Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf)

by A. E. McCullough

  Once again, Jactatör began to say something but Khlekluëllin silenced him a second time.

  “It is my turn to speak, not yours. You and Iauron had plenty of time earlier.” He glanced between his two subordinates before continuing. “Furthermore, since I believe this is more a faith issue and not one of insubordination, I am going to transfer you to another post. And since I would prefer this not to mar your record, I am transferring you to the Palace Guards, effective immediately.”

  Jactatör opened his mouth to object but then closed it quickly and forcibly. A transfer to the Palace Guard was not what he had expected. It was not a demotion. It was a promotion.

  Khlekluëllin continued. “I have already discussed this matter with my brother and he is expecting you before Highsun. I suggest you arrive early and be wearing your finest armor. Dismissed!”

  Jactatör snapped to attention, saluted and left quickly.

  Once the braggart was gone, Khlekluëllin could tell that Iauron had questions. “Yes?”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

  “Granted.”

  “How could you give him that post? You know as well as I do, that is his dream posting. Jactatör was only in the Wardens until he could curry enough favor to get a transfer. And now he gets it for being rude to someone that the Beriadan had chosen. It’s wrong…sir.”

  Khlekluëllin sat back in his chair and gestured for the young Warden to do the same. “Just remember that wanting something and getting something are two different things. You’re right. Jactatör did want the Palace Guard posting but not to serve the crown, he wants the prestige.”

  Khlekluëllin ran his hands through his shoulder length azure hair for a moment before interlocking his hands behind his head and leaning back. “But he hasn’t really thought it all the way through. The majority of the Palace Guard postings are boring and tedious. You stand at a door for half the day, no matter the weather, in full dress armor, unable to move or speak unless someone in your chain of command or the royal family addresses you directly. Now, does that sound like fun to you?”

  Iauron shook his head. “No sir. It sounds like pure torture to me.”

  “Same here.” Khlekluëllin grinned. “Besides, my brother promised me that he is going to get an enjoyable billet.”

  Once again, Iauron was impressed with the unorthodox and devious way his commander’s mind worked. He had actually punished Jactatör but in such a way that the former Warden had actually thanked him for it. It was sweet comfort as the young Warden returned to his duties.

  * * * * *

  Graytael glanced up at the sun overhead and judged that Highsun was still a couple hours off as he and Anasazi entered the farmlands and pastures that marked the outskirts of Homestead.

  Homestead was a small hamlet that was strategically located in the Southlands. It straddled the Draken River and was the only bridge across the river for nearly fifty leagues. It was less than a day’s travel south of the Wall and three days to the Kingdom of Krantos in the east. The newer, more settled, parts of Homestead were on the eastern bank of the river. While the old town, including the Inn of Quiet Repose was on the west. It was here that the outermost reaches of the Great Forest ended and the Southland truly began.

  Even though Graytael had only been gone for a few days, the village seemed much smaller than before. Maybe it was that the world seemed so much bigger now or perhaps he had gained a glimpse at the future and saw how fragile life really was. Either way, the young half-elf was happy to be home.

  As the Inn they called home came into view, Anasazi stopped at a nearby vendor stall but pointed at the old building, “You head on inside. I’ll be along momentarily.”

  Gray nodded and vaulted over the fence that marked the paddock. He knew it would be quicker if he cut directly through the barn and entered the Inn from the back door than to follow the road through town. Out of habit, he glanced at the water buckets and hay racks and found them full. This was one of the chores left to the most junior of the Inn’s strays and one that he had taken on himself to oversee. Many times the younglings were not strong enough to lift full buckets to fill the water troughs properly or they would grab wet hay. This meant that the horses would not have enough water or bad hay and neither was good for the health of the horses.

  Gray stepped into the kitchen of the Inn and froze.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  Highsun was less than two hours away and the Inn always had a steady lunch business. But the kitchen was empty. Normally, it would be a bustle of activity but the ovens were cold and no one was in sight. Gray quietly slipped off his backpack and set it near the door. Moving slowly through the familiar kitchen, he strained to hear anything.

  There was the slightest of creaks from one of the floorboard in the taproom.

  Drawing both his father’s warclub and his hunting knife, Gray cautiously made his way to the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the great room of the Inn. Every so slowly, he pushed open the left door with the toe of his boot and peered inside. The taproom was dark and no one was in sight. The faint sounds of breathing reached his ears. It sounded as if someone was hiding behind the bar.

  Gray subconsciously whispered a prayer to the Spirits of the Wild and moved forward with the stealth of the lynx. As he padded his way through the tables and around the chairs, he avoided the squeaky floorboards out of instinct and memory and soon found himself crouched down next to the bar. From this vantage point, he could clearly hear someone breathing on the other side of the bar. He tightened the grips on his weapons and was about to pounce on whomever was hiding there, when he sensed trouble behind him. Spinning quickly, he raised his weapons into a defensive position and prepared to dodge any incoming attacks.

  “Surprise!” came a chorus of voices as the lights in the taproom flared to life and out sprang numerous bodies from their hiding spots all around the inn.

  Annabelle jumped out from behind the bar and gave him a big hug. Even as shocked as he was, he absentmindedly noticed the feeling of her breasts pressed against his back. Before he could really analyze or respond to the situation, Kariah, Abban, Razbroun and the rest of the inn’s strays moved in close for a hug or a simple pat on his back.

  Rjurik moved up and thumped him on the back. “Gotcha pup! By all the gods, you should’ve seen your face.”

  Gray retrieved his fallen weapons where he’d dropped them as his friends moved in for hugs and struggled to keep the confused look off his face. He failed. “What is all this?”

  “A surprise birthday party. What does it look like?”

  “For me?”

  “Duh. You aren’t the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes.”

  Gray gestured to the surrounding activity. Everyone was in motion, busy setting up the taproom for the celebration. “I mean…why?”

  “Why not?” Rjurik turned serious and folded his arms across his chest. “Anasazi and I know that it must’ve been hard growing up without your parents, only hearing stories of them. This is just our way of showing you that no matter what happens you are loved.”

  Graytael blushed. “I know that…I’ve always known that.”

  Rjurik seemed to want to say more but as quick as lighting the gruffness returned to his face and demeanor. “Now get yourself over to the table and open your gifts.”

  Graytael had figured out long ago that Rjurik’s cantankerousness was just an act. It was just the dwarf’s way of coping with all things emotional, especially anything that reminded him of Hawkeye and Tatianna. Evidently, Rjurik blamed himself for not being with them all those years ago when they had made their final stand. The old dwarf had convinced himself that if he had been standing beside his parents, at least one of them would have survived. It was not logical nor was it true. Gray had heard Anasazi disagree with him on the subject many times. Nevertheless, the stubborn dwarf believed it and there was nothing anyone could say or do to change his mind.

  Gray was ushered to one of the
long tables in the taproom by Raz, the son of Broun the Wanderer. The halfling was actually two years his senior but only came up to his navel. Thin of frame, the halfling had curly brown hair that complimented his hazel eyes, which seemed to change hue depending on his outfit. For today’s festivities, Raz had chosen an outfit in varying shades of brown; brown pants, lighter brown shirt, dark brown overcoat and a brownish-red scarf tied around his neck. Of course Raz wasn’t wearing shoes since halfling feet are typically overly large for their size, covered in hair and had soles as tough as leather.

  Raz climbed onto the stool next to him, which almost brought him to eye level with his friend. “Wow. When you came through the taproom, I didn’t even hear you.”

  Gray furrowed his brow. “Well, I didn’t hear or see any of you as I came through but then, poof, you were behind me.”

  When Raz grinned, it lit up his round face. “Magic. The old man left a potion behind for us to use.” He thumbed his chest. “Now, I didn’t use it nor did Annabelle. We wanted to do it the old fashion way and see if you would see us.”

  Gray shook his head. “Well, I didn’t see you at all but I did hear Annabelle breathing behind the bar.”

  “Really?” Raz face brightened even more, if that was at all possible. “You nearly stepped on me when you went around table nine. I thought for sure that I was busted.”

  Before Gray could respond, Anasazi stepped up. “There is a lesson here if you chose to learn from it.”

  Gray nodded. “I was too focused on the obvious and ignored that what was obscured from direct sight.”

  Anasazi patted him on the back. “Excellent. That was well put. However, I suggest you take it to heart. Ignoring that which cannot be seen could be deadly in the real world.”

  Gray had been Anasazi’s pupil long enough to realize that the ancient shaman was trying to teach him something important but without coming right out and telling him. He accepted it as one of the life lessons which came with having him as a guardian. Whatever message Anasazi was trying to impart to him was soon forgotten as Kariah and Annabelle brought out a cake and placed it in front of him.

  Soon, the party was well underway and Anasazi stepped back to watch. It was the happiest he had ever seen Graytael. He knew all too well, that it would be short lived.

  * * * * *

  Blackfang was getting impatient.

  Actually, he had passed that an hour ago. Now, he was downright antsy. It was nearly Highsun and he ached to begin his assault but he understood his orders all too well. The moment any of his troops stepped foot inside the Great Forest, the elves would be alerted to their presence. He knew that the rest of the armies of the Dark Alliance were already on the move through the Southland and had possibly encountered some outlying farmers. By Clotho’s orders, their armies were banned from invading any town until the eclipse began. Minor skirmishes were fine, just not a full-fledged attack. At least, not yet.

  Blackfang raised the brass spyglass Lalith had commissioned for him to his one good eye.

  The spyglass was a beautiful piece of artisanship. It could slide open and triple its length with nothing but a simple pull. It was powerful enough to enhance his vision by a factor of twelve, or so the gnome engineer had said, but more importantly to his task was the fact it also came with a shaded lens cap that would allow him to look directly at the sun without damaging his eye.

  He grinned as he witnessed the fainted beginnings of the eclipse. It was time.

  Blackfang nudged his spider-steed forward and began the long descent down the Wall. The true invasion of the Southlands had begun.

  * * * * *

  Tarax the joten outcast stopped his army just shy of the village. According to his map, Homestead was the largest and closest community in the region. From here south all the ways to the walls of Asylum, there would only be scattered farmsteads and small hamlets. To the east lay Krantos, the vast fortified human kingdom. There was a well-traveled road that ran right to its gates and Tarax planned to raid every hamlet between here and there. But for now, his orders were to raid the eastern side of Homestead and capture the bridge.

  Lalith had made sure that he understood how paramount to her plans this bridge was. If the Dark Alliance could capture and control this link, then they would cripple the Southerners’ war effort. The only other bridge was far to the south and just north of Asylum. There were numerous fords, low water areas with good footing for crossing, all along the Draken River but controlling a major thoroughfare was always a good strategy during a war.

  Tarax had one hundred and twenty-three goblins under his command and had dedicated them to overwhelming any resistance the villagers might offer. His jotens would move through the village and capture the bridge first. Once secured, they could branch off to assist the goblins. The fifty orcs Kralm had attached to his command had one objective, the capturing of younglings. It was a good plan, it was a solid plan or at least as far as he was concerned. Tarax had pledged his service to Lalith and the Dark Alliance. If the price of Grunk’s death was the destruction of the Southlands, then he would happily pay it.

  Tarax looked west across the river and could just make out the army hidden along the far bank. They calmly lay in wait for the signal to attack. He had to admire the discipline of those soldiers but then he remembered that the Dark Queen herself was leading that army and he realized that it was probably fear that held them in check more than discipline. With that thought, he turned his attention back to his men; they were impatient to begin the attack.

  Tarax glanced down at the pearl the Dark Queen had inset on his gauntlet. She had told him that it would turn black when it was time to attack. It was already a murky grey instead of the pearly white it had been early this morning. That is when he noticed that his men were quiet, too quiet. Looking up, he noticed that everyone was looking skyward.

  Raising his one great eye upward, he watched in disbelief as the skies darkened. It was amazing to witness the glowing orb of the sun slowly blacken. He glanced down at his pearl-set gauntlet. It was solid black. Now that he had seen the eclipse, he was not sure why Lalith had taken the time to enchant the precious gem but she had. Tarax shrugged his massive shoulders. It was beyond him but for whatever reason, it did not matter. It was time.

  Tarax raised his huge claymore above his head and swung it in a circle twice before pointing it at the village. Without a word, his army began moving forward. First at a slow walk but getting faster and faster with each step until it was a charging horde. The invasion had begun.

  * * * * *

  Aaron Trollslayer checked his pearl-set gauntlet. It was solid black. It was time.

  Today he would gain justice for the insult he had received a dozen years earlier. He really wanted revenge on that blue-haired, snotty-nosed elf that had made a mockery of him in the Arena. But Lalith had pointed out that not only had the King orchestrated the challenge, he had bet against him. She was right. It was King Padric’s fault.

  He had worked long and hard over the last decade to get this close to the King. As a matter of fact, only the Captain of the Guards Derek Ironhand and the King’s brother Midach Bonecrusher had more influence in Darkmoor than he did right now. But that was all about to change.

  With the pearl turning black, the true invasion and destruction of Darkmoor was beginning. Any minute now, some scout would stumble across one of the advancing spiders and the alarm would be raised. Even as he thought this, he heard the first faint echoes of the horns. Now, Midach and Derek would rush off to confront whatever threatened their precious kingdom. The damned glory hounds. But then, that would leave him alone with the King. And that was exactly what he wanted. What the Spinner had demanded.

  True to form, as the scouts began rushing in with conflicting reports, Midach Bonecrusher headed to the south gate while Derek Ironhand went to the west gate leaving Aaron Trollslayer alone with the king.

  The old man did not even suspect him and he slid his dagger in between his liege’s ribs an
d into his heart. The look of shock and betrayal was legendary and one that Aaron would remember for many years to come. Even as he pilfered the dead king’s enchanted hammer, Aaron contemplated a name change.

  Aaron Kingslayer had such a nice ring to it. Grinning, the assassin slipped out of the royal chambers by seldom-used passageways and left the Kingdom of Darkmoor to the mighty onslaught of the spiders. The dwarves would fall, it was the will of the Spinner and there was nothing that they could do about it, except die.

  * * * * *

  Mortharona could not help but grin when he saw his newest recruit. He made the young elf sweat for a moment as he studied his personal scroll. His brother had sent over his latest evaluations and recommendations. Evidently, Jactatör was the youngest son of his mother’s personal assistant and seemed to be a bit outspoken. This tended to rub many people the wrong way, which made him a perfect choice for the part Mortharona had planned for him. It was enjoyable to think that his brother sent him the perfect pawn for the mission the Spinner had decreed for him. It was the simple things that made revenge sweet.

  Fishing in his desk, Mortharona pulled out the red silk diadem set with a black moonstone, the symbol of the Palace Guards. “Here you go, Jactatör. Try this on.”

  Jactatör gingerly accepted the coveted headband. “I…I don’t know what to say…sir.”

  Mortharona grinned and moved around his desk.

  Jactatör vaguely noted that the raven-haired elf prince moved extremely gracefully, almost catlike. The newest Palace Guard slipped the badge of office on and turned to face his new commander. “How does it look, sir?”

  Mortharona chewed on his lip for a second before stepping forward and adjusting it slightly. He also sprinkled some dried dark elf blood on Jactatör’s shoulders. Not a lot, just enough for the spell he was planning on casting. “There. That looks better.” Mortharona nodded. “Come…walk with me. I’ll introduce you around.”

  The dark-haired prince led his new recruit throughout the palace pointing out different artifacts or paintings while reciting the general history of the item. Every Palace Guard they met, he called them by name and introduced them to Jactatör. When they reached the upper areas of the palace and were approaching the royal suites, Mortharona stopped him with the back of his hand. “Now when we enter, you must present the Queen with your sword. Only those she blesses can carry in her presence.”