Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf)

by A. E. McCullough

  As Darnac took in the enormity of the skeleton, he felt a slight pricking in his thumbs and knew he wasn’t alone. Seconds later, he spied shadowy figures moving in the mist as they surrounded him. Reaching back, Darnac freed his swords and they sprang to life.

  Iran et dolorem were known as the Swords of Destiny. Darnac had found these blades nearly one hundred years ago. Actually that wasn’t completely correct, he had been chosen to wield these swords when they had betrayed the Butcher of Kantia, their previous wielder. It had been a glorious battle and that one moment which came to define the rest of his life since it was during that same battle when he’d became indebted to Lalith.

  When Darnac had looted the blades, he immediately discovered that Furor and Miseria were actually sentient blades. Not completely intelligent, the blades worked to influence their wielder’s personality. Typically speaking they didn’t agree with each other except when it came to combat since both blades constantly thirsted for blood. Even after nearly a century of wielding the blades, Darnac could feel their urging as combat loomed closer.

  Guttural laughter echoed through the valley. “The Blademaster of Avaris, how nice of you to join us.”

  Darnac didn’t need to see his opponent to recognize the voice. “So, Grunk was right.”

  Blackfang stepped out from underneath the gargantuan dragon skull. “I knew if I let that one-eyed lummox live you would eventually find me.”

  Darnac stepped forward. “If I knew you wanted to meet me, I would’ve come earlier.”

  Blackfang laughed and gestured to his right and left. Two more lycanthropes stepped out from under the shadow of the dragon skull, a wereboar and a werebear.

  The werebear was massive. That was the first word that came to mind as Darnac gazed on him. He wasn’t as tall as his friend Grunk but he was close. He had the unmistakable look of a warrior but instead of carrying a highlander weapon, he bore a staff that marked his as a tribal shaman.

  Two things made the wereboar stand out from the rest of the lycanthropes, overall cleanliness and lack of scars. The wereboar wore a simple loincloth to cover his manhood and a wide girdle of leather with a faded bronze buckle. Both had seen plenty of wear and abuse but it was obvious that he also cleaned them regularly. As to the scars, it quickly became obvious that it wasn’t that he didn’t have scars, he had plenty, but they seemed fainter than any of the others around him. It was as if this lycanthrope took the time to clean and bind any wounds, not like the rest. They would just let a wound bleed until it finally scabbed over. Occasionally, one would rub some mud on the wound. As Darnac studied him, the wereboar nodded his snout in silent greeting.

  “If you just leave Rage and Sorrow in my care, I’ll let you live,” said Blackfang as he gestured to the dark elf’s blades. “You know you can’t win this one.”

  Darnac felt his pulse quicken and Furor quivered in his hand. He could feel Rage’s influence as it urged him to attack but he held it in check with his own iron will. “I told you once before, there is only one condition on how you will get these blades.”

  Blackfang grinned. “I was hoping you would say that. Get him!”

  Out of the mists came Blackfang’s soldiers. Darnac quickly found himself on the defensive as he dodged and parried attacks from numerous were-creatures and at least a dozen orcs.

  * * * * *

  Odovacar took several steps backwards instead of forward. He had no urge to attack the Blademaster. Hawkeye had always spoken highly of the dark elf. Although now that he had a chance to see the warrior in action, he knew that the stories he’d heard of his prowess with the blades had been vastly understated. The dark elf moved with the grace of a puma and the ferocity of a wolverine. Even as he struck down the unfortunate Hok’ee who came within his deadly reach, Odovacar knew it was futile. The dark elf was surrounded and outnumbered. It was only a matter of time.

  As Blackfang moved closer to Darnac and further away from him, Odovacar felt the madness close back in on him. Even though he didn’t want to engage the dark elf in battle, the wereboar took a few steps forward and the madness began to recede.

  Odovacar loathed the simple fact that his life was now tied to Blackfang, a man he hated and despised, that was if he wanted to keep his sanity. Somehow the scarred werewolf radiated a calming influence that drove away the feral animal mind and allowed those within its influence to regain their senses. Odovacar had tried to walk away once but that didn’t last long and he wouldn’t voluntarily do it again. He had too much to lose.

  * * * * *

  Kieran nearly fell out of his chair when his visitor walked in unannounced.

  Everyone in his line of work had heard of Kâlikâ the blind witch of Avaris but few had ever seen her or if they had, rarely talked about it. The only exception seemed to be when she arrives in the Lüdüs to help process the students into coteries. Of course, there had been plenty of rumors over the last couple of decades that she had been seen out and about more often. There were even some rumors that she even worked for the Dôminus but Kieran doubted that one. From the stories he had heard about her, the Dôminus might think she was working for him but in reality, he was furthering some unfathomable agenda of hers.

  Kieran hopped up and bowed low. “Kâlikâ, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “Ah Kieran, always the silver-tongued devil. I just felt that it was time we met....” She paused before adding, “…in person.”

  The retired thief was confused. He was certain that he’d never met the witch. It would be hard to forget meeting someone as hideously ugly as her but he didn’t get the feeling that she was lying. Maybe she was just being polite. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to seem rude but I have pressing business I must attend to.”

  The old hag ignored him, moved straight over to an empty chair and sat down. “Yes I know…the duel between Galvorn and Zivën. Why else would I be here?”

  Kieran cocked his head to the side. “I don’t understand.”

  “Simple. When was the last time a Blademaster was challenged by an outsider, much less a half-breed? Now consider the ramifications since we both know that Zivën sits on the Council of Shadows. How will his defeat affect them?”

  “If Zivën falls? I would guess that the implications that the Council of Shadows are not as untouchable or as infallible as they would have us think.”

  “I agree. This could be like the one small stone that starts an avalanche. You shall bear witness and after today, you shall carry that knowledge to Timgâd and to the Council of Shadows.”

  “You talk as if you know that Zivën will lose.”

  “His fall was foretold long ago.”

  Kieran shook his head slowly. “How is it you know all this?”

  Kâlikâ smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “When you gaze on me, all you can see is a wrinkled old hag with black eyes which makes you think I am limited by this deformity.” She shrugged. “In some ways maybe I am but my limitations allow me to see more than what this mortal shell would ever permit. I have seen wonders beyond your imagination. I have seen the birth and death of myriad stars, I have walked the paths of time, visited the ancient past and the distant future, I have seen the rise of empires and the fall of dynasties.”

  Kâlikâ looked down and began to fumble inside her belt pouches as if she was looking for something that had been misplaced. “But alas, even with all my powers I find myself in need of someone like you. Interested?”

  “Nay witch. I am but a simple thief trying to make my way in this world.”

  Kâlikâ chuckled. “You are neither simple nor a thief. You are a shiftless rogue. Once you were the Sultan of Otrar, the Kingpin of the outer reaches of the Subterreth, the one who controlled all criminal activities outside the ancient cities and you were happy. But two decades ago, it all came to a crashing end. You blame Lalith for you downfall but it was not her doing, nor was it Darnac’s. Shall I tell you who is to blame for the demise of your criminal empire?”


  She didn’t wait for his answer, nor did he offer one since they both knew her question was rhetorical.

  “It was the Council of Shadows. They were intimidated by your success and decided to destroy your empire lest you threaten them in the future.”

  “How do I know you speak the truth?”

  The blind witch paused in her rummaging and turned her sightless gaze back on the thief. “I could tell you the details of any day in your past or describe the manner of your death with such clarity that you would be filled with dread. Is this what you want?”

  Kieran took an involuntarily step backwards. “Nay. I have found solitude in the role of Döcent and I just want to be left alone.”

  “I can understand that but that path is no longer possible; your future and that of Terreth’s balances on the edge of a knife. You can choose to be a part of the future or a victim of it. Choose now and choose wisely.”

  Kieran had no idea what the old hag was talking about. She might be totally delusional but she was probably right about the Council of Shadows. He’d long suspected them and had even befriended Zivën to see if he could glean any information from the Blademaster but he hadn’t. If there was one thing he had learned in the last two decades, when confronted with change, embrace it or be prepared to be run over by it. He suspected that Kâlikâ’s arrival represented that moment in time where everything beyond this point would be different. She was the catalyst, not the cause.

  Kieran had to make a decision but honestly, it was not very difficult.

  “How can I aid you?”

  Kâlikâ grinned and pulled out a ring carved of solid black onyx from her pouch and handed it to the thief. “When Zivën falls and the defeated lies in a pool of his own blood, place this on his left hand.”

  Kieran looked down at the ebony ring. “What does it do?”

  “Trust me, you really don’t want to know,” she said as she placed one hand on his arm.

  Kieran only dimly heard her reply. His mind was otherwise occupied. When she had touched him, he immediately noticed two things. Her skin was dry and cold, not soft and warm like a typical touch but more like that of a corpse. Nonetheless, it was the smell of death that invaded his nostrils and threatened to overwhelm his self-control.

  Swallowing hard, Kieran nodded. “It shall be done.”

  Chapter 36

  Gray winced as Galvorn pulled the last stitch tight. “That should about do it,” remarked the half-dark elf. “I still can’t believe you let those younglings wound you.”

  Gray shifted his head to the side to get a better look at the stitches. “Nice grouping.” He stood up and moved over to the wash basin. “I admit, I might’ve gotten a bit complacent.” As the half-light elf slipped his tunic back on, he added, “There is a lesson to be learned there, if you were paying attention.”

  Galvorn chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll not underestimate Zivën.”

  Gray nodded. “That would be a good thing. Believe it or not, I’ve become rather fond of having you around.”

  Even though he had phrased his remark as a joke, Galvorn understood what he meant. “Don’t you worry Grim; I’ll be around to dance at your wedding and long afterwards.”

  Gray raised an eyebrow. “Wedding? Do you know something that I don’t?”

  “Nope…but I do think that you and Mouse make a cute couple.”

  Gray wasn’t surprised that his half-brother knew about his relationship with Tamina. It would’ve been more surprising if he hadn’t figured it out. “Does anyone else on the team know?”

  Galvorn shook his head. “Not that I know. You two have been very careful and secretive. I only figured it out recently and that’s only because I’ve known you two for many years.” He paused. “Actually, it’s more her than you. She has a hard time not letting her emotions show, especially when we’re in danger.”

  Gray was about to add something when there was a tapping on the door. Galvorn drew his dagger and moved to the side of the entrance. Gray gripped his dagger but refrained from drawing it unless he needed it. Opening the door, they were confronted with a young gnome and a pretty dark elf lass. Gray recognized them at once. They had been part of the last group standing during their challenge.

  The gnome bowed low but never took his eyes off the two Sicárii. “Master Isengrim, allow me to introduce myself, I am Khan, son of Kang and a guardian of Aad. It would be my honor to escort you to the duel.”

  The dark elf lass stepped forward and also bowed low but her attention was on Gray’s half-brother. “Master Galvorn, I am Rjani. I have been assigned to be your escort.”

  Galvorn raised one eyebrow and looked her up and down. Rjani was dressed in a light grey skirt and matching halter top that accented her figure and was very revealing of her assets. “I appreciate the offer but we know the way.”

  Khan swallowed deeply. “May I speak bluntly Master Isengrim?”

  Gray nodded. “Always.”

  “We have been assigned to be your valets for as long as you are at the Lüdüs.”

  “What? Why?”

  It was Rjani who answered and her tone belied the fact that she was not happy about the situation. “Because we failed during the Cërtatüs.”

  Galvorn scoffed at this revelation. “But your Aciës did better than any other group.”

  Gray patted his half-brother on the shoulder and nodded. “Of course, it makes sense.”

  The other three responded in unison, “How?”

  “We embarrassed the Kingslayer and since he cannot, or should I say, will not accept responsibility for his failure he has to blame someone. You three were the best of the bunch and the only ones who got close enough to score a hit on one of us. Therefore it is your fault.”

  Khan cocked his head to the side. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Gray added with a grin. “The Kingslayer is a bureaucrat and what he says is almost always opposite of what he means.”

  Galvorn just shook his head. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

  Gray faced his half-brother. “Don’t let it bother you. You need to keep your focus on Zivën. He should be your only concern at this very moment.”

  “You’re right.” Galvorn drew his shoulders back and kept his head high. “Come on, we don’t want to be late for this.” Without another word, the four warrior-assassins stepped into the dark corridors.

  * * * * *

  To the dark elves, a Blademaster was both an honorary title and military rank. Any duel with a Blademaster involved had become a highly ritualized affair, not that it had originally been that way but the Svartálfar had slowly formalized the whole ordeal. Typically speaking, any challenge that was issued in Avaris or Timgâd had to be witnessed by three members of the city council and mediated by another Blademaster. Of course the two rival cities didn’t agree on many other aspects of the duel; such as the duties of the Second or how long a delay before the duel could commence or even how long the duel could last.

  However, the basic rules of the duel were actually very simple. Each contestant had to have a Second that would step in to defend the contestant if attacked by anyone other than the duelist. It was the mediator’s duty to oversee the duel and declare a winner. This was usually easy since duels with a Blademaster only ended in the death of one of the combatants or when one called ‘concedo’ the dark elven term for surrender. Not even the mediator could step in and declare a winner. It was one or the other.

  There was only one other stipulation concerning the duel which was universal, the fight had to take place in total darkness. Since dark elves had the natural ability of dark sight, they accomplished this feat by blindfolding the two opponents. This was also a duty of the Second and the Mediator. The Seconds would tie on the blindfold while the Mediator would certify its placement and effectiveness.

  Galvorn and Gray waited patiently in the sands of the Lüdüs Lupus. If either of them were nervous, no one could tell since they both just sat d
own, folded their hands and closed their eyes. They were the epitome of calmness. Khan and Rjani silently stood beside them but both fidgeted constantly.

  It was nearly an hour later when Zivën arrived. The two Sicárii weren’t concerned. They had expected something like this. Arriving late to a battle is an acceptable strategy of warfare and one they had both used many times. But Zivën’s strategy misfired on him since Kieran hadn’t arrived and the Blademaster was forced to wait anyway. When the Sultan arrived, he immediately moved forward to stand between the two duelists.

  Looking back and forth, he spoke the traditional question. “Zivën and Galvorn, are you aware of the conditions of this contest and are entering it of your own freewill and not by coercion from some outside force?”

  They both answered. “Aye.”

  “Aaron Kingslayer and Isengrim, you have been designated to be their seconds. Are you aware of the hazards of this position and vow to remain vigilant through the entire contest?”

  The Kingslayer glared at Kieran since he used his first name and not his title or surname but still answered, “Aye.” Gray had waited until the Sultan looked at him before answering, as was the tradition.

  Kieran looked up to the watching students and asked in a loud voice, “And do you all vow to bear witness to this historical event?”

  The entire gathering answered as one, “Aye!”

  “I, Kieran, formally known as the Sultan of Otrar, swear to act as mediator and will attest the results of this duel to the Council of Shadows at its conclusion.” The rogue held out two pieces of red cloth and nodded to the Headmaster and Gray. “Seconds, apply the blindfolds.”

  Gray reached over and received the blindfold and inspected it. It was nothing special, just a simple piece of red fabric, nothing fancy but extremely effective. Folding over a few times, he tied it over his half-brother’s eyes and made sure it was secure. Aaron Kingslayer glared at his subordinate as he took the cloth. It seems that he had already folded a blindfold of black cloth but now was unable to use it.