“Alther’s instincts, as usual, were right. You do possess the gift. It is raw and untrained, but that can be remedied.”
Thanos faced Alther.
“I am satisfied the boy is a wielder. He is permitted to enlist in the school of the lower ring, where he will be assessed further.”
Alther bowed to the Grand Master and gripped Ferran by the shoulder.
“Well, kid, you’re in. Who knows, perhaps one day you could become a Nightblade like me.”
* * *
As the years went by, Ferran developed his skills with magic. However, his knack for getting into trouble had singled him out for the ire of his mentors.
One day, Alther had returned from a Fell Beast hunt in the barony of Retbit. It had been a disappointing one that had resulted in the deaths of three villagers and the wounding of a fellow Nightblade. The beast itself had managed to slip away deep into the Retbit jungle.
Walking towards Caldaria’s Nightblade barracks, he noticed stocks at the side of the road. Looking miserable, and covered in stinking rotting vegetables, was Ferran. At seeing him, Alther could not help but laugh.
“Laugh it up,” Ferran moaned.
“What have you done this time?” Alther asked as he removed a piece of cabbage from the young man’s black hair.
“Got into a fight,” the lad muttered.
“Another one? What is the matter with you, lad?”
“It’s so boring!” Ferran replied. “I’m losing my mind being trapped within this city. I want to see the world; I want excitement; I want adventure!”
Alther scratched his chin in thought. He saw a lot of himself in the lad. He, too, had been a troublesome student for his teachers, and he too had yearned for the wider world. Caldaria was safe, and therein lay the problem.
“What if I put your name forward to be recommended for the Nightblades?” he asked.
Ferran tried to look at him but could only twist his head slightly thanks to the stocks.
“By Niveren, yes! I can fight! I want to hunt monsters! Please put me forward for it, please!” he begged.
Alther put his hands on his hips.
“I’ll see what I can do, but in the meantime stop getting into trouble. Oh, and enjoy your night in the stocks,” he added with a chuckle.
Ferran stuck out his tongue at the Nightblade’s back as he walked off.
* * *
The Nightblade training had been brutal but his years on the streets had given him an inner strength that the other recruits did not have. Some of the other boys had been abandoned or forced to flee their homes just as he had; each of them had a story to tell, and they were often ones of escaping persecution.
Punishing physical exercise was mixed with hour upon hour of meticulous studying in Caldaria’s Great Library. Every Fell Beast that had been encountered by the Nightblades over the millennia was recorded in the tomes within. Nightblades had to learn their weaknesses, how they fought. As well as bestiaries they also learnt alchemy and tracking.
It had taken Ferran three years of training before he was finally awarded his Tourmaline Blade. Alther had been the one to present it to him at the ceremony. It had been the first time that the older man had told him that he was proud of him; it was the first time that Ferran had seen him as a father figure.
“My plan is an audacious one. I shall use my staff as a conduit to the Void. I shall use my power to seal the rift, but I fear it will cost me my life. If this is what I will be remembered for, then so be it.”
– from the diary of Aljeron, the First Wizard.
18.
Alther regarded his old apprentice with an analytical look. A scowl was on his face as he looked Ferran up and down.
“So. You got my message then?” he asked.
The surviving townspeople were huddled inside the town hall, still too afraid to risk heading to their homes. The Marshal and his deputies were scouring the town for any undead that may have become trapped inside the buildings. Sophia had gone with them, once again taking to the rooftops to give them cover from a higher vantage point.
“Yeah, I got it. So … are you going to tell me what happened here?” Ferran replied, gesturing to the dead lying all around the square.
Alther did his best to be the stern old mentor figure he had been years previously, but either age or sentiment got the better of him. He slouched his shoulders and, much to Ferran’s surprise, strode forward and gave him a big hug.
Stunned, Ferran’s eyes widened. Memories came flooding back to him, and despite it all he returned the embrace. The old man before him had been the closest thing to a father he’d ever had. A few awkward moments passed before Alther stepped backwards, his eyes showing his emotion and tiredness.
“It is good to see you, my lad. It’s been what, ten years?”
Ferran smiled.
“Ten years too many, old man. Look at you, you’ve grown ancient,” he chuckled.
Alther clipped him around the ear.
“Still quick enough to give you some discipline, though, you cheeky bugger.”
The two men laughed.
Alther sighed heavily.
“Something very bad is happening in these lands, Ferran. Come, walk with me.”
Alther whistled and Oscar came trotting over to them. He then led the way through the quiet streets. As they walked, Alther recounted all that had transpired. The mention of the N’Gist in the woods only confirming that the events in Ridderford were somehow tied to those in Midlake. What was more troubling, however, was the presence of the Witch Hunters. Sophia’s encounter with them on Midlake’s rooftops added to the sense of unease Ferran felt.
Finally, they reached the sigil stone that stood like a silent guardian on the small islet in the middle of the river that ran through the heart of the town. As usual, Alther pressed a palm to its cool surface.
“So … the legends that Danon’s mortal remains were buried somewhere in Ridderford were true,” Alther mumbled to himself.
“It also seems that there is some truth in the myths about Aljeron’s staff, too,” Ferran said. “If the N’gist have found the staff, then there is only one possible conclusion as to their objective. They intend to free Danon’s spirit from the Void and restore it into his remains.”
Alther scoffed.
“What’s so funny?”
Alther stretched his back and grunted in satisfaction at the loud click it made.
“If I remember my reading, it would take someone with considerable magical powers to be able to use the staff. A mage or a N’gist won’t cut it.”
“A Wizard?”
Alther nodded.
“But there hasn’t been a wizard in the world for over a century. Do you think they’ve found someone?”
Alther shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps, but if they have then I don’t think they have them under their will just yet.”
Both men turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Sophia was walking up the street towards them, a determined look on her face. Alther raised an eyebrow.
“The Witch Hunter, I presume?” he asked Ferran.
Ferran nodded.
“The town is secure,” Sophia reported. “There were a few undead trapped in the bookshop’s cellar but we dealt with them.”
Alther stepped forward and offered her his hand in greeting.
“Sophia, Alther. Alther, Sophia,” Ferran introduced.
The two nodded to one another.
“So,” she said, her hands on her hips, “are we going to head into the woods and hunt us some N’gist, or are we going to stand around chatting all day?”
Ferran held his hands up. “Too dangerous,” he said. “The light is fading, and rule one of hunting N’gist is to never do so at night. I know you want answers, Sophia, but we need to be smart about this. A garrison from the Legion should here by morning. Until then, this town remains in danger.”
Sophia kicked the ground in frustration. The Nightblade was right. Hun
ting a N’gist at night was tantamount to suicide. The darkness enhanced their powers, making them lethal foes.
“Tell me about the Witch Hunters,” Alther said. “I have been out of the action for a decade, so my days of keeping a close eye on them are long past.”
Sophia looked down at her feet and sighed heavily.
“I wish I knew. I don’t know what to think, but I did find these on the men I killed,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out several sewn patches of the badge of the guild coloured in gold.
“These patches are only worn by my father’s elite Hunters. They are often considered separate from the rest of us.”
“How so?” asked Alther.
“They are used as my father’s bodyguards, or sent to regions that he deems need purging. I’ve never really spoken to one before. Perhaps the guild heard of what was happening here and tried to stop it?”
Ferran placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Let me tell you what I think. You won’t like it,” he warned. “The journal we found in those Nivonian ruins tells us that someone within the Witch Hunters is in league with the N’gist. Hanser was used. You said it yourself, that he was one of the best, so who better to seek out the remains of Danon? He accomplished his goal, informed his superior, and was then killed. Having achieved his goal, he became expendable. Whoever sent him knew that if Hanser learned the truth then their plan would be in jeopardy. The only snag in their plan was that they did not expect you to come looking for him and in turn get me involved in all this. “
Alther nodded in understanding. They had stumbled upon some grand conspiracy.
“So,” he said, holding his hand and ticking off points on his fingers, “we know that the enemy has the mortal remains of Danon. They are seeking the staff of Aljeron in the depths of the Fell Forest, and we know that someone high up in the Witch Hunters is aiding them. The big question, then, is why a Hunter would aid their most ancient of foes.”
Sophia shrugged off Ferran’s hand and stepped backwards.
“I cannot believe that someone would betray the guild like this. They killed Hanser, they let Ridderford be attacked, they let undead overrun Midlake. I … I need to be alone for a little while,” she said, before walking off down the street and back towards the centre of town.
Ferran was about to try and follow but Alther placed a hand on his chest.
“Leave her be, lad,” the old man warned gently. “It is a lot to take in, I can barely believe it myself. Elias is a vile man, but to throw in his lot with the N’gist?”
His thoughts drifted back to his last run in with Elias, the Witch Hunter General.
* * *
It had been early in the morning when the steward had awoken him Alther his slumber. Bleary eyed, he had gotten dressed and headed towards Caldaria’s main gate. As he made his way through the still quiet streets, he noticed a squad of Nightblades hurrying in the same direction. Something was wrong. He broke into a run and followed his brothers. It was soon clear that they, too, were heading for the main gate.
After running through the warren of streets, they reached the wide open square that acted as the entry point into the city. Twenty Nightblades were present, their weapons drawn. Behind them stood three rows of battle mages. The powerful magical warriors were only ever summoned if the city itself was threatened. Looking up to the high crystalline walls, Alther could see more mages taking up defensive positions.
“What in Niveren is going on?” he muttered under his breath.
Shouldering his way through the gathering crowd, he spotted Ferran. He was no longer a lanky youth, but a grown man. His years of training had made him muscular and lean, and dressed in the black armour of a Nightblade he looked the part of an expert monster slayer.
Grand Master Thanos was standing in front of the gate. In his right hand he held his mages staff, whilst his left was free to cast spells if needed. Thanos gestured to the mage manning the gatehouse. With a loud cracking sound, the massive gates slowly opened, as they did so the Nightblades and mages tensed.
Sat astride a black stallion was a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long leather duster coat. It was the unmistakable figure of the Witch Hunter General, Elias Cunning. Across the river was a small army, their banners fluttering in the breeze.
Thanos stepped forward and planted his staff into the ground.
“What can the mages of Caldaria do for you today, Witch Hunter General?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
Elias’s horse kicked at the ground and snickered loudly. The Witch Hunter glared at the Grand Master.
“We are here for a Nightblade named Ferran. I made a solemn oath that if it were to be revealed that he possessed magic, then he would join his whore of a mother on the pyre, and now he has given me an added reason to do it.”
Thanos narrowed his intense eyes.
“Say this young man is indeed in Caldaria, what makes you think that you have the right to take him? Under the king’s law, all magic users are safe within this city, safe from those who would drag them off to their deaths simply for being different.”
Elias threw him a cruel hard stare. It was obvious that he was not used to people standing up to him.
“This Nightblade was caught in bed with a lord’s wife. Under law, no Magic Wielder is allowed to fornicate with the wider population of the realm. Hand him over, Thanos, or else.”
“Easy, lad,” Alther warned, pressing a hand to Ferran’s chest to stop him from making some foolish move. Fury was in the young Nightblade’s eyes. It was the first time he had seen the man who had killed his mother and ruined his life since that terrible day in Blackmoor.
“It may have been a while but I’m pretty sure it takes two to do the ‘deed,’ as it were,” Thanos answered coolly. “Did the Nightblade force himself upon her? Has the lord’s wife been punished for the act?”
Elias smiled cruelly.
“The lord’s wife was hanged for breaking the king’s law. Your Nightblade will face the same fate.”
At hearing his words, Ferran struggled against Alther’s strong grip.
“The bastard!” he growled.
“Shut up, lad,” Alther scolded. He grabbed Ferran by the collar and dragged him through the gathered crowd. Ferran struggled and even tried to strike out at the older Nightblade. Alther shoved him down a side street and pinned him against the wall, an arm against his throat.
“You listen to me,” he growled. “Your actions alone have caused this. Did I not warn you to be careful, that the Witch Hunters look for any excuse to kill us? Damn the impetuousness of youth! Because you couldn’t control yourself, that woman is dead. Elias is a cruel man; her death would not have been swift. You’re lucky you are here in Caldaria; if they had caught you outside the walls, you would no doubt be swinging from a tree somewhere your guts eaten by carrion birds.”
Ferran went limp, tears in his eyes. He knew that all that Alther said was the truth.
“I’m sorry,” Ferran said weakly.
“Don’t apologise,” Alther said. “Learn from this. Thanos will never surrender one of us to them. Elias knows it; he just likes to bring his Hunters here in force once in a while to frighten the mages. Even so, he does have a vendetta against you and me. Go back to the barracks and await your punishment.”
He released Ferran and shook his head as he watched the young man walk off towards the barracks.
“He’s going to be the death of me, that one,” he whispered.
“It took many moons to dig the new tunnels. Many men died clearing the underground of Fell Beasts. Hard, vicious fighting it was, but the Nightblades rallied us again and again until we reached our destination.”
–from the ancient diary of a Nivonian soldier.
19.
The Fell Forest was an unnerving place at the best of times. It’s very name evoked fear in the villagers that lived close to its edge. Only the very brave or foolhardy willingly ventured into its depths. A great
battle had taken place at its heart, and according to legend it was the spot where the first wizard Aljeron sealed the Great Rift to the Void. That event had occurred thousands of years ago, but still the remnants of the battle could be found amongst the twisted roots of the trees, or buried into the damp leaf-strewn earth.
Ferran, Alther and Sophia had left Midlake under the protection of the Marshal and his men. Alther had entrusted Oscar to the Marshal; the forest was no place for the little dog. Time was of the essence; they could not allow the N’gist to find the staff.
The three moved quickly, but quietly, through the undergrowth towards the place where Alther had encountered the Banshee. The sun was still high in the sky, but its light was slight due to the thickness of the canopy. Alther led them to the spot where the N’gist had been. The clearing was empty, save for the remains of a bonfire.
“They must have moved deeper in,” Ferran surmised.
Moving deeper through the forest, they became more on edge. It was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of tree leaves. Alther held a hand up, signalling for them to stop. The older Nightblade knelt down and pointed to the ground. Sure enough, there were footprints in the soil.
“Boots,” he said quietly. “Some were wearing armour due to the deepness of the indent in the mud. Looks like half a dozen people came through here recently.”
Using the Nightblade’s tracking skills, they now had something to go on. Following the tracks, they eventually reached a small clearing. The ancient remains of a warrior were lying in the undergrowth.
“The Early Nivonian Kingdom by the looks of his armour. Looks like we’re on the right track, all right.”
Sophia stared at the skeleton. “If it’s common knowledge that the staff is here, then why has no one retrieved it before now?” she asked in a whisper.
The Nightblade_Tales of Delfinnia Page 14
