“I promise you,” the bound man said. “None of them are Captain Avadi. As I said before, he wasn’t with us on this attack.”
“Where was he then?” Vice-Captain Becir asked.
“I don’t know,” the prisoner answered. “I’m just a foot soldier. Rumors had it that he had holed up someplace out of the way for safety. But where, I can’t say.”
One of the king’s men noticed Danla approaching. “Healer? Do you need something?” he asked, his brow creased.
“That’s Danla,” Rheq said. He stepped toward her. “Is something the matter?”
The question hit her as ridiculous. Here they were, standing among the fallen in a battle which had claimed hundreds of lives, and from what she understood, they had failed their mission to find and kill the leader.
“I … I came to see if you needed help,” Danla said.
Becir looked her over. “You should rest. You need to regain your strength.”
She could see that each of the men had wounds, though none were life-threatening. “Are you certain?”
The vice-captain glanced down at his arm where blood had stained through the broken links of chainmail. “It’s nothing. A graze. We may need you later. Please, rest.”
Numbly, Danla made her way back to the tent. She tried to avoid looking at the faces of the fallen, but with the bodies strewn about so, care had to be taken where she stepped. Two of the dead she recognized as men she had healed during the battle. I made them whole again, just to have them die gruesome deaths.
This understanding shook her more than any of the actual wounds on display. This is madness. I shouldn’t be here.
Shouts of surprise jerked her out of the stupor. Quickly, she faced toward where the sounds originated. It was Vice-Captain Becir and his men. One of them was pointing to the west. Are we under attack again?
Squinting, Danla’s eyes followed to where the man pointed. From out of the forest came a singular figure. Even from this distance, Danla recognized him. It was Pendr. He’s alive! The large man strode out from the tree line. He was on foot and appeared out of breath. However, it was what Pendr held in one hand which made Danla’s blood turn cold.
Chapter 73
Trying not to stumble as he walked, Pendr concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. He had run until he could no more, then even walking became a challenge. He had not heard the wolves in a while—a good sign.
After running away from the strange man and the wolves which accompanied him, Pendr skirted to the north, then the east in an effort to find the king’s main forces. Who is the odd man? And why do the wolves obey his commands? Pendr had seen dogs and horses be trained, but not wolves. Never wolves. They were too wild to bend to man’s will.
While running, Pendr had heard the wolves howl and then the sounds of fighting. He assumed the animals attacked Captain Mux and the rest of his squad. That was a concern. Most of the men who had traveled with Pendr had only a simplistic ability with the blue myelur—they could not hold it for long. Chances were that they were spent during the original battle when they attacked the men protecting the cabin.
Going back to help them fight was not his priority. Captain Mux had made that clear before the battle. The main goal, and the one that truly mattered, was killing Avadi. But killing him was not enough, a report of the death of Sothcar’s leader was needed, or the fighting could continue for no good reason.
Pendr knew that if he traveled east, he would eventually find the king’s road. From there, he could find the rest of the army—the ones headed to Blythewood. I hope there is someone left to report to. The attack happened last night. The king’s forces were large in number, and well trained. It also had healers—something which Sothcar lacked if Pendr believed the word around camp.
Danla. I pray to the light she lives. That, more than anything, drove Pendr forward until now, when he stepped out of the forest and into the light. The sun was red, a strange sight indeed, and not one which Pendr had ever recalled seeing.
It was not the sound of battle which helped Pendr adjust his course to arrive where the army resided. It was the smell—the stench of newly butchered men. The dead lay in heaps on the battlefield. At the southernmost part of the road, Pendr noticed a group of men wearing the king’s colors of green and silver, washed in the red light of the sun. One of them saw him and pointed.
Pendr then noticed someone that raised his spirits to a level he had not felt since the march south began. Danla stood among the fallen, halfway between a large tent and where the group of men stood. She’s alive!
He saw her recognize him as well, but her expression tightened. Why isn’t she happy to see me? Her gaze was not upon his face, but rather what he held at his side: Avadi’s severed head. Even with all the bloodshed around her, Pendr understood that seeing him holding a bodiless head would be unsettling. Duty first, then I’ll comfort her.
Watching his step, Pendr headed to the men who had spotted him. One of them was Vice-Captain Becir. What Pendr found most curious was one of the men standing next to him. It appeared to be Rheq, the smaller man who had abandoned him and his group. Why is he here?
That question would have to await an answer. Sitting on the ground was a man in Sothcar’s colors. He was bound, and in front of him lay bodies of his comrades. It only took a moment for Pendr to piece together the situation. Becir is looking for confirmation that we succeeded.
Without saying a word to the rest of the men, Pendr strode up to the captive and held up Avadi’s head. “Is this Avadi?”
The enemy’s face betrayed the truth before his words could. “Yes. That’s him. How did you find—?”
Pendr cut the man off by tossing Avadi’s head by the other slain soldiers. Addressing Becir, he said, “The mission was a success, Vice-Captain.”
Chapter 74
Nestov woke to red light flowing through his window. It was morning, at least from what his body told him from the amount of sleep he had experienced. Brother Mey was already up and dressed, as was the case each day.
“Ah, good,” the muscular monk said, “you’re awake.”
“What is that light?” Nestov asked, propping himself up on two elbows.
Mey slid the green and silver curtains to the side, allowing even more light in. “It’s the sun.”
“The sun?” Nestov lifted the quilted blanket off him and swung his legs to the side of the bed. “Have you ever seen it that red before?”
“No.” Mey frowned. “I don’t care for it, either.”
Nestov stood and went to the window. In the past, when the sun was different colors, it was due to clouds or smoke in the air. Not today. The sky was clear aside from the red sun.
“I think we need to seek out Mistress Sheric, now,” Nestov said.
Mey displayed his agreement by helping Nestov put on his formal robe.
The guard at the door, one Nestov had yet to meet, agreed easily enough to escort Nestov and Mey to see Sheric. They found her in the same room where they first met. She sat behind the table, shoulders slumping. “You’ve seen it, I take it?” she asked tiredly.
“The red sun?” Nestov answered. “Yes. Do you know what it means?”
Sheric’s eyes hardened around the edges. “It’s a portent—a dire one.”
“Portent?” Mey asked.
“It means a warning, an indication of something foul or possibly malevolent,” Nestov said.
“An apt explanation,” Sheric said. “The red sun is one of the signs we look for when there is a dangerous unbalance in the myelur. It appears you were right to warn us.”
Nestov felt his body tense. “What would have caused the sun to change color?”
“The yellow myelur. It was used recently, and significantly.” Mistress Sheric slumped even more as if a great burden rested on her back.
“What do you mean by significantly?” Mey asked. “Does it make a difference how it is used?”
“Most certainly,” Sheric said. “I did more
reading since our last meeting. I learned something I hadn’t fully understood before. Let me explain. The blue myelur is used for protection. It is the most common and has the least impact on the balance. Many people can use the blue, some without realizing it, and it does little to offset things.
“The red myelur is the least common, aside from the yellow. At its most basic, the red allows a person to see the life force in individuals—often as red glimmers, hence the name. More powerful users of the red can manifest the red outwardly to affect others, causing their bodies to act differently. However, accounts of such actions are so old and vague; we don’t know much more than that.
“The green myelur is restorative by nature. It allows someone to draw from their life force and give it to another. The result is healing. It is considered a selfless act, therefore, by its nature, is considered benevolent. Use of the green myelur often counters use of the red and blue effectively.”
“And the yellow? What have you not told us before?” Nestov asked, a sense of dread lurking within him as he posed the question.
“The yellow is the opposite of the green. I did explain that it is extremely rare if you recall,” Sheric said. “The yellow myelur is selfish. It takes the life force from another and draws it to the user. From what we have gathered over time, it is also addictive. Unlike the other aspects of the myelur, once a person uses the yellow, they become dependent upon it.”
Nestov understood. “Someone, someone very powerful, is using the yellow myelur. Because it is so potent, whatever they did recently was enough to cause a noticeable change—like with the red sun.”
“Exactly,” Sheric said. “The myelur is now ominously out of balance, and will continue to get worse with each use of the yellow myelur.”
“What can we do to stop it?” Mey asked, his voice tight.
“As you noted in our previous meeting, we need to find this person and stop them,” Sheric said.
Nestov noticed that her words seemed to lack conviction. “Will that be enough?”
She looked up, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I hope so. What scares me the most is what you told me when we first met. If your abbot was correct, then anyone who is now born with the ability to use the yellow will be able to do so easily.”
“And if the balance is off now, with only one person using it, then—” Nestov began before Sheric interrupted him.
“Then, we are indeed headed for dark times which could destroy us all.”
Chapter 75
Wyjec felt as strong as he ever had, at least physically. Draining five people using the yellow myelur was exactly what he needed. Not only did it heal the sword wound in his side, but it also helped him regain his physical strength.
Walking away to the west of the cabin, he considered what to do next. All of the wolves he brought with him, including Alpha, were dead. He tried to push away the grief, but it was too fresh. They had all died to save him. Wait, that’s not true. Not all of them are dead!
Each night, Wyjec would send wolves out to scout—one in each direction. Three of them had yet to return. Reaching out with the red myelur, he could sense them. It was akin to feeling which way the wind was blowing by moving around in a circle. His remaining wolves were moving closer to him. In a matter of time, they would rejoin him.
All is not lost. Or is it? The vision of him sitting in a palace no longer held the same attraction. Men could never be trusted. That point was driven home, literally, when Mux had stabbed him. I will never truly be safe around men.
That singular thought expanded into a greater realization. No one is truly safe around men. They are, at their center, treacherous beings. I must stop them. To do so would take more than just a handful of wolves, no matter how loyal. More than that, Wyjec needed to learn more about his gifts and how to make them even stronger. Others may be able to use the myelur, but I can be better. I will be better!
That would take time. He would need to find and breed more wolves. He would have to find information about the myelur and how to increase his power. He would need to practice and train. Even considering all these barriers in his way, he would grow stronger. This he vowed.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. Lloyd Morgan is a best-selling author and English Professor. He graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in Communications and a minor in English. Morgan earned a Master’s degree in Creative Writing in 2014. He has lived all over the United States, but now resides in North Carolina with his wife and four daughters. Aside from writing, Morgan is an avid reader. He’s also a huge fan of baseball and enjoys listening to music.
Aside from Darker the Shadow, Morgan’s other published novels include The Bariwon Chronicles (The Hidden Sun, The Waxing Moon, The Zealous Star), Wall of Faith, Bring Down the Rain, and The Mirror of the Soul written in conjunction with musician Chris de Burgh.
His published short stories include “Howler King,” “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” “With Bells On” and award-winning “The Doughnut.”
An anthology of short stories, observations and insights called The Night the Port-A-Potty Burned Down and Other Stories was released at the end of 2012.
For more information, visit his website at www.jlloydmorgan.com
Darker the Shadow (The Howler King Trilogy Book 1) Page 28
