” Sir Gildon shouted, darting forward to try for the fatal blow. He came up short as Alastar turned and swung, nearly taking off the man’s head. “You want power?” The High Paladin gestured to the sorcerers, lightning and swirling ice in the sky above them. “That’s power. The Dark Society is power, power to liberate this land, to make us formidable like we were meant to be, so that we can conquer the world beyond the known sea.”

  “You mean to, what, conquer Kaldfell? Arcadia?” Alastar couldn’t help asking now; he was genuinely curious. He hadn’t considered that the High Paladin’s plans extended beyond Roneland.

  Sir Gildon smiled and nodded. “The plan was never to partner with the King of Gulanri, but to conquer him. To make all the lands beyond the sea ours. To be the only real force, under the Dark Society. Unbeatable. Irrefutable. Invincible.”

  “But they attacked us!” Alastar replied, confused. “The sorcerers attacked the paladins at the castle.”