Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf)

by A. E. McCullough

  Gray was certain Kieran had chosen red cloth for the blindfold to disrupt any plans of cheating that Zivën and Aaron Kingslayer had come up with, like folding a piece of black cloth in such a way that a dark elf’s infravision could still see through.

  Once the blindfolds were in place, Kieran inspected them before nodding. A simple gesture told the Seconds that it was time to move back.

  “When you hear the gong, the duel will commence. May the most skilled win.”

  Zivën spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m going to gut you from ear to ear.”

  Galvorn grinned. “Is that the most inventive threat you can come up with? Wow, you are pitiful and stupid. That doesn’t even make sense.”

  Clang!

  The gong echoed through the arena and the two warriors were in motion.

  Chapter 37

  Darnac was in constant motion as the lycanthropes leapt at him from out of the heavy mist.

  He had killed the first two werebeasts that had attacked him, of that he was certain, but since there were so many of them and he had to keep moving, he had no choice but to switch tactics. No longer was he trying to kill his attackers, his only stratagem at this point was to wound them and stay mobile.

  Several of the werebears had tried to grab him and pull him into a life-crushing hug. But the deadly Blademaster proved time and time again that he was too nimble. Spying a large pile of boulders nearby, Darnac leapt to the top of one and slashed off the right hand a werewolf that had been trying to block him. Out of the corner of his eye, the Blademaster saw that Blackfang and his two bodyguards were rushing to intercept him. Considering the haphazard way the lycanthropes threw themselves at him as he reached the rocks, Darnac guessed there was something special about these boulders.

  For a scant few seconds he had a lull in the battle since he was out of immediate reach of the closest lycanthropes but they were moving fast and all that was about to change. Scanning the boulders, he spied some marks scratched into the surface of the rock. Taking a step closer, he recognized it as an ancient rune for danger….not that it helped him.

  At the same instant he realized that the markings were runes, he felt the ground underneath him give way and he was falling. Actually that wasn’t true. The ground didn’t open up or a hidden door slide out from underneath him, the rock itself became insubstantial and ghost-like. Darnac found that couldn’t leap away since there was nothing to push off from and he continued to sink into the murky boulder. He flailed about but was unable to slow his descent. When he reached about neck level, the boulder re-solidified and the Blademaster found himself stuck fast with only his head and hands above the now solid rock. Darnac struggled with all his might but to no avail, he was entombed inside the boulder.

  Cruel laughter filled the misty valley.

  Darnac looked around and every lycanthrope had stopped their assault and were laughing. Well, almost everyone. The wereboar to Blackfang’s right kept his head lowered in shame.

  “You are so predictable,” said Blackfang as he moved closer and out of Darnac’s direct line of sight for a second.

  Darnac twisted his head as far as he could but still couldn’t see the cursed lycanthrope. Suddenly, Blackfang was there, behind him with one hand on his chin and the other on the back of his head. It wouldn’t take anything to give his head a little twist and snap his neck.

  Darnac had always wondered what it would be like to truly face his death. He’d been in tight situations before but had always been able to fight or think his way out. But then, he’d never been encased in solid rock and have an angry werewolf with his hands on his neck. It didn’t look good for him. He vaguely wondered if his necklace would explode with his death. He hoped so; it would be poetic to kill his killer with the device that bound him to Lalith.

  Blackfang twisted ever-so slightly and lowered his snout until he was breathing right into the dark elf’s ear. “Do you realize how easy it would be to kill you right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good…because maybe you’ll appreciate how difficult it is for me to not to give your head a little twist. Pop! And you’re dead.” Blackfang leaned back and took a deep breath. “But your death needs to be slow and painful, not quick and merciful.” He reached out and plucked the twin Swords of Destiny out of the helpless hands of the Blademaster. “You were wrong. I didn’t have to kill you to take your swords. I just needed to defeat you. Rage and Sorrow are now mine. With their power, even Lalith will bow before me.”

  Darnac watched as the scarred werewolf took the ancient swords through a series of blocks and strikes that were dazzling to behold. Every lycanthrope in view dropped to their knees in awe. It seems he had underestimated the weapon skills of Blackfang.

  Thrusting the blades into his belt, Blackfang turned back to face his rival. “Your punishment will be to remain entombed in this rock until you die from hunger or thirst. No one under my command will aid you. I know that this will hurt you more than anything else in the world. To lie there helpless, praying for death. All the while knowing that it was your failure that will bring about the end of the Dark Alliance but also entrench my reign.”

  Blackfang lifted his snout to the moon and howled.

  All around him, the Hok’ee joined their voices with his. They yelled, cheered, grunted and howled in victory and the ominous sounds echoed off the distant valley walls.

  Darnac silently watched as the lycanthropes turned around one by one and disappeared into the darkness. For a brief second, the Blademaster imagined that the wereboar lingering at the cave entrance but his view was blocked by other lycanthropes. When they moved, he was gone.

  Had he only imagined it?

  Lowering his head, Darnac realized the harsh truth of his situation…he was alone and trapped.

  Chapter 38

  Galvorn was in constant motion as he dodged and parried Zivën’s attacks.

  The Blademaster of Timgád had surprised the young Sicárii with the quickness and accuracy of his strikes. They were both blindfolded but it was obvious that Zivën had trained for this type of battle. Not that Galvorn hadn’t, it had just been a few years.

  Even as he blocked and parried the frenzy assault of the Blademaster, Galvorn found his mind slipping back to the days Darnac had trained those of the Primius in blindfighting.

  It had been hot and in this same arena, just like now. Darnac had forced them to run a particularly tough obstacle course over and over for a month. It never changed and they ran it several times daily, when they were fresh and energetic or tired and sore. Then one day their Kënnári blindfolded them and commanded them to run the course. Even now, Galvorn was embarrassed to admit that he and the rest of the Primius had balked at the order, until they heard the crack of the whip and they began to run.

  Fear was a wonderful motivator.

  The moment they shifted their attention onto the whip and off the fact that they couldn’t see, their other senses took over. Their bodies ran and dodged, jumped and flipped just as they had been doing for the past several weeks. When they reached the end, Darnac ordered them to remove their blindfolds and reflect on what they had accomplished. Then, the Blademaster of Avaris proceeded to lecture them on the fundamentals of blindfighting.

  Galvorn had blocked every attack launched by the Blademaster of Timgâd but had failed to press any advantage. Until now. Slowly and surely, he began to counterattack. Nothing grand or flashy but he would parry two or three of Zivën’s strikes and counter with a thrust or slash of his own. This did two things; it interrupted the Blademaster’s rhythm and forced him to work harder.

  Zivën was already sweating profusely and his endurance was fading fast. It was obvious that he was no longer training daily, not so much in his skill level but in his stamina. Gritting his teeth together, Zivën launched a dazzling series of attacks at the young Sicárii and Galvorn was forced backwards.

  * * * * *

  Gray tried to remain calm as he watched his half-brother battle the B
lademaster of Timgâd. But more than that, it was difficult not to rush to his aide. They had fought alongside each other for so long, it seemed unnatural not to be fighting as his side. But Gray knew the rules…not here, not this time. This was Galvorn’s fight and his alone. It was a bitter pill to swallow. He wrenched his eyes away from the duel for a second to scan the immediate vicinity. Everyone nearby was enthralled by the dynamic battle as he was and no one was moving about. As he started to look back his eyes fell on Aaron Kingslayer.

  The Headmaster was watching the duel but more importantly, his eyes keep flicking over to one side of the arena where a bunch of boxes were stacked up near the wall.

  Gray glanced back at his half-brother. He seemed to be holding his own. He had just begun counter-attacking. Nothing major but he had deflected everything thrown at him so it was just a matter of time before he went on the offensive and drove the Blademaster back.

  Gray shifted his attention back to the Headmaster’s antics. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched the dwarf and waited. Sure enough, the dwarf glanced at the boxes once more. Gray shifted his stance ever so slightly, not enough to draw attention to himself but enough to give himself a better view of the boxes. For some reason the Headmaster found the clutter interesting, therefore he found them intriguing.

  Hearing a collective gasp from the crowd, Gray glanced back to the duel. Galvorn had begun to attack back in earnest and both dark elves had increased their intensity. They spun and slashed, blocked and thrust back and forth in a flurry of attacks that made up their deadly dance. Gray had never seen his half-brother fight at this level. But then, he’d never been in a duel to the death with a Blademaster before.

  Then the unthinkable happened. Zivën slipped. Not enough for him to completely fall but enough that he’d dropped to one knee and Galvorn pounced on him like a puma on a wounded deer. However Zivën was not done. His silver tulwars flashed as he parried the Shadow’s blows. Seeing these two dark elves fight, Gray found it hard to imagine how this battle would look if they weren’t both blindfolded.

  Click. Click.

  Gray wasn’t sure what he’d just heard but he knew it wasn’t natural. And anything that wasn’t natural or out of place tended to make him nervous. This was no different. To the Stalker, the duel no longer existed. There was something wrong in the immediate vicinity and he knew it.

  The moment Gray shifted his focus onto the surrounding area, his Highlander blessed senses kicked in. He could smell everyone nearby. Long ago he accepted the fact that he could identify specific people by their scents. He didn’t always think of it or even realize he was doing it until some event brought the fact to mind. Nor did he even appreciate how unusual this ability was, it was just part of his normal daily existence. But now that he was thinking about it, there was a scent he recognized but wasn’t in plain sight. Gray peered hard at the clutter of boxes.

  Subconsciously, he wanted to see what was so important to the Headmaster. On another plane of existence, the Spirits of the Wild considered his plight and his unspoken need as a request and granted him the vision of the Owl.

  Suddenly Gray’s vision narrowed and seemed to hone in on the fact that there was a silver arrowhead coated in green ichor protruding from the boxes. This arrowhead was attached to an arrow of course and loaded in a crossbow that was pointed at his half-brother’s back.

  Gray didn’t think, he acted.

  Pulling free his sicáe, Gray hurled it with all his might. The dagger flipped end over end until it buried itself to the hilt with deadly accuracy in the chubby student’s eye. In his death spasm, the would-be assassin pulled the trigger on his crossbow but it was no longer pointed directly at Galvorn and it flew harmlessly past.

  Gray wasn’t static as he threw himself to the left and dove into a shoulder roll. Even as he launched his dagger, the pieces fell into place.

  Aaron Trollslayer had become the Kingslayer by positioning himself close enough to strike the fatal blow when the time was right. The Headmaster had assigned him and his brother each a valet and it seemed now that they had strict orders to strike when they least expected it. The double clicking noise he’d heard earlier must’ve been some sort of signal.

  Coming out of his roll with practiced ease, Gray landed in a fighting stance and engaged his deadly claws with a flick of his wrists. He was ready for whatever was next…or so he thought.

  * * * * *

  Zivën had expected to kill the upstart half-dark elf quickly and easily. But he’d been wrong. And as much as he hated to admit it, the half-breed moved silently and fought brilliantly, almost an exact duplicate of Darnac.

  Truth be told, he had been dreading the day that he would have to face the Blademaster of Avaris. It had been nearly a century ago when he had first seen the skill of the young dark elf and in his heart of hearts he knew that he couldn’t beat him. That had been the catalyst which drove him to consult the blind witch Kâlikâ all those years ago. She had taken his gold and foretold his death. Even now he could hear her whispery voice in the back of his mind.

  ‘When silver blades collide and eyes are blind, ware the umbra with the broken blade. This eidolon shall bring down all your dreams and seal your fate.’

  Zivën had thought long a hard on this prophecy. He was certain it foretold his death at the hands of Darnac Penumbra the Blademaster of Avaris and no one else. This confidence had given him an edge over the last century. It was comforting to go into a duel knowing that your opponent couldn’t win. But now that he was facing Darnac’s protégé, he was no longer certain of anything. Galvorn moved so quietly that only the whistling of his blades betrayed his presence. It was as if he was fighting a ghost.

  Zivën faltered at the fateful realization that Eidolon is another name for Ghost, which in turn was sometimes known as a Shadow, and Galvorn’s nickname was the Shadow.

  * * * * *

  Galvorn sensed his opponent’s distraction but couldn’t take advantage of it since his concentration had been broken by the shrill of an arrow speeding past his head. Someone had tried to shoot him in the back. He trusted Isengrim to do his duty but that attack had been a bit too close for comfort.

  As he strained to hear whatever was going on behind him, some sixth sense warned him of impending danger and Galvorn threw himself to the side. It was enough to save his life but not enough to keep him from injury as one of Zivën’s tulwars bit into his left shoulder. The strike wasn’t enough to kill him but it did make his arm go numb. Dropping one sword, Galvorn could feel the blood running down his arm as he backpedaled to get into a more defensive stance.

  Zivën stood tall and sniffed the air. “Ah, first blood. Oh how I love the smell.”

  Biting back a cry of pain, Galvorn tucked his useless arm into his belt. “Relish the smell because it will be the last thing you get to enjoy.”

  “Now, now youngling. You don’t have to die. Just say the word and you can walk away.”

  “Never! I would rather die than concede to you.”

  Zivën grinned. “So be it.” The Blademaster leapt forward and swung both blades with the intent of decapitating the young Sicárii.

  Without thinking, Galvorn dropped to one knee as his opponent’s blades whizzed harmlessly over his head but they did collide with his sword. The Falinnsverõ was never designed or intended to take such abuse and snapped into three pieces.

  When Zivën heard his opponent’s blade shatter, he felt triumphant. There was no way the half-breed could win with a broken sword. Executing a spin, he sent his tulwars into a double reverse thrust that was sure to impale his opponent.

  When Galvorn felt his blade snap, he didn’t hesitate. He knew the Blademaster would rush to take advantage of this situation, just as he would if the roles were reversed. Diving forward, Galvorn rolled and stabbed upward as soon as he landed. He was rewarded with the spray of warm blood as his thrust disembowel the Blademaster of Timgâd.

  * * * * *

  After the failed assassination at
tempt by their partner, Gray had expected to find Rjani in the process of casting a spell at him and Khan with a dagger aimed at his back. What he found was so far removed from that scenario that it took several seconds for his mind to process.

  He had been correct in the aspect that Rjani would be casting but he was wrong about the target. And the same could be said about Khan. It seems that the dark elven mage-assassin had used her magic to bind the Headmaster’s hands together while the gnome had clamped one hand on the dwarf’s mouth and the other held a dagger to the Kingslayer’s throat.

  Gray raised one eyebrow but didn’t move from his fighting stance. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Khan said, “This son-of-a-bitch was cheating.”

  Rjani lowered her hands. “We were ordered to stop him at any cost if he tried to interfere in the duel.”

  “And who gave you that order?”

  “I did,” came a disembodied voice as a portal of darkness opened up to Gray’s right and he knew who it was even before he saw her, Lalith the Dark Queen and Galvorn’s mother had arrived.

  She stepped onto the sand as if she was the ruler of all that she surveyed, which she was. Only Clotho the Demon-Goddess held more power in the Dark Alliance. All the students in the stands immediately dropped to one knee and lowered their heads. They had all heard stories of the last time she showed up in the Lüdüs and they were determined to not to lose their heads.

  Lalith was dressed in a flowing black gown that revealed her midsection and exposed a good portion of cleavage. Her long white hair was hidden by a dark hood that seemed to highlight her evilness. Her ever present gargoyle familiar Jinx flittered back and forth behind her. Its grin appeared to mock all those around them.

  Gray stood up to his full height and met his mother’s murderer eyes. He forced himself not to show any emotion as Darnac had taught him and only acknowledged her superior rank with a small nod of his head.